Read Murder Offstage for Free Online Page B

‘Loyalty to the girl, perhaps?
Perhaps he’s covering up for her? Someone like Lucy would be pretty persuasive,
let me tell you. Rufus could have helped arrange her getaway plan, onto a boat
or a plane to South America, perhaps? He has plenty of money to arrange
things…it wouldn’t be too difficult.’
    ‘You’re forgetting she’s robbed him of a priceless jewel,’
Posie snapped. ‘So just where in the getaway plan was that?’
    ‘An elaborate cover-story on the side? A nice little earner?
He can just claim the insurance money, anyhow.’
    Posie shook her head resolutely and gritted her teeth. She
snapped the catch of her bag and pulled out the telegram from Brigg &
Brooks. As the Inspector read it his eyes widened, just for a second.
    ‘Fine. I agree my theory was far-fetched. But from the file
here your pal is in a bad way. He’s blind drunk most of the time; there are
hotel bar-bills here which make my eyes water just reading them. He’s in and
out of seedy pubs all day long, too. Tell me, just why exactly are you
bothering with him?’
    A sudden wave of anger flared up hotly, spreading out over
Posie’s head and neck in a vivid red flush. She counted to five and swallowed
the anger down. When she spoke it was quietly and with absolute conviction:
    ‘Don’t ever ask me that again, please. What your dear
colleague Inspector Oats seems to have overlooked is the fact that Rufus
Cardigeon is one of the bravest men this country has ever known. He’s a
national hero! Does it say in that file that he was awarded the Victoria Cross
not once but twice for his services in the Great War? The highest honour
for bravery a man can get! I bet that’s not in the file notes! And as for the
drinking – I know he’s a wretched soul just now, but he wouldn’t be the first
or the last man to hit the bottle as a way of forgetting some of the dreadful
things he’s seen, would he?’
    Posie stared at Inspector Lovelace who held her gaze calmly.
Eventually he nodded, as if in agreement.
    ‘How much do they want for bail?’
    ‘Let me see,’ Inspector Lovelace placed a finger on a page
and jabbed at a paragraph. The figure he quoted made Posie’s eyes water. Her
heart sank. She knew Rufus’ father was rich, but he was notoriously tight. He
would not be pleased. With any of this.
    ‘It says here that they still don’t know who the
murder victim was. Poor sausage.’
    Some horrible photos slipped out of the pocket of the file
onto the desk.
    ‘What ho! Some good old blood-and-guts here. Poor fella.’
    The Inspector had picked the photos up and studied them
under his lamp, passing them to Posie casually as if they might be a theatre
programme. She had seen the real body only hours earlier, and she had been so
preoccupied with Rufus at that point that she hadn’t felt time to feel shocked
or sick at the grisly murder. Now, strangely, presented with the image of the
body in graphic black and white frames, Posie felt the full horror of the
murder sink in.
    ‘Poor man,’ she sighed, flipping through, feeling distinctly
queasy at some of the close-ups. She looked up, and saw a look of puzzlement
spreading over Inspector Lovelace’s large, kind face. He had a photo in his
hand and scrabbled in his desk for a magnifying glass.
    ‘Thought so!’ he said triumphantly. He passed the photo and
eye-glass to Posie.
    ‘Tell me what you see.’
    Posie sat and stared. She could see nothing of any note. The
photo was of the murder victim’s torso and his blood-spattered white
dress-shirt. As she had noted to herself earlier, the clothes were old but of a
very good quality. The man had died with his hands outstretched uselessly, as
if to defend himself from his attacker.
    ‘Nope. Nothing. Sorry.’
    Inspector Lovelace nodded. ‘It’s very unusual, I’ll give you
that. No wonder you missed it. It’s the hands . See how carefully
manicured they are? How the nails are cut right down to the quick?’
    She nodded. ‘Yes, but I