Nemesis by Rory Clements

Author:Rory Clements [Clements, Rory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781785767487
Published: 2019-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

The door to the interview room opened and Philip Eaton was standing there, leaning heavily on his stick. It was one o’clock in the morning. Wilde had never thought he would be so pleased to see the man.

‘Well, well, professor, what have you got yourself into now?’

‘I think you know a great deal more than I do, Eaton. Where’s Rowlands? Has he let you out on your own? I was beginning to think you were lashed together like mariners at the mast.’

‘Otherwise engaged down in London. I had to use a ministry driver. Actually, I feel rather liberated. Now, tell me exactly what happened and then we can get you out of this place and remove ourselves to somewhere that serves Scotch.’

Wilde told him about his fruitless visit to the Samovar, his encounters with Rosa Cortez, and finally her fatal stabbing in broad daylight in the market place in the centre of Cambridge.

‘A deep wound under the ribcage, into the heart, I believe?’

‘The police haven’t given me the details, but that would make sense,’ Wilde said.

‘Did you see the attacker?’

‘No. One moment we were all looking up at a squadron of Spits, the next moment she was crumpled on the ground. For several seconds I didn’t even know she had been stabbed. There was a mass of people. I saw nothing suspicious and I saw no weapon.’

‘But there was a pistol in her pocket?’

‘So I believe. As I told you, she had one in London, so it was probably the same one.’

‘This is a can of worms, Wilde.’

He nodded. He had been held here, pending inquiries, all day long. Was he being accused of anything? No, Detective Inspector Tomlinson said, but they would like him to stay all the same. They would rather not invoke defence regulations to keep him there, but well, if that proved necessary, so be it.

Wilde didn’t fight his incarceration. Instead he gave the officer Lydia’s number and insisted she be called. He learnt later that she had hurried to the police station, but was kept away from him. Finally he demanded they call Philip Eaton.

And now here he was, back in Cambridge, standing with the support of a stick in the doorway to the interview room. He looked at Wilde with something close to amusement. ‘Come on, Wilde, let’s get out of this place.’

‘You mean I can go?’

‘I pulled rank.’

‘Thank you. A whisky would go down well. Where are you staying?’

‘The Bull again. The bar will be closed but we’ll force the concierge to find us a bottle. A ten-bob note usually works wonders.’

*

The ministry driver had made his way to a guest house for a night’s sleep, so Eaton and Wilde hitched a lift in a police car through the dark, empty Cambridge streets. At the hotel, the concierge blinked as though he had been asleep and informed them that the bar was closed.

‘We know that,’ Eaton said. ‘But we want a bottle of Scotch whisky and we’ll pay good money for it. Cash in hand.

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