Read Online Murder in the Cotswolds by Nancy Buckingham - Free Book Online Page B

can feed him. Without delay, please.”
    Such as an arrest and a watertight case for the prosecution before noon? Oh yes, Mr. Superintendent sir, I’ll do that small thing for you. On her way out, Kate glanced in at her own office, waiting lone and empty for her to take up residence. How long would that be?
    * * * *
    George Prescott’s office was on the ground floor of a gloomy Victorian building standing behind the Council House in Chipping Bassett. A reception area was crowded with small desks and tall filing cabinets and two largish women. The accountant’s own room was a degree more spacious, but it had the same slightly shabby air. As did the man himself. On the short side and the plump side, he was the antithesis of smart. Kate knew that this might well be deliberately cultivated. It wasn’t always wise for a professional man to appear too prosperous; his clients got to thinking he was doing too well out of them.
    “Good morning, Chief Inspector ... Sergeant. Please sit down. I wonder ... would you excuse me for just one moment. I have this important letter to get off.”
    “Of course, sir.”
    The one moment stretched as he read the letter through carefully, then set about adding his signature. This was a process that needed squaring up to, a couple of trial runs of sketching with the pen in the air before the name was executed on paper. Then he went to the door and handed the letter out.
    “Right, that’s dealt with. Now, what can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”
    Kate made a slant-wise approach to her objective. She wanted him sitting comfortably, as unalarmed as possible by this visit from the police.
    “I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Prescott. I’ve just joined the division, you know, so I’m very much the new girl.”
    A pale smile on a pale face. His balding forehead gleamed sweatily. He was as nervous as hell, but Kate wouldn’t condemn a man for that reason alone. “I, er ... I was reading about you in the Gazette.”
    Kate had seen the piece herself that morning. Clearly lifted direct from the handout provided by the PR department at headquarters, it was blandly worded; the accompanying photograph, smudgily reproduced, over-emphasised (Kate thought) her thick dark eyebrows and square chin. Sure enough, as Richard Gower had said, it didn’t do her justice.
    “In that case, Mr. Prescott, you will also have seen the news item about Mrs. Belle Latimer’s death.”
    “Indeed, yes. A dreadful business. Most tragic.”
    Kate deliberately didn’t respond, and he babbled on, “Whoever would believe a hit-and-run accident like that could happen in this quiet neighbourhood? Quite dreadful. The poor lady will be sadly missed.”
    Accident? His choice of word was curious. The Gazette (as could be expected in the circumstances) had given the item only minimal coverage, referring to it as a hit-and-run tragedy with not so much as a hint of there being suspicious overtones. But the buzz all over the district was of murder. So who did George Prescott think he was kidding?
    “You knew Mrs. Latimer?” she queried.
    “Knew?” Prescott seemed dumbfounded. “I, er ... I was her accountant, so, er ... naturally I ...”
    “You were Mrs. Latimer’s accountant?” A surprise, this. “You mean, I take it, for the business of the Hambledon Estate, the farms and stables?”
    “Yes. I ... I’ve handled Mrs. Latimer’s financial affairs for a number of years.”
    “So you knew her quite well?”
    “Not, er ... we weren’t exactly on social terms. But, er ... yes, quite well.”
    “Would you say she was a person with enemies, Mr. Prescott? People who might be glad to have her out of the way?”
    There was terror in his pale eyes. “Are you really suggesting that ... ?”
    “Please, sir,” said Boulter swiftly, “just answer the chief inspector’s question.” The sergeant had immaculate timing, Kate noted with approval. Mostly self-effacing during an interview, he came in with precisely the