A Share in Death

“The Superintendent here,” again that swift glance at Kincaid, “thinks I ought to fess up. And I’d much rather confess to you, Inspector, than Chief Inspector Nash.” Cassie awarded Raskin a floodlit smile.

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“Do go on.”

“I said that I spent Sunday night alone in my cottage. Well, it’s not true. I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t in my cottage. I’d met Graham Frazer in the empty suite … oh, around ten, I guess, and we were there until nearly midnight.” Kincaid marveled at her ability to turn a potentially embarrassing revelation into an almost flirtatious challenge.

“Did you do that often?” Raskin asked, then colored slightly as he realized how it sounded. “I mean, the two of you.” Not much better, thought Kincaid, amused to see a crack in the imperturbable Raskin’s composure.

“Well, we’ve had a thing, you might say, for the last year or so.” Cassie drew on her cigarette and leaned forward confidentially. “Graham didn’t want anyone to know. Custody problems. Of course, I would have said something right away if I’d known it would be important. I hope,” her voice became intense, “it won’t have to go any farther.”

Raskin stood and moved toward the door. “I can’t make any promises, of course.” He sounded ingratiatingly smitten. “Thank you for being so cooperative, Miss Whitlake.” Raskin’s emphasis fell on the formal address. He’d had the last word, after all.

“How’d you manage to worm that tidy bit of information out of her?” Raskin asked Kincaid when he had shut the door.

“My irresistible charm.” Kincaid grinned. “That, and a bull’s-eye guess. I told her I knew they’d been together, but I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t admit it. Figured I had nothing to lose.”

“Apparently not. Let’s have Mr. Frazer in next and see what he has to say about it all.”

Graham Frazer began as intractably as he meant to end, with a bulldog glare at Kincaid. “Stopped sitting on the fence, then? Give you a sore bum, I should think.” Angela, following in his wake, looked mortified.

“Daddy—” Frazer ignored her and sat in the chair, leaving his daughter to stand, awkward and hesitant. Kincaid

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stood and offered her his barstool with a flourish. He won a small smile.

“I was working in the suite all morning. Catching up on some paperwork,” Frazer said in response to Raskin’s question. “Angie was sleeping. That’s what teenagers do, isn’t it?”

Angela bristled on cue. “Daddy, that’s not—”

“Fair,” Raskin finished for her, and smiled. “What is your business, Mr. Frazer?”

“I’m in assurance. A bloody bore, but there it is. It pays the bills.”

“I see.” Raskin carefully straightened his notes. “And you didn’t leave your suite for any reason before ten o’clock this morning?”

“I did not.” Even the bullying humor had left Frazer’s voice, and he offered nothing further. “Now if you’re quite—”

“Angie,” Kincaid interrupted, “what time did you wake up this morning?”

She looked at her father before she met Kincaid’s eyes. “About ten, I think.”

“Angie,” said Raskin, “you can go now, if you’ve nothing to add to your father’s statement.” Frazer started to rise. “Mr. Frazer, if you don’t mind, I’ve a few more questions to ask.”

“I do mind. Do I have a choice?”

Raskin waited until Angela had gone out and closed the door behind her. “You can have a solicitor present if you wish, of course, but these are very informal inquiries, Mr. Frazer. We are not accusing you of anything.” Frazer deliberated, then nodded once. He’s decided he’s better off not to make a fuss at this point, thought Kincaid.

“Mr. Frazer, Miss Whitlake has informed us that the two of you were together on Sunday evening, from around ten o’clock until midnight. You had both previously made statements to the contrary. According to Miss Whitlake you urged her not to mention this as you were concerned about your child-custody hearing.”

Graham Frazer’s flat, heavy face didn’t register emo-

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tions easily, but Kincaid thought his utter stillness indicated the extent of his shock. After a long moment, he spluttered, “She told you that? Cassie? She was the one who insisted—” He fell silent, then said softly, “Bitch. I knew she was trying something on.”

“Are you saying that you were not the one to suggest lying about your activities that evening?” Some of Raskin’s polite formality had dropped away.

“Yes. I mean no. It wasn’t my idea. Why should it make any difference to the damned custody hearing? And even if it did, I’m not sure I’d care—I’m beginning to think Marjorie’s welcome to her. No, Cassie was the one worried about her reputation. Begged me not to embarrass her.” Fra/er gave a mirthless snort. “She’s the one who’s made me look a fool.”