Read Online The Killing of Katie Steelstock by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online Page A

outside want to talk to you,” said Sergeant Bakewell. “I think they’re from the papers.”
    “I’ll deal with them,” said Knott.
    As he stepped out into the High Street bulbs flashed and cameras clicked. Knott had arranged his face into a noncommittal expression. Some years before, when he had been investigating a child murder, a photographer had taken a picture of him grinning. What he was laughing at was, in fact, a comment made by the local Superintendent about the Chief Constable’s wife. The paper, which was indulging in one of its anti-police crusades, had printed this picture alongside a picture of the small victim’s mother in tears.
    Knott said, “You’ll understand, boys, that it’s early days and I can’t tell you anything much yet. I’ve always gone on the principle of working with the press, not against it. Anything I can tell you, I will. I’m staying at the Swan Inn, and if you care to come round at six o’clock this evening I’ll see what I can do for you. One other thing. For today, you’ll have to keep clear of that part of the towpath. We’re planning to take it to pieces and put it together again. Right?”
    “Any leads yet, Superintendent?”
    “I’ve been on this job for six hours, son. If you care to say that I’m baffled, help yourself.”
    This produced the expected laugh. The reporters began to disperse. They recognised an old hand when they encountered one.
    Knott caught Dandridge as he was leaving the station and said, “Somewhere I can have a quick word with you?”
    “In my car. It’s in the yard at the back.”
    He led the way around and they climbed in. Knott said, “This evening I’m going to meet a lot of the local characters. One thing I always like to find out first is, who are the nobs?”
    Dandridge didn’t pretend not to understand him. He said, “The biggest man round here, by a long chalk, is George Mariner. He’s chairman of the local Bench, a District Councillor, president of the Boat Club and the Tennis Club and any other club you care to mention. Not only in Hannington. He’s vice president of the Reading branch of the British Legion and patron of a boys’ club in the East End of London.”
    “Married?”
    “Wife, no children.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “Meet his wife.”
    Knott laughed and said, “Anyone else?”
    “There’s Group Captain Gonville, D.S.O., D.S.C. Retired now. A very nice chap. He’s on the Bench, too. Our third J.P.’s a woman. Mrs. Havelock. She lives in a bungalow near the end of River Park Avenue, with a pack of tearaway kids.”
    Knott thought for a moment and said, “Shalimar or Heavealong?”
    “Heavealong. You certainly seem to have picked up the local geography.”
    “I happened to notice them as I was walking back last night. That’s one of only two places where you could get a car down onto the towpath. Who owns Shalimar?”
    “Roseabel Tress. Artistic.”
    Knott grunted.
    Well before eight o’clock that evening there was a sizable crowd outside the Memorial Hall. They watched the cars drive up, turn into the car park and station themselves carefully in their remembered places around one car that was still there, the cynosure of all eyes.
    Katie’s scarlet mini-Cooper.
    Mr. Beaumorris, who had pedalled up on his ancient bicycle, said to Mrs. Havelock, “I feel like one of the minor guests at a royal wedding. A groom, or gardener, or some other humble functionary who has been invited and hides himself bashfully away behind the important guests.” He did not look either bashful or humble. He looked rather pleased with himself.
    Inside the hall the crowd tended to coalesce into the sort of groups they had formed on the previous evening. The chairs had been left undisturbed, and Mr. Beaumorris took possession of the one in the comer. Rosina Havelock and Harvey Maxton started to dance, but no one else thought this funny and they stopped at once when Mrs. Steelstock came in accompanied by