When the Party Died by AG Barnett

Author:AG Barnett [Barnett, A.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oddmoor Press

Chapter

Twenty

“You’ve spoken to your mother,” Brock said as soon as Poole appeared at the entrance to Bexford Station. He had called his young partner from the car park and told him to meet him there.

“Yes,” Poole answered as he jogged down the steps to where the inspector was standing.

“Well?” Brock asked.

“I don’t think she knows what she did. I don’t think she knows she went to the wrong people and got us all in trouble.”

“And you didn’t tell her?”

“No,” Poole said. He shook his head and turned away, conscious of his eyes, which were still red from tears shed on the short drive over. “I couldn’t do it to her. I couldn’t have her living with what that would mean. Me getting shot, Simon dying.”

“You did the right thing.”

“Maybe.” Poole shrugged, wiping his eyes quickly with his sleeve. “But what does this mean for my dad? He’s still to blame for getting us all involved in the first place, but he’s only as responsible as Mum is for what actually happened to us.”

“Talk to him, then,” Brock said in a matter-of-fact voice. “See how you feel. In any case, he might be someone worth asking about Matt Pike.”

Poole couldn’t help but laugh. “Because all criminals know each other?!”

“No,” Brock said, smiling. “Because all criminals know someone who knows someone else who knows everyone. Come on, let’s go and see what bloody Ron Smith has to say for himself.”

“I’ve been thinking, sir,” Poole said as they headed across the car park towards the pathologist's office.

“Don’t strain yourself, Poole.”

Poole grinned at the slight. Whenever Brock was worried or concerned about somebody else, he invariably showed it by mocking them.

He could already feel the stress and sadness of the situation with his family fading into the background as the case and Brock's easy company took to the fore.

“The guests at the manor all had this race to see who could get back first when they were on their horse ride,” Poole continued. “If they all went different ways, doesn't that mean that none of them can vouch for any of the others until they got back? I looked at the map of the estate on my phone and checked where they said they started. The four paths wind off in different directions and there’s no clear line of sight between any of them, too many hills and trees. They’re all roughly the same length, but it’s quite a way back to the manor house.”

“If anything, that gives them all an alibi,” Brock said, as they arrived at the entrance to the council building where Ronald Smith’s office was located.

“Ah,” Poole said, his finger rising in the air. “But the paths wind and bend all over the place. Someone could have left it and headed straight down along the little stream that runs almost all the way back towards the manor and made it back well before the others.”

They walked along the corridor in silence for a while.

“If one of them did do it,

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