Getting Involved

Section Forty-Six

Sebastian was reading a magazine by the pool. In swimwear he was not impressive. He had obviously been a frequent visitor to the gym, but his musculature was not athletic. He was neither strong nor lithe and the results of gym visits looked out of place on his frame. Randall wondered if she should do like Scott with Margaret and request that Sebastian put on some more clothes before questioning him. She could at least try. "I wish he'd dress, sir," she whispered. "It's supposed to be aesthetic, but it's not pleasing to the eye."

"That's not why I asked her to do it," he whispered back, sensing perfectly what she meant.

"Pleasing, was she?"

He did not want to go into that now at this important moment. Perhaps next week might be tempted to give a more elaborate answer. "Quite." He studied Sebastian, but did not think his appearance would distress Randall to an unworkable extent. Randall had no delicate sensibilities, except when it came to corpses. "Mr Hargreaves?" he called out.

Sebastian looked up. "Mr Scott? You still haven't solved the case?" He managed to be condescending about it.

He ignored that. The man was becoming as annoying as Poppy. Perhaps he derived some confidence from the fact that she had not yet been caught, but if that was true he would have to know about her involvement. Perhaps they were both involved. "I'd like to ask you about something we found in your room."

"Oh? What might that be?" He was still smiling superiorly, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that they had searched his room.

"One hundred and fifty pounds." Iain deliberately mentioned the wrong amount to see if that was going to elicit a reaction.

"One --" Sebastian began and stopped, as if he should not have said that.

That had been too easy. "Is there something wrong, Mr Hargreaves? One hundred and fifty pounds. In your room." This told him the man definitely had knowledge of the sum. That was clear. He had been about to correct him and say it should be two hundred and fifty.

"No," he said too quickly.

"Where did you get that kind of money?"

"I saved."

"You're broke." And he had been broke for quite some time.

"I'm not."

"We have the information from your bank," Iain related politely, but clearly not accepting any denials. "You're in debt."

"I can still have ... that kind of money." He looked angry at something -- or the someone he suspected of relieving him of a hundred pounds?

There was an explanation. "I want to know how."

"Someone gave it to me."

Iain was not impressed. In his experience the Nigels of this world might hand out two hundred and fifty pounds and even to losers like Sebastian, but losers especially would boast of this favouritism and not hide the money under a mattress. He had either come by it through less honourable means, or he feared someone else would steal it -- which implied that someone knew he had it, because he was not the most likely person to have large sums of cash. "How nice. What for?"

"My birthday."

"That's in December," Iain was quick to recall without checking. He had a good memory for numbers and it had been the same day as his aunt. "It's a bit late now for a gift, wouldn't you say? And a person generous and caring enough to give you that much money wouldn't leave it that late."

"Perhaps you found it?" Randall suggested when Sebastian did not react to Scott. She had to ask him how he knew it was December, but if he said so, it probably was.

Sebastian said nothing.

So he had not found it by accident. Nobody would keep such a sum anyway. "In Nigel's study? When you accidentally saw his will?" It would explain why he had not stayed to read it more thoroughly. He would have taken the money and run. Perhaps the sight of the money had distracted him and then Nigel had returned.

"No, he gave it to me."

Iain folded his hands reflectively. They were getting somewhere. "Any thief would say that. They rarely honestly admit to dishonesty." He was not expecting it now either, but a denial certainly carried very little weight.

"Don't you think he'd miss that kind of money?" Sebastian's voice had become louder, as if that was more convincing.

"Perhaps he did and he threatened to expose you."

"Look, I didn't steal it!" He almost shouted now.

Iain did not raise his voice in response. "Then explain to me why someone would just give it to you. We can find out who. We're having it tested for fingerprints. A legitimate gift would have prints all over it, as the money would have been counted." The reasoning did not quite hold, but perhaps Sebastian would not notice. Nigel's prints could even be on money that was stolen from him.

Sebastian considered his options. He did not see much of a way out. "All right. I got it from Nigel to make sure I didn't tell Poppy about the will."

"Blackmail, in other words." Was this the truth or was he making this up?

The voice was raised again, as if his actions had been so innocent that it was not fair to describe them with such a guilty term. "No, no! He gave it to me. I didn't even see what was in the other will, but he wouldn't believe me."

"I wouldn't either," Randall commented. It did not strike her as very believable. Nigel found Sebastian looking at his desk, where he had left the will for everyone to find and then he offered him that much money? Nigel had not offered his housekeeper any money, yet she had been a witness. Then again, she was probably a more discreet person than Sebastian and one whose silence did not have to be bought.

The man looked desperate. "Listen! It's the truth! I really didn't get a good look at it, but he thought I did, so he offered me money to keep my mouth shut."

"Which you could have refused if you had nothing to tell."

He did not think so. "I'm broke."

It might not matter whether Sebastian had put pressure on Nigel or not. The money had changed hands -- and then what?

If he had counted on receiving regular sums, then Nigel's death was inconvenient. On the other hand, if Nigel thought he was safe because he had paid off Sebastian, the latter could still have killed him to prevent the new will from taking effect. In that case he would have had to steal the will. That was not likely, given that he had said to be disappointed by the smaller sum in the original will. If all he cared about was money for himself, he would have let Nigel go through with it. Still, they had only Sebastian's word for the fact that he would have been left more money.

The motive for the murder would be found in the newer will. "What happened to the will?" Iain asked.

"How should I know?"

"It might have been in your best interest to make it disappear before it was sent to Nigel's solicitor. Contrary to what you said, he might have cut you out." Or he might have cut someone else out.

Sebastian shook his head. "I would have got more out of it. Not that I knew that then. I didn't know what to compare it to. I wasn't thinking he was going to leave me everything, so the sum I saw looked all right to me. I'd have preferred more. Who wouldn't? But I never knew anything about the will that was read this morning and what was in that for me."

"We have only your word for that, but fair enough. Let's assume we can believe you. Did you by any chance tell anyone about the will, someone who would get less?" Iain could imagine him telling Poppy if he had seen such a thing. He might think there was something in it for him.

"I didn't see it all that well," Sebastian hedged.

It was harder to remember all the small legacies than it was to remember the main beneficiary. Iain did not think anyone would not have checked for his own name, especially a relative. There would always be a small hope, however unrealistic it might be. "Mr Hargreaves, Nigel was possibly murdered because of that will. The evidence points to you right now, what with your having a large sum of money in your possession that belonged to the deceased. Not to mention that you saw the new will we know he had drawn up and which later disappeared. Maybe you'd like to change our impressions?"

Sebastian glared, but it had been enough to sway him. "I saw something about Poppy. She wasn't getting everything, not more than a share. I thought she should know, since she was counting on getting the entire estate," he finally confessed, afraid that he would have to take the blame for everything if he did not shift it to someone else.

"Ah." In Iain's mind the scenes were reconstructed at a rapid pace. Sebastian's disclosure had had a fatal result. Telling Poppy had not had a felicitous effect. "And when Nigel was found dead shortly after you told her you didn't stop to think?" A lot of alarm bells ought to have gone off if a person had any sort of brain.

Sebastian appeared to have ignored any alarm bells. "No. Anyone could have done it. I mean, he had a fight with Cherie and with Clarissa and with Margaret..."

"And with Poppy?" Iain wondered who had told him about those fights. He could not have been a witness to all of them. Someone could have stressed the fights to lead the attention away from herself. And as far as he knew Margaret had never had a fight with Nigel. Sebastian could therefore not have seen or heard it. Someone else had to have invented it for some purpose. Clarissa had also denied arguing with Nigel recently.

He did not deny that Poppy had had a fight with Nigel. "She was sure she'd be able to convince him." It was unclear whether he had once believed that. He did not sound very certain of it now. Perhaps he was beginning to see he had been fooled.

So Poppy had argued with Nigel as well and she had said to Sebastian that she would convince Nigel of something -- presumably she had wanted him to leave her all his money. "By pushing an electrical appliance into a bath?" It was a strange method she had chosen. He preferred Clarissa's passive patience.

Sebastian looked a little afraid of that idea. "Poppy wouldn't kill her own father."

But if she had no qualms about killing someone who was not her father, then it was awfully convenient to have just found out that Nigel was not. That changed matters considerably. The sudden discovery that there was no blood tie between her and Nigel must have made all the affection disappear.

Frankly, Iain was almost surprised to find a person who did not yet know about Poppy's parentage, although that was too irrelevant to comment on. Everyone else seemed to know far too much about everything, or was that only Margaret? No, Edwin too.

"I need to know exactly what you told her and what she said in reply."

Finally the conclusion was in sight. On their way to find Poppy, Sebastian's statement and incriminating information on tape, they ran into Anna and Margaret. "You may go home if you want, Margaret," Iain said hurriedly. He did not have much time for her now. He felt as if he was finally assuming his responsibilities properly. "Officially." Anna still had to wait for her mother -- and for the revelation.

"But..." Margaret did not know if she wanted to leave. "What happened?" Why was he in such a hurry? And why was he sending her away? It was a blow.

"I'll tell you later."

Margaret stared after them, feeling left out of things. She had no official right to information, but she still felt left out. "They found something. I feel it. So I can go home. I don't want to go home." She wanted to know more about the case. But if she stayed she might not see Iain much as he wrapped things up. She expected that those formalities were boring if there was nothing more to detect.

There was another problem bothering her. "And what does he mean, tell me later? Like when, if he's sending me home?" Was he going to ring her up and tell her what had happened?

Anna looked as if she was trying to think of an answer that pleased Margaret, but she could not come up with anything.

Iain seemed to have forgotten something, because he came back. He swirled her around in a rather gingerly un-Iainlike manner and led her to a corner. "We'll get her. You can go home to Ailsa." He sounded as if she ought to want that -- he did not.

"But she's not going pony riding till Tuesday." Margaret did not see how she could possibly take Ailsa home before then without creating major trouble. The girl had set her sights on pony riding and this was her holiday time, which was the only time that she was moderately spoilt. She had time to stay here until Tuesday.

He shrugged. "Go with her. You miss her, Maggie. You do. Don't stay for me. I'll find you." And off he was again, leaving Margaret in a daze.

She liked how he had said Maggie and the squeeze of his arm had been very comforting, not at all distressing. He would find her. It was silly of her to wonder what for -- a cup of coffee, a film, marriage. It could be anything and she would not see it until it happened.

Section Forty-Seven

Margaret had said goodbye to Anna, whom she could leave all by herself now that the police were questioning Poppy. She could not find anyone else. Or rather, she did not try. She did not know if others were released as well. They had better not find out about it until they were told themselves, or else all suspects would have fled before the police realised it.

She was curious about Anna's reaction to the news who her father was, but that was not something for which she would consider staying. Iain could tell her that later. If he found her.

If she had been like Anna she could have gone away without asking herself any of the questions that were running through her mind. She would trust that Iain would find her because he had said so and she would trust that he would know where to find her or else he would not have said it. What he wanted to do upon finding her would undoubtedly be good.

It was a pity that Margaret could not fathom what precisely she wanted to be done to her once he found her. She had time enough to think of everything and thereby ensuring that none of that would happen, because things never went according to plan.

If all else failed, she still had his phone number, but she should take care not to use it in the next twenty-four hours.

On her drive, she imagined telling Ailsa they were going home. Somehow she did not think that would go down well. She might not be allowed to leave. Either that, or she had to go home alone, in which case she would be doubly cheated of good company. If Ailsa turned her begging puppy-dog eyes on her she would be unable to say no and she would be made to stay.

Just to be absolutely certain, she stopped by her house first. Quickly she watered the plants, checked if nothing was wrong and took the entire pile of mail without opening any envelopes. She might not come back in the next few days.

She rang Mrs. Scott, shamefully ignorant of where she lived. When Iain had driven there he had -- of course -- neglected to tell her where they were going and he had even forgotten to inform her of the name of the village where his mother lived. Driving away from there she had meant to look at road signs, but he had begun to speak all of a sudden, so she had been distracted. She had not remembered until they had been a good way gone.

It was dark, it was wet and it was late when she finally arrived there, because she had missed a road sign in the dark and had travelled down a lane between hedgerows for at least two miles until it had narrowed so much that it could never be a thoroughfare.

Margaret had not meant to arrive in such a way as to make her return almost cruel and she was surprised by the warmth with which she was greeted, which was so at odds with the weather.

Mrs. Scott immediately grabbed an umbrella. "Let's get your things from the car."

"But..." There seemed to be no doubt that she was staying then, yet she did not want to reveal she had been reckoning with the possibility. She did not want to impose or to invite herself. The fact weighed on her consciousness as if it were a lie. She was going to disclose it at some point because she would not be able to live with it, she was certain.

"Oh, you must. You have to stay until Ailsa's been pony riding. We've discussed it already." The two of them had been in absolute agreement about this. Margaret would be made to stay if she came sooner and when Margaret had phoned to say she was picking up Ailsa that evening, they had discussed it again. Their departure would just have to wait until after the pony riding.

"Tuesday? But..." As much as she would like to and as much as she had already reckoned with it, she did not want to prolong a stay here just to see if Iain had finished his case by then. As that was a very plausible motive and course of action, she should perhaps say no right this instant in order not to be pathetic later on -- as well as hurt if he should choose to ignore her.

"Have you got other obligations?"

"No, but..." Margaret felt herself being prodded lightly but insistently in her back and she sighed in resignation. She stepped outside, shielded from the rain by Mrs. Scott's umbrella.

Inside again, her hostess looked at the suitcase. "You've just come back from a week away from home. Is there anything you'd like to have washed?" She supposed Margaret must have been counting on doing that at home, but now that she and Ailsa had prevented that, they had to see to this practical matter.

Margaret looked startled and automatically began to refuse the offer. "I couldn't possibly let you..." Then she realised she would have nothing to wear if she did not get anything washed. "I'll do it myself. I don't want to be a bother." She could not impose on someone's hospitality as well as have her wash her dirty clothes.

Mrs. Scott did not see any problem, although she understood that Margaret did. "It wouldn't be a bother at all. Just drop whatever needs washing on the floor in the bathroom. That's how my boys always do it." Margaret did not have to be afraid that she had never dealt with piles of dirty laundry before or that she even disliked it. It was something that had to be done, that was all. "Speaking of boys, is the case finished?" She led Margaret up the stairs. As far as she knew all suspects had been asked to stay, but she supposed they had been released now.

"No, he sent me away."

"Nicely, I hope," said his mother.

"Hmm." That was all Margaret was prepared to say.

So there were mixed feelings about that, as well as about some other matters. Mrs. Scott decided to leave this particular matter alone for the moment. She had until Tuesday to find out why Iain had sent Margaret away. Quite possibly he had felt too distracted, but on no account did it appear as though he had been fed up with her.

"I thought you could have the guest room on this side." She held open a door leading into a typical guestroom. "Ailsa didn't want this one. She preferred the room with the children's old toys. Please make yourself at home while I...have you eaten anything yet?" That was another practical matter she had to see to. She could not let her guest go without dinner.

"Er..." Again Margaret automatically wanted to refuse, but she was hungry.

"That's what we thought," Mrs. Scott nodded in satisfaction. "Ailsaaaa?" she called imperatively like a real grandmother. The girl should come to say hello to her mother.

There were running footsteps. "Mummy!" Ailsa threw herself into Margaret's arms. "You didn't get murdered!"

Mrs. Scott left them alone to see to the meal she had been preparing and to let Margaret recover from the offer of hospitality. Not everyone was used to it.

"Aww, were you afraid I'd be murdered?" Margaret stroked Ailsa's hair. They sat quietly for a few minutes. There were times that she had been afraid of that as well, especially after someone had tried to come into her room at night. And she had been afraid before she had gone running, but she had told herself to go in order to conquer that feeling. When she had been out on her run, she had not seen anything that made her afraid and that had helped. "But I can look after myself -- and I had someone else looking after me too."

"Yes, where is he?" asked Ailsa with astonishing insight, not needing any further information on who was Margaret's protector. "I thought you were helping him to catch the murderer."

"But he can do that last bit alone," she spoke somewhat regretfully.

"You never think people can, you know. But I told Gran anyway that you were the sweetest Mummy in the world and that it was very okay if her son liked you."

Margaret blinked at that. Crying mums were stupid, she knew, even if they were the sweetest in the world. She rubbed Ailsa's back. "Was she worried what I was like?" She imagined Mrs. Scott asking Ailsa about her, eager to find out what sort of person she was. What sort of impression had she given off up to now? And what had they been discussing?

"Oh, no."

"And is it okay with you? We don't even know if he likes me." That was certainly something she did not want to spend her time wondering about. She would never find the answer unless he gave it to her and she should not even wonder whether she wanted to know, because he was not here to provide her with the answer.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," Ailsa said seriously. "He should come here so I can see!"

"I don't think he lives here, though." He might go to his own home after he finished the case. That would be logical. How often did she visit her own mother? She supposed he would have things to deal with at his own house, just like she had had to water the plants and to pick up the mail.

Ailsa knew there was a solution. "He lives right out the back gate!"

"Under a hedge?" Margaret could not help but ask.

Ailsa giggled. "That's cold and wet. But isn't that nice, he'd probably come here to sleep if he did. Do you want to see my Lego village? I was building it when you got here."

Mrs. Scott whistled a tune as she set the table. She thought about her guests. The girl had been a pleasure to host so far. She only had grandsons and having a girl here was a nice difference. Suddenly she was offered assistance while baking biscuits and Kirsty's old dolls were no longer decapitated.

Mrs. Scott was so far intrigued and amused by the mother, but she was far from having formed a definite opinion. The best way to get to know her was to have her stay here for a few days. She had not seen much of her so far, except for her brief visit and, surprisingly, a priced-off video that Ailsa had discovered at the chemist's. She had said her mother was in it.

It was an astonishingly artsy fairy tale production for children, but it had probably never really caught on because all actors had been cast out of character on purpose. Undoubtedly it challenged adults' perceptions with regard to public images, but children did not care. It was interesting that Margaret was the lovely sweet fairy. Ailsa had pointed her out, because it was not very easy to see, saying it was Maggie and the only one she liked in it.

"I didn't know she acted," Mrs. Scott had said.

"We needed a new car," Ailsa had said very seriously, "and they needed an evil witch."

"But she's the good fairy."

Ailsa had nodded. "They wanted an evil witch for the good fairy and they think Maggie is, but she's the sweetest Mummy in the world."

Her own brief impressions did not tally with Margaret as an evil witch, but it was too soon to tell if she was sweet. She seemed to take on many different jobs to pay for Ailsa's education and the TV things paid best, according to the girl.

She seemed to know many things that children her age should not be talking about. At any rate, Mrs. Scott's grandsons had no idea what their parents did and why. Margaret explained herself a lot, it seemed. She had no one else to explain herself to. That had become clear quickly enough. The grandparents did not come often and if they did, they stayed briefly. The fact that Ailsa had said she was much nicer than her Granny did not point to good family relations there either. Apart from mother and daughter. They were close.

Mrs. Scott wondered if the relationship admitted a third. Margaret was rather reserved when it came to that, she would think. She did not easily accept favours or friendships, or perhaps she was merely self-conscious about being invited to stay with the mother of someone she might like.

It was a pity that her husband was in Germany with their second son, or else he could have given his opinion on this interesting case. She could phone him, nevertheless. Setting the table with one hand and holding the phone with the other, she waited for him to answer. "You have a new granddaughter," she told him.

"Which of our children did this to us? Nobody ever tells me anything!" he complained good-naturedly. Not all members of his family were good at explaining things right from the beginning. Since all of them had good-working brains, they had become a little lax about detailed explanations, used to being understood anyway. He was sure there was some longer explanation for this.

She considered telling him it was Iain, but he might take that too literally and it would take some time to reassure him that Iain had not inadvertently got some woman pregnant. Neither of them would approve of that and they had always believed Iain did not either. "I adopted her."

"What? Is she an orphan?"

"No. She has a mother, but we'll give her to Iain."

"Won't he be pleased," his father commented. "Now, I have no idea what you're up to, but it sounds like you're amusing yourself in my absence. Might I just come to the defence of my son, for whom you seem to have several surprises in store? He won't like just any woman. Or are you also planning to saddle him with a daughter? That's even worse! In case you hadn't noticed, he's a bit picky."

"He found them himself."

"I don't believe you," Mr Scott said with absolute conviction. "When? On a case?" he asked sarcastically. "He works and he sleeps." Iain did not often take time off and did certainly not spend any time on useless activities, such as finding himself a girlfriend who already had a child.

"Exactly!"

"He does not pick up women on cases. He's too professional for that." His father believed he had set a too good example for anything like that to happen.

"Apparently he's not."

Mr Scott mulled over this. "Iain picked up a woman on a case," he spoke disbelievingly. On second thought he wondered where else Iain should have picked up a woman.

"But he doesn't know it yet, of course," Mrs. Scott answered in an indulgent voice.

"I beg your pardon?" her husband cried. "Can you freeze developments? We'll be back on Tuesday." He had to see this for himself.

Section Forty-Eight

Randall wondered if the rather inelegant way of dismissing Margaret would go down well with her, but no screaming woman pursued them. Scott ran back nevertheless, albeit briefly. Her boss was obviously intent on bringing this case to an undisturbed end. It was what he ought to do, of course, but it did not feel so unequivocally just now that it was happening.

It was not like she had imagined. Then again, neither was the type for dramatic and teary goodbyes, or confessions of undying love and devotion. Still, with such types you knew exactly what was going on and now you did not.

With Margaret out of the way he could finally be his professional self, not that he had really been unprofessional. She would not affect him if she was not there, he thought, and a clean break was to be preferred over the continuous feelings of anticipation if he promised to phone her every day. He would find her when it was over. It was not a choice between her and the case. It was a choice between both or neither. He did not want to dwell on the matter -- not like that one time when he had made that comment on real beauty. Randall would think him deranged again.

He said nothing to Randall about Margaret, but they went straight to Poppy's room, where she was kicking a fuss because things had been displaced during the searching of her room.

"Miss Hargreaves, we have more important things to discuss than whether your clothes hang in the right spot," Scott announced. "Shall we do it here or shall we do it in a more formal location?" If it was the same to everybody, he would prefer to do it here in order to lose no more time.

Poppy misunderstood his objective. "I thought you liked to question women in their bedrooms, Inspector."

Had he questioned any of them there? Margaret's was the only bedroom he had been in, but he was not aware that Poppy had seen that. Perhaps she was just guessing and then it would not do to enlighten her. Had this been Margaret he would have managed some witty repartee, but now he refrained. It would be useless. "Since you have no objections we'll stay here."

Poppy sat down on the bed challengingly. Scott leant against her dresser. Randall did too, but in such a way that she would be able to take notes. "We'd like to know about the news Sebastian told you a week ago," he began.

"Which was?" She fell back on the bed lazily and stared at the ceiling.

This had been such important news that she had to remember it. He knew she was merely stalling. "That you'd been cut out of Nigel's will already."

"You heard it being read this morning," Poppy said with a triumphant shrug. "I wasn't cut out." Nothing about that could change anymore. She was going to get all that money.

He thought there was plenty that could still change. "Your cousin had told you that you were. Your reply was: I'll kill him. Less than a week later the man was killed. Would you care to elaborate on that, Miss Hargreaves?" He counted on the fact that Sebastian had finally spoken the truth about this, reluctant as he was to be found guilty of a crime he had not committed. The weakling had given way under very limited pressure. It had been very easy to make him think the evidence pointed to him.

Poppy said nothing. Quite possibly she was debating whether a denial would help her.

Scott knew how it had gone. Clearly she was the only person whose wellbeing she was interested in. That made it all the more plausible that she had acted to protect herself when she had heard this news. "You were so angry with Nigel and so afraid of losing your money that you decided to kill him." She had to say yes or no to that, preferably yes, but he did not expect it.

It did indeed elicit a reaction. She sat up again too. "That's not true. Listen, Inspector. I'll tell you what really happened, what you would have found out if Maggie hadn't told you so many lies. Maggie killed him."

"Why did she?" He wanted to hear what she would come up with. By now she ought to have sensed that he was not taking any accusations of Margaret seriously. He wondered why Poppy persisted nevertheless.

"She killed her sister too. She's a psycho. Better watch out for her."

Scott could not believe his ears. "I beg your pardon?" Although he had expected something ridiculous, this was beyond words. Margaret's sister had died because she had taken too many or too dangerous performance-enhancing substances. That was public knowledge. She had not been killed by anyone, least of all her own sister. What was this new scheme of Poppy's, trying to make people look suspicious who had had deaths in their family?

"I knew you'd have trouble believing me." Poppy sounded triumphant.

It was worse than that. "I don't have trouble; I simply don't believe you. Stop pointing to Margaret," he said calmly. "We all know she didn't do it because there is evidence that points to the contrary. Let's go back to you. There's a lot of evidence that points to you. Sebastian told you about the will he had seen. Did he ask you for money before he told you what was in it?" Sebastian had said that he had not, but he might be fearing the confession would turn him into an accessory and he might therefore have lied.

"Sebastian did it."

He could sound just as uncaring. "Margaret did it. Sebastian did it. You change your mind very quickly. Who will you blame next? He saw the will and told you about it. You said you'd kill Nigel. Sebastian never took you seriously, but you planned it very carefully. The days leading up to the murder you told Sebastian about the fights Nigel supposedly had with other people, so that he might remember that in retrospect and lead us to suspect them: your mother, Clarissa, Margaret -- only two of them didn't have a fight with him at all."

"They did. What do you know about it? You weren't here last week."

"Clarissa and Margaret were." And he believed them.

"They lied."

"And they bribed the housekeeper into lying for them?" Randall suggested in a sarcastic voice. "Only your mother, whom you surprisingly forgot to inform of Nigel's death, admitted to having rowed with Nigel and she admitted to having left because of that, but at the time of the murder she was in California and she couldn't have done it."

Randall had phoned her earlier, right after they had first spoken to Poppy and before they had returned to the study, but not all of the information had fallen into place yet. Scott had let her phone, trusting her voice to aggravate a person less at such an early hour. They were several hours ahead of California, after all.

"So?" Poppy had not counted on the fact that they would contact her mother. She tried to figure out how this affected her.

Randall did not mind explaining it, with more friendliness than she had heretofore been able to feel towards Poppy. "You forgot to tell your mother that Nigel was dead, but this means you also forgot to instruct her to lie for you. She didn't mind telling me what she rowed about." The woman had not immediately put two and two together, although it remained to be seen whether she would have cared to cover up for her daughter. Randall had her doubts, although she did not want to be so pessimistic about people.

There was some fear on Poppy's face now. "I don't care what it was." She could not think quickly enough to keep up.

"Don't you? It was your mother who told you that you were not Nigel's biological daughter, after he had asked her who the father was, because it was not him, but she didn't remember or care and he got angry with her. She did not think of money, because unlike you she earns her own. It was you who began to fear for your inheritance and the continuation of your spoilt life when she told you. You didn't know whether Nigel would take immediate action, but when Sebastian told you about the new will, you knew you had to act quickly. Your mother doesn't have his kind of money and what is worse, she wants it for herself." They did not actually know that, but it had to be the reason why she had stayed on this side of the ocean after she had finished school. Her mother was probably not as generous with her money as Nigel was.

Poppy got off the bed and went to look out of the window. "I don't care what Nigel told my mother, or what my mother told you. It's not true."

Scott thought they could proceed without waiting for Clarissa with the official confirmation. She would not say she had the evidence when she did not. They might ask for it and she knew it. "Someone had your DNA and Nigel's tested. He was not your father. If you doubt those findings you may give us a new sample so we can have it tested as well. I doubt that the results will be any different."

Amazingly she saw no point in denying that. "He's officially my father." Perhaps she thought that overruled any DNA test.

That did not always matter. "Even official fathers have the right to leave their money to whoever they like." And many of them made use of that right.

She turned. "You can't prove any of this."

"We can." Especially if she was already budging so much as to accuse defensively. That more often implied guilt than not. Now was the time to stay firm and confident, hoping she would reveal more.

"You can't prove I killed him."

It was significant that she switched to that topic without being forced, as if it was connected to the previous one for her as well. "If they find the rest of the evidence compelling enough in court we really don't need your fingerprints on that CD player at all," Scott reassured her optimistically. "So, where is the will?"

"I don't have it."

"Are you sure? You strike me as the sort of person who'd take unjustified pride in her own cleverness by doing something as stupid as rereading that will. Quite possibly you'd also have to refuel your feelings of having done something justifiable by going back to the reason time and time again." He stared at her, almost forcing her to produce the document. "I don't think you destroyed it." That was sheer bluff, but it might work.

Poppy was tougher than Sebastian. "I never saw it. I can't help you there."

Maybe she had been Nigel's 16:30 visitor. She had left Margaret as soon as possible, but he did not recall Margaret saying she had seen Poppy go upstairs. They had started from the assumption that she had gone there, but that might not have been the case. She could have gone from the library straight to Nigel -- and that would be one mystery solved. It was worth a try.

"You live here, Miss Hargreaves. If anyone had the time and the opportunity to steal that will, it was you. You had almost an entire week. Did Nigel call you in to see him just before his death because he had found out it was gone?" And she could have taken it, but he could make another, so this chat would not have resolved anything and she might have needed to take other measures.

"What are you talking about? I went to my room."

Scott looked around himself. There were only clothes, not a book in sight that she could have read. "There's not much to do here. Especially not for two and a half hours. That's a very long time, a time you usually spent lying by the pool with the others. You didn't join them after your lesson with Margaret because you had to see Nigel."

"Did Margaret say so?"

"You didn't go upstairs with her," he lied. If she had gone to Nigel she would not know how soon Margaret had followed her. That she asked a question now implied that she was not very certain of when that had happened. Margaret may have had to put away some books. "And you didn't go outside. Arthur did not see you. The staff did not see you either."

"Is it forbidden to wander through my own house?"

If she had wandered without purpose, she would have been seen, but not if she had slipped quickly from one room into the other. "It's telling that you considered it your house already at that point," Scott remarked calmly. "As it was still Nigel's. You went to see him." He was more and more convinced of that.

"What if I did?"

"It makes you the last person who saw him alive. He may have told you he was about to take a bath and that would have been the opportunity you were waiting for. He would have been surprised had you gone into his bedroom to check repeatedly what he was doing."

"You're talking nonsense."

He crossed his arms and gave Randall an encouraging smile that Poppy did not see. "We shall not leave this room until you come up with better answers than that, Miss Hargreaves."

Section Forty-Nine

They were close. They had almost got her. It would only be a matter of time before she cracked and gave in. He had to stay firm now and certainly not smile or betray that excitement he felt more and more, as always towards the conclusion of a case. "We're not talking nonsense. I have never been caught talking nonsense, Miss Hargreaves. So," said Iain. "You went to see Nigel after you got your lesson from Margaret." She had not denied that and anything she did not deny was true until she denied it and even then it could be countered.

"Don't call it a lesson. I didn't learn anything."

"After you got your lesson from Margaret," he repeated. He was not going to change his words because she wanted to distract him. "You went to see Nigel. He called it an appointment." That was what he had said to Arthur Moss.

"He couldn't have. He's dead. He didn't tell you that."

It seemed to Iain that even the dead could have more sensible things to say than some of the living. He closed his eyes just once, briefly. "He called you in to ask you about the will. What exactly did he ask you?"

"He didn't ask that."

He was quick. "Good, so you were there and you spoke to him." They would really get there with a little patience, even if the conclusion to the case still seemed far away. He saw Randall wrote something down and wondered if it was the same thing he had been thinking.

Poppy glared, realising that she had betrayed herself. "This doesn't mean I killed him."

Perhaps it did not mean that directly, but he knew she had done it anyway. She was not becoming desperate like Sebastian when he had feared he was going to be arrested for murder. Instead, she seemed intent on thwarting him and denying everything, which was hardly a sign of innocence. A person who had nothing to hide had nothing to fear and no reason to be difficult.

"It was not a spontaneous chat between father and daughter. Something was up, not in the least because you were again being tutored. You were trying to stay in his good graces, even going along with a second tutoring session that day." That fell even more into place suddenly.

"But afterwards you were requested to see him. He called this an appointment. That's hardly what someone would call it if he had a cosy chat in mind. No, he wanted to discuss something serious with you -- and the most serious thing that had happened in the week before was that he had made a new will that had disappeared. He'd be trying to find out who'd stolen it. He wasn't going to ask you if you'd had a nice day." In that case Nigel would not have called it an appointment.

"You weren't there." As far as she was concerned he had no right to make any assumptions about it and act as if they were true.

He was not giving up. "You were, so tell me about it."

"There is nothing to tell."

"I can imagine how it went. He asked you if you took the will. You said no. He asked again. You still said no. He lost his nerve, perhaps, after a few times. He said he would make another will, the same as the one you took. You hadn't reckoned with that. You panicked," he could see it in his imagination as he spoke. "You didn't show it. Maybe he dismissed you and said he wanted to take a bath. That was easy, wasn't it? Nobody would see you. You knew most people were outside."

"See me doing what?"

If she wanted, she could easily imagine what people would see. But she did not want to. He did not lose his patience. If she persisted in being obtuse, he would explain every detail. "See you go into his room. Nobody would think anything of it until he was found dead there later, but then they would remember they saw you. But you saw no one and no one saw you. How lucky you were."

"Because I didn't go there."

Of course. Why admit it when you could deny it? He expected such answers, but if he kept this up she would eventually be too focused on denials and she would slip up again.

"Maybe you'll think differently soon." Iain thought he had heard enough to take her to a location where they could question her properly. It would also give off the sign that he was taking this seriously and he was not being fooled by her denials. "We've heard enough. We're taking you with us."

Quite possibly she would not be stupid enough to murder another person, but he could not count on that. If she thought her inheritance was in danger again there was no telling what she might do. She was a danger to her environment and that was another reason to take her in.

She would not be able to get away from the station. He could question her easily and any time it suited him. Besides, it was not her home turf and that in itself might make her less confident.

Randall waited for Clarissa while Scott saw to the arrest and transportation. She would join him at the police station later, when her business here was concluded for the day.

Nobody except Sebastian had noticed that Poppy was being taken away and Randall caught him loading his suitcase into his car shortly afterwards. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked him. She had not released any people yet.

"Home. I didn't do it. You got your suspect. I'm free to go."

Since she had been about to tell them they could go, she did not make too much of a problem of it, although she was sorely tempted. "We might still need you for questioning, but we have your address. We'll find you, Mr Hargreaves." She wondered if Scott had said a similar thing to Margaret. They had her address too. Somehow she could not imagine him saying that. It sounded rather indifferent.

As she went to look for the others to tell them the good news, only Arthur wanted to leave that same evening to be able to resume his important activities as soon as possible. Edwin preferred to stay and Anna had to, because Clarissa still had not returned. Randall did not like her own thought that it was good that at least one man remained with them. Women should be all right on their own.

"Where is Margaret?" Edwin asked. "Is she staying too?"

"She already left a while back," said Anna, who did not want to say more about it in case she said too much.

"Was that after she'd approached the Inspector in swimwear, or...?" It was not unthinkable that special favours had been granted after that.

Randall laughed, but felt she had to defend her boss. "He asked her to dress."

"She was not in swimwear when he told her," said Anna, looking puzzled because she had missed the incident they were referring to. "And where's my Mum?"

"She went to get something from home that we need," Randall explained, without saying what they needed exactly. "She could have been back already, but maybe the rain is keeping her." She glanced out of the window at the wet darkness. "What a difference from yesterday or even this afternoon!"

However, despite the rain it did not take long before Clarissa returned. She waved a large envelope and smiled. "Got it. Do you think I could have it back when you're done with it? I might need it later on. I don't really know."

"Of course. I'll have a doctor check it and photocopy it to see if the tests were carried out properly and all that. Right." She put the envelope into her bag and put the rest of the papers into a box. I'm going to the station now too. We might be back tomorrow for some last things like the will, but I think we can do most of our things over there. If there's anything you want to know later, just give us a ring. I've left our numbers by the phone. We'll definitely let you know if we find the will. You know that." She hoisted the box onto her hip. "Good luck," she said to Clarissa especially. There was still Anna to deal with.

On the drive to the police station, Poppy tried another tactic. She turned on the tears. "Why are you arresting me?" she sobbed. "I didn't do it. I loved Nigel very much. I would never kill him."

Love was a belated find, as if it had only recently occurred to her that she might use this in her attempt to look innocent. Iain was not impressed.

He looked out of the window at the rain, not regretting it one bit that he had gone to sit in the front seat. Had he been sitting beside her instead of the WPC who sat there now, she might even have touched him. He shuddered. There was regrettably very little he could then do to defend himself nowadays, because she might use it against him and say he had touched her.

It was much more agreeable to think the case was nearly over.

Section Fifty

Far into the evening Iain sat questioning Poppy, but she refused to say she had committed the murder and she refused to say what had happened to the will. He was almost convinced that it was still hidden somewhere, because she could easily have said it had been destroyed. On a Sunday it was a bit difficult to send a search party to the house, so that would have to wait until Monday.

Randall had joined him later, but when she began to yawn too much, he gave up for the night and he let Poppy be taken back to her cell. She was not going to say anything useful anymore.

"Can I go home, sir?" asked Randall, who did not trust him to think this was the end of the working day. Maybe he wanted to discuss things with her still. She did not at all feel up to that. She wanted to go to bed. It was a Saturday, too, in case he had forgotten. They should not be working at all. They should be at home, resting, and tomorrow too.

"Yes," he said absentmindedly, as if he had not really heard her.

She could leave before he realised what he had said, but there was something else. "Are you going too?" It was not good for him if he stayed. He should get some rest as well.

"I'll just...er..." Iain looked around himself. There were things to do that he had better do as soon as possible, lest he should forget them. That was what he told himself, although he was aware of never forgetting much. He had a list somewhere too.

"You won't go unless someone forces you, will you?" she concluded. If she left him here this evening, he would very likely still be here when she returned the next day, still working, but more likely fast asleep or feeling rotten and wrecked from staying up all night.

"In a minute. But er..." He needed to look at a few things. Tomorrow he might have lost his grasp on the facts.

He did not want to go home. That was clear. "Do I have to take you with me so you actually get some sleep?" Randall put her hands on her hips in a threatening manner. It might have looked scarier if she had not constantly yawned. "Come on then."

"But..." Sleep did sound appealing, but he could not forget about the things he still had to do.

She gave him a commanding look, communicating that he was going to come with her, whether he liked it or not.

Iain closed his eyes and leant back. He appreciated Randall's offer to drive because he was too tired, but he would have preferred to be taken care of by someone else. He even knew by whom. He remembered the voice she had used with Ailsa when they had left her and he imagined it being used on him. Would she? Or did she reserve that especially for the girl?

He opened his eyes with a start when Randall braked all of a sudden, fearing they had barely avoided an accident.

"Sorry, sir. Red light."

"This is my car." He just wanted to remind her to be careful with it. He was glad she had stopped for a red light, however. They had to give a good example.

"Sturdy family car. It can handle my driving."

"Why are you saying family car?" he asked suspiciously. There were some implications in that comment that he had not missed, sleepy though he was.

"Oh, no reason. Just because it can hold a family, I think. It needn't be yours." It could also be Margaret's. Randall was not going to be picky about that.

"I have it so I can take my nephews out," he said, to modify her ideas somewhat.

Randall left him to work out for himself whom else he could take out.

"We have something for you," Randall said to her husband, giving him Clarissa's envelope. "Can you check this? We want it back."

"Sure, but...not now. I was thinking of going to bed and I was hoping that you'd stay until breakfast at least, Lisa." Mr Randall feared there was little chance of that now that the DCI was with her. He was known to work at the oddest hours because he had no one to tell him to come or stay home. He gave the man a pointed look. Lisa was not going anywhere anymore tonight and if there were any plans for tomorrow, they would have to be negotiated.

"Oh, he's not going anywhere," Lisa assured him. "The boss didn't want to sleep at all, so I brought him here to lock him up in the attic so he can get some sleep." That was where their spare room was. It was perfect. He could never say he did not want to be in anybody's way, because he would not be.

Mr Randall gave his wife a kiss after switching off all the lights downstairs, save for the one in the hall. He would give them no opportunity to reconsider. They were going upstairs as well. "Does that mean we can go to sleep?"

"Sleep, please." She turned to Iain. "You will sleep, won't you? You'll be with her sooner if you do." Perhaps that would convince him.

"I missed that," said Mr Randall. "Iain, you have a woman?" It would not be strange if he did -- he was a good-looking man -- but he never had any time to devote to romantic involvements. Lisa said he never tried because he was sure of what he wanted, whatever that might be. He had not told Lisa that.

"Oh, just give me a bed," Iain said grumpily, setting foot on the stairs already. He did not wanted to be interrogated when he was feeling his weakest.

"Sweet dreams," Lisa grinned at his mood. "I hope you don't want to go running at six."

"No, but..." He was planning to do some work on Sunday and he did not want to get up too late. He feared she was going to say something about that, so he did not finish his sentence.

She had expected that. He was willing to compromise by going to bed, but he would make it a short night. "Listen, do you want me to phone Margaret so she can order you to --"

"No!" Iain interrupted quickly as he shot up the stairs.

He had not wanted to go home because he lived too close to his parents and the temptation to check whether Ailsa was still there, and possibly Margaret, would be too strong and too distracting. Suppose she was there, what would he do? He did not want to spend any time thinking about that until the case was over and he could give it his full attention. If he saw her now, she would again become involved. That was a fact.

"Who is Margaret?" Mr Randall inquired interestedly.

"Hmm ... how to describe her?" Lisa mused, staring up to see if Scott was out of view. She dropped her voice nevertheless. "She's an odd combination of things. If I told you she was Margaret Maxwell, you'd get only part of the picture and I know precisely which part. If I told you she lives for the little niece she takes care of, you'd get another part of the picture. The most important thing is that she clicks with the DCI -- and I mean clicks all over the place."

He had seen her on television. "I never thought that woman could click with anyone." He looked up the stairs as well, as if seeing Scott could give him an explanation.

Lisa snorted. "Paul, that's not fair. I shared a room with her last night because she couldn't stay in hers. She's actually rather nice. She probably gets paid to act like that on TV."

"Aww, the hidden softness of Margaret Maxwell..." he mocked. "And what do you mean, they're clicking all over the place, but that excludes the bedroom?"

"They met that same morning. That would have been a bit quick, wouldn't it?" Lisa supposed Margaret would murder her if she heard this, considering that she had been trying to encourage her the night before. Luckily for her Margaret was not here to hear it.

"That same morning? In that case they both sound mildly deranged to me with their clicking." He might question Iain in the morning to see what remained of the clicking after removing Lisa's imagination.

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