The Price of Butcher's Meat

4

Dennis Seymour drove slowly along Seaview Terrace.

Nice, he thought. Narrow Edwardian houses, one big bay window apiece, lovely outlook over the sea, just a short step across the road (a safe cul-de-sac) and over the shallow wall to the beach, would suit Bernadette and the twins very nicely. Wonder how much they charge in the season? Might not be professional to bring it into a witness interview, but no harm in checking later.

He’d watched the byplay between his younger colleagues with quiet amusement. There’d been a time when he too had strutted and pecked in the cockpit of ambition, but not anymore. He was long resigned to the knowledge that what he had was all he was going to get. But how could he be unhappy about that when it included lovely twin daughters and a gorgeous wife whose fiery Irish temperament dovetailed perfectly with his own laid-back easy-over nature? Financially there was no problem either. Bernadette’s job as manageress of the restaurant in the city’s largest department store meant the family had more than enough coming in to satisfy their needs.

So let Novello and Bowler go scurrying off in search of the subtle clue that was going to unravel the case. Seymour was more than content to be down here on the seafront to interview the oddball sister.

The door was opened by a small, neatly packaged woman who studied his ID with a keen eye, identified herself as Diana Parker, and said, “Please, step inside. This is a dreadful business, quite dreadful. It threw everyone into disarray. I could see that chaos was likely to ensue without a controlling hand at the rudder, and I would have stayed at the hall and offered my services, but my constitution is a delicate machine, easily thrown off balance by any shock or violent turn of events, with deep and long-lasting physical consequences. I needed to be back here in reach of my medicaments. I might not have made it, but happily my friend Mrs. Griffiths was by my side, giving me support. Here she is now. Sandy, this is Detective Constable Seymour come to question me as a witness to the terrible events at Sandytown Hall.”

This outburst, delivered at a pace which could have got her a job as an announcer on Five Live, had filled the space between the doorstep and a comfortable parlor in which a well-built woman with a strong face and short, curly black hair was standing by an open sash window smoking a cigarette. She took a last drag, flicked the butt through the opening, and turned to greet Seymour with a brusque nod.

Diana Parker went to the window and pulled it down with great force.

“Drafts kill,” she said accusingly.

Resisting the temptation to quip, But not in the case of Lady Denham, Seymour said, “All right if I sit? Thank you. Now what I’m particularly interested in is any conversation with or sightings of the deceased, Lady Denham, either of you may have had during the course of the party.”

And Diana was off.

Seymour quickly recognized that close questioning wasn’t an option. All a man could do was sit with his pencil at the ready and try to bag any potentially significant fact as it flew by.

The one he underlined in his notebook was Diana’s assertion that in the middle of the afternoon she had seen Lady Denham having an argument with one of the guests.

“His name is Godley-he is a healer-my brother introduced us earlier-dear Tom suggested that Mr. Godley might be able to alleviate some of my chronic symptoms-I said firmly I doubted it-to be honest, experience has taught me that I have to trust to my own knowledge of my own wretched constitution for any relief-but I drift from my story-this Godley and Lady Denham had words-not polite words either, from the look of her after they parted and she passed close to me-she had a high flush-I have always assessed her temperament as choleric and this with her age makes her peculiarly susceptible to the perils of high blood pressure. Concerned, I took it on myself to offer help-not from myself, you understand-I would not be so presumptuous-though with my long experience of illness I think in an emergency I might prove very useful-no, what I did was offer to summon Nurse Sheldon, who was present at the party. I fear Lady Denham did not take my offer in the spirit in which it was given. She said, “I am perfectly well, Miss Parker-and as for summoning that lump, I’d as lief see an undertaker!’”

When the deluge finally abated, Seymour did not care to risk provoking a renewal with questions but said, “That’s fine, Miss Parker. Now, Mrs. Griffiths, I wonder if you have anything you’d like to add?”

The woman regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then said, “I’m sorry, no. I’m just a visitor here. Miss Parker…Diana…was kind enough to take me along to the party. I saw Lady Denham when we arrived, but thereafter I can’t say I noticed her.”

“You didn’t see this encounter she had with Mr. Godley then?”

“Sorry.”

“Anything you did see that struck you as unusual?”

“As a stranger, I’m hardly able to say what was usual, am I?”

Seymour was not the most incisive of interrogators, but he knew when he was getting nowhere. He could also see that the other woman was trembling on the brink of another verbal avalanche.

He closed his notebook decisively, stood up, and said, “In that case, thank you for your cooperation, ladies. If anything further does occur to you, don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

Diana followed him to the door.

“One more thing, Constable Seymour,” she said.

He halted and waited. Was this going to be the vital clue that enabled him to solve the case single-handedly and win battlefield promotion to the rank of detective sergeant?

She said, “It is my experience that redheaded people are particularly susceptible to the evil effects of ultraviolet rays. I cannot help noticing that you are already showing signs of too much exposure to this strong sun. I have found aloe vera gel efficacious in alleviating the effects, but with a coarse skin like yours, you might find the simpler and less expensive remedies such as bathing the affected area in cold tea, or applying a vinegar compress-white vinegar, that is-would serve.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miss Parker,” he said. “I’ll make a note of that.”

As he got into his car he noticed that the sash window was open again and Sandy Griffiths was standing there, watching him, another cigarette in her hand.

He smiled and drove away.