Read Online Death on the Sapphire by R. J. Koreto - Free Book Online
Authors: R. J. Koreto
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that, Inspector, I think the marriage was happy, if not passionate. Mrs. Colcombe has long doted on her children, especially after she became a widow. She is close to her daughter, Kat, and the two ladies are very much alike—sweet, gentle, and not . . . intellectually inclined.”
“But Daniel was different?” Eastley prompted.
“Oh, yes. He was something of an adventurer. Indeed, in a previous generation, he would’ve been empire building in India, and it was his loss that he had been born into a world that has already mostly tamed. Still, he kept on the move, becoming an officer and going to war. He traveled and made friends with everyone from earls to actors.” She smiled. “I don’t mind telling you that he had many female friends as well but never married and never even had a public engagement.”
“But this was before the war?” he asked.
Oh, yes. South Africa—the Boer War—had changed him, as it had changed her brother, Charles, and every man who had gone. “He was quieter when he came back. He had emotional and physical wounds when he returned to the family home. He was thinner and seemed less inclined to travel, although at the time of his death, he apparently had a number of projects going and seemed happy again. There was talk he was writing a memoir of his war experiences, but no one I knew read it.”
That was all the detail she could bring herself to discuss. He had seemed older, but sometimes in his eyes, you could still see the old mischief, the old Danny.
Inspector Eastley listened with care and patience. Frances was impressed despite herself at the way he paid such close attention. Few people did, she had noticed. He really wanted to absorb every single word.
When she was done, he nodded thoughtfully.
“Thank you, Lady Frances, for being so frank with me. It is much appreciated. My men and I will look into this, and we’ll let you know, as representative of the Colcombe family, of any progress.” He stood.
“That sounds very satisfactory, Inspector. May I ask one question?”
“I’m still not going to tell you my department’s interest in this case.”
She gave him an ingratiating smile. “I understand. But I was hoping you could tell me exactly how Danny Colcombe died. All the local police said it was ‘an accident at home.’” This was not a surprise. The word would’ve come down from senior officers at Scotland Yard to keep tight-lipped and spare the Colcombe ladies from hearing any painful details about any accident.
“That is a fair question, Lady Frances. Mr. Colcombe died from a gunshot wound to the chest, apparently while cleaning or otherwise servicing his revolver.”
Frances now saw the full reason for police silence on the matter. Some might conclude that the death had been a suicide—it was easier to simply say it was an accident. A suicide was a horrible scandal.
“I find it hard to believe that such an experienced soldier made a fatal mistake with a firearm.” But then again, suicide seemed even less likely.
“You know about firearms?” asked Eastley, looking amused.
“I know something, Inspector.”
“I wasn’t involved in the original accident investigation, so I’m afraid I have nothing I can add. I must go now, but as I said, I will keep you informed. Thank you again, Lady Frances, for your time and cooperation.”
Frances followed him out the door, where Eastley met up with his huge constable-assistant, and they headed down the street together.
It was supposedly just a manuscript , thought Frances, written by a man who died in an accident. So why is an elite Scotland Yard unit investigating it?
C HAPTER 4
T he next morning started as usual, with Mallow pulling open the curtains and asking, “What shall I lay out for you this morning, my lady?”
“I have a morning meeting, and then I’m going to the National Gallery with friends.”
“I see, my lady. May I inquire which friends?”
A lot of meaning in that question,
“But Daniel was different?” Eastley prompted.
“Oh, yes. He was something of an adventurer. Indeed, in a previous generation, he would’ve been empire building in India, and it was his loss that he had been born into a world that has already mostly tamed. Still, he kept on the move, becoming an officer and going to war. He traveled and made friends with everyone from earls to actors.” She smiled. “I don’t mind telling you that he had many female friends as well but never married and never even had a public engagement.”
“But this was before the war?” he asked.
Oh, yes. South Africa—the Boer War—had changed him, as it had changed her brother, Charles, and every man who had gone. “He was quieter when he came back. He had emotional and physical wounds when he returned to the family home. He was thinner and seemed less inclined to travel, although at the time of his death, he apparently had a number of projects going and seemed happy again. There was talk he was writing a memoir of his war experiences, but no one I knew read it.”
That was all the detail she could bring herself to discuss. He had seemed older, but sometimes in his eyes, you could still see the old mischief, the old Danny.
Inspector Eastley listened with care and patience. Frances was impressed despite herself at the way he paid such close attention. Few people did, she had noticed. He really wanted to absorb every single word.
When she was done, he nodded thoughtfully.
“Thank you, Lady Frances, for being so frank with me. It is much appreciated. My men and I will look into this, and we’ll let you know, as representative of the Colcombe family, of any progress.” He stood.
“That sounds very satisfactory, Inspector. May I ask one question?”
“I’m still not going to tell you my department’s interest in this case.”
She gave him an ingratiating smile. “I understand. But I was hoping you could tell me exactly how Danny Colcombe died. All the local police said it was ‘an accident at home.’” This was not a surprise. The word would’ve come down from senior officers at Scotland Yard to keep tight-lipped and spare the Colcombe ladies from hearing any painful details about any accident.
“That is a fair question, Lady Frances. Mr. Colcombe died from a gunshot wound to the chest, apparently while cleaning or otherwise servicing his revolver.”
Frances now saw the full reason for police silence on the matter. Some might conclude that the death had been a suicide—it was easier to simply say it was an accident. A suicide was a horrible scandal.
“I find it hard to believe that such an experienced soldier made a fatal mistake with a firearm.” But then again, suicide seemed even less likely.
“You know about firearms?” asked Eastley, looking amused.
“I know something, Inspector.”
“I wasn’t involved in the original accident investigation, so I’m afraid I have nothing I can add. I must go now, but as I said, I will keep you informed. Thank you again, Lady Frances, for your time and cooperation.”
Frances followed him out the door, where Eastley met up with his huge constable-assistant, and they headed down the street together.
It was supposedly just a manuscript , thought Frances, written by a man who died in an accident. So why is an elite Scotland Yard unit investigating it?
C HAPTER 4
T he next morning started as usual, with Mallow pulling open the curtains and asking, “What shall I lay out for you this morning, my lady?”
“I have a morning meeting, and then I’m going to the National Gallery with friends.”
“I see, my lady. May I inquire which friends?”
A lot of meaning in that question,
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