Murder at the Chase by Eric Brown

Author:Eric Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780105772
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2014-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Langham woke at eight the following morning and blinked up at the stipple-plastered ceiling between the blackened oak beams. Sunlight streamed in through the window as he’d forgotten to draw the curtains late last night when they’d returned from the Midland. The dinner had been wonderful, bringing back fond memories of their first meal there three months ago. They had talked about everything except what had happened at Humble Barton, and it was a relief to clear their minds of recent events and consider other things: books, the plays they’d seen together recently and the forthcoming films they hoped to catch. At one point he’d even wondered, as the evening was going so well, whether he should pop the all-important question, but decided, what with the shadow of the murder hanging over them, that the time was not quite right.

The bathroom across the landing was vacant at eight thirty, so he drew himself a hot bath and stewed for twenty minutes. He dressed, tapped on the communicating door between his and Maria’s bedroom, and on receiving no reply opened the door a fraction and peered in. Maria was still asleep, her hair mussed, her face childlike without make-up. He retreated and descended to the kitchen.

He found Alasdair attaching a lead to Rasputin’s collar.

‘Edward?’ Langham asked.

‘He didn’t get back till a little after midnight. They gave him a thorough grilling, asked him to detail his movements since leaving here on Saturday.’ Alasdair gestured to the table. ‘Help yourself to toast. And there’s a pot of tea on the Aga. I’m just going to take the hound for his constitutional.’

Langham poured himself a cup of black tea, buttered a round of toast and added a dollop of marmalade, then stepped out on to the patio. He sat at a small table in the sunlight, thinking that breakfast al fresco was something he was unable to enjoy back at his Notting Hill flat.

He was on his second slice of toast when Edward Endicott joined him, slapping a copy of the Daily Express down on the table and almost falling into the opposite chair.

‘God, I’m tired. Didn’t sleep a wink.’

‘I heard the constabulary kept you up.’

‘And how. Thought I’d never get away. Four bloody hours they kept at it, going over the same old ground. I swear I didn’t know whether I was on this earth or Fuller’s by the time they let me go.’

‘Detective Inspector Montgomery?’

‘That’s the chap. Small, ferrety – in more ways than just his appearance. He sank his teeth in and wouldn’t let go.’

‘Well,’ Langham ventured, ‘you did mysteriously vanish rather coincidentally.’

He watched Endicott closely as he said this, but the big man didn’t bat an eyelid or demur. ‘Oh, I know they’re just doing their job, Donald. But I wish they’d left it until this morning. And when I did finally get to bed, dog tired as I was, I couldn’t drop off. Couldn’t help thinking of Stafford, dead. Hard to believe, poor man.’

Langham shrugged. ‘As the Reverend Denbigh might phrase it, he’s been called to his eternal reward.

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