Murder Offstage: A Posie Parker Mystery (The Posie Parker Mystery Series Book 1) by L.B. Hathaway

Author:L.B. Hathaway [Hathaway, L.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whitehaven Man Press London
Published: 2014-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

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Outside on the pavement, they stood together in an awkward little group: the two Inspectors, plus Posie and Len and Rufus. Overhead, storm clouds scudded across the sky. There was already the tang of brine in the air. The heavens opened suddenly and they huddled under umbrellas.

‘Ah, rain!’ said Inspector Oats, taking a drag on his pipe. He felt uncomfortable standing next to a freed Rufus; unsure of what the next steps would be. The Commissioner had just spent the last ten minutes bellowing loudly and for all to hear at Inspectors Oats and Lovelace: they were now instructed to work together on the investigation, with Inspector Lovelace taking the lead. They were instructed to take whatever advice and leads were forthcoming, including to ‘use that girl who calls herself a private detective if you have to.’ Which meant co-operating with this annoying girl and her pals, for now.

Inspector Lovelace was downhearted too.

‘All I can say is thank goodness the press weren’t allowed in. We got a mauling enough without it being front-page news. We need to get this case back on track, Oats. Pronto.’

Posie coloured a little at his mention of the press; if her plan was going as it should, the story of the La Luna bust would be all over news-stands just about now, on the cover of the Associated Press. And then there would be a mauling, she thought uncomfortably, and she would be the one getting mauled.

‘You should have told me she stole your gun,’ she hissed at Rufus. ‘It would have been good to know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered at the pavement. ‘I wanted to tell you, then I just clammed up. I knew it didn’t make it any better for me.’

‘Cyanide poisoning, eh?’ said Len, cocking his head inquisitively and lighting a cigarette against the wind.

‘Mnnn,’ nodded Inspector Lovelace. ‘Took me down a peg or two, that. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t spot it. The blue was a very light shade, just a fraction darker than normal rigor mortis…’

‘It doesn’t help much anyway,’ growled Inspector Oats. ‘The world and his wife can get their hands on cyanide at a moment’s notice in any chemist! Why, I even put it down in our shed in Isleworth to deal with rats…and gardeners use it all the time for snails.’

‘Mnn, I wonder…’ said Len, half under his breath. He stubbed the cigarette out on the kerb. Posie saw a gleam of interest in his eye.

‘What?’

‘It’s maybe nothing. But cyanide is used by photographers. On a daily basis. We have to use it in the darkroom.’

Posie nodded, interested.

‘And we know one of the gang following you is a photographer…even the paper these people use is impregnated with the smell of zirconium, so…’

‘Go on.’

‘I can’t. It takes us no closer to finding the killer, or your stalker for that matter…and no closer to the Maharajah diamond, either.’

‘Come on, folks. I think we should all go back to the Yard, have a hot lunch and then work out a plan of action,’ said Inspector Lovelace, gesturing forwards, trying to take charge.

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