Family Portrait by Masterton Graham

Author:Masterton, Graham [Masterton, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction.Horror
ISBN: 9780099561842
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Darien, 18 December

GEORGE KELLY SHOWED his badge, and said, ‘Are you Maurice Gray?’

Uncle John smiled thinly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘I regret not.’

‘Is Maurice Gray here?’

‘Not that I am aware of.’

Jack, who was standing next to George with the collar of his sheepskin coat turned up, pointed to the side of the house. ‘That Cadillac parked there. Does that belong to Maurice Gray?’

Uncle John shook his head. Although the snow was beginning to fall quite thickly now, and George and Jack were shuffling their feet on the doorstep to keep themselves warm, he showed no inclination to invite them inside.

‘If it doesn’t belong to Maurice Gray, who does it belong to?’ asked Jack.

‘I’m afraid that I really don’t know.’

George sniffed and patiently massaged his leather-gloved hands together, and said, ‘We want to talk to Maurice Gray in connection with a homicide inquiry. It’s very important, do you understand that? Some people have been killed. It’s important that we talk to Maurice Gray so that we can eliminate him from our investigation.’

‘I see,’ nodded Uncle John unhelpfully.

Jack said, ‘If he’s not here now, can you tell me when you’re expecting him back?’

‘I’m not expecting him back.’

‘Then do you happen to know where we could find him?’

‘I’m sorry, I regret not.’

At that moment, Cordelia appeared, gliding across the hallway in her striking black evening gown. ‘John,’ she said, ‘do you have to leave the door open? Netty’s complaining of the draught.’

She took one look at George and Jack, and smiled vaguely, her eyes already moving on to something else. ‘I’m Cordelia Gray; Maurice Gray’s sister. Who, pray, are you?’

Jack stared at her in fascination. He tried to look away from her, but found that he couldn’t. He tried to think conventional thoughts about her: procedural, sheriff-like thoughts, but found that he couldn’t do that, either. She was so glacially self-assured; so haughtily erotic; so contemptuous. She stood with her head slightly tilted upwards, her eyes narrowed as if she found it difficult to focus on tradesmen and uninvited callers, one hand perched in a mannered fashion on her left hip. There was something about the way in which her jet-black gown was stretched between the twin blades of her pelvis, with just the slightest suggestion that it clung briefly to her swelling mound of Venus, that made Jack feel irritable and unsure of himself, off-balance, itchy.

And yet, if Elmer Tweed’s story had any truth in it, and George’s suspicions were correct, this woman was closely related to a psychopathic killer. It was even possible that she was implicated in the homicides herself.

Jack usually found that people who killed other people were boring and clumsy. They were never startling, like Cordelia Gray. They never made him feel socially inferior, the way that she did. Nor did they ever make him feel like prey.

Jack tried to introduce himself as clearly and as confidently as possible. ‘My name’s Jack Smith, ma’am. Sheriff Jack Smith, from Litchfield County. This is George Kelly, from the Darien police department.

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