Murder, London - Miami by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime
Publisher: House Of Stratus
Published: 2014-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Roger sat in the back of his car with Sloan at his side, and Larson, the Yard’s photographic expert, in the seat next to a plain-clothes man at the wheel. There wasn’t much to say because little more was known. He had learned that Dr Courtways had telephoned the Yard and been put through to the Commander; she had first asked for West, but he had been engaged.

“Wouldn’t have made any difference,” Roger said to Sloan. “The plane left an hour before we heard about it.”

“Do we know how she died?” asked Larson. “Not one of these chopper jobs, I hope.”

“Strangled, according to Richmond.” Roger had talked to Superintendent Callen, just before leaving, and they were going straight to the nursing home, where Callen would meet them.

“Any special angle to follow?” asked Sloan. He was a big, fresh-faced, schoolboyish-looking man who was now running to fat, which made him less wholesome-looking than he had been when he and Roger had first worked together. Weight, marriage, and possibly disappointment had slowed him down in more ways than one. He had resigned himself to being a top-flight second-in-command, and if he were ever moved up to superintendency it would be towards the end of his career, and because of seniority. He could carry out orders, but somehow could not make decisions quickly enough to ensure his promotion,

“It’s going to be tricky,” Roger told him. “Particularly if we run into any of the patients. Dr Courtways may prevent it, but it may not be possible.” He related what had happened only two afternoons before, and an uneasy silence followed.

Traffic was very thick. It would be twelve o’clock before they reached the place, but it was no use worrying, Roger told himself and then glared out of the window, because he was worrying.

Those violet eyes .

Could it be argued that Yolande Marshall was better off dead?

Roger pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t relevant. What mattered was who had killed her and why, and whether Sir David Marshall could possibly know anything about it. He had already started enquiries, through the Yard’s legal department, to find out who would benefit from Lady Marshall’s death.

Her husband, presumably; perhaps also the cousin in Miami.

And one other person; a person who would benefit enormously because Marshall was now free to marry her.

Henrietta Lyle.

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