Common Murder

“Most murders are, aren’t they? But I won’t know who might have killed him till I’ve found out a lot more about his life. That means family, friends, colleagues, and the peace women will all have to open up to me. In return, any of the peace women you want to talk to, you tell me honestly what it’s about, and I’ll deliver the initial information you need. Obviously, you’ll have to take over if it’s at all significant, but that’s got to be better for you than a wall of silence.”

“It’s completely unorthodox. I can’t run an investigation according to the whim of the press.”

“Without my help, I can promise you all you’ll find at the camp is a brick wall. Anyway, you don’t strike me as being a particularly orthodox copper.”

He almost smiled. “When do you want to see the family?” he asked.

“Soon as possible. It really will get the rest of the press off the doorstep. You’ll have to tell my colleagues at the gate that the family asked expressly to talk to a Clarion reporter, or you’ll get a load of aggravation which I’m sure you could do without.”

“Are you mobile?”

“The BMW cabriolet outside.”

“The fruits of being a good investigative reporter seem sweeter than those of being a good copper. Wait in the car.” He rose. The interview was over.

Slightly bewildered by her degree of success, Lindsay found her way through the labyrinthine corridors to the car park, feeling incongruous in her high heels after days in heavy boots, and slumped into the seat beside Cordelia, who looked at her enquiringly.

“I think perhaps I need my head examined,” Lindsay said. “The way I’ve been behaving today, I think it buttons up the back. I’ve just marched into a superintendent’s office and offered to do a deal with him that will keep Debs out of prison, get me some good exclusives, and might possibly, if we all get very lucky indeed, point him in the right direction for the real villain. Talk about collaborating with the class enemy. Mind you, I expected him to throw me out on my ear. But he went for it. Can you believe it?”

Lindsay outlined her conversation with Rigano. When she’d finished, Cordelia asked, “Would he be the one who looks like a refugee from a portrait in the Uffizi?”

“That’s him. Why?”

“Because he’s heading this way,” she said drily as Rigano’s hand reached for Lindsay’s door. Lindsay sat bolt upright and wound down the window.

“Open the back door for me, please,” said Rigano. ”I believe we may be able to do a deal.”

Lindsay did as she was told, and he climbed in. A shadow of distaste crossed his face as his eyes flicked round the luxurious interior. “Drive to Brownlow Common Cottages,” he said. “Not too fast. There will be a police car behind you.”

Cordelia started the car, put it in gear, then, almost as an afterthought, before she released the clutch, she turned round in her seat and said, “I’m Cordelia Brown, by the way. Would it be awfully unreasonable of me to ask your name?”

“Not at all,” he replied courteously. His face showed the ghost of a smile. “I am Superintendent Giacomo Rigano of Fordham Police. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’ve grown so accustomed to knowing who everyone is that I forget this is not a two-way process. Because I knew who you were, I assumed you knew me too.”

“How did you know who I was?” she demanded, full of suspicion. She never seemed to remember that, as the writer of several novels and a successful television series, she was a minor celebrity. It had often amused Lindsay.

As usual, Rigano took his time in replying. “I recognised you from your photographs.” He paused, and just before Cordelia could draw again on her stock of paranoia, he added, “You know, on your dust jackets. And, of course, from television.”

Fifteen love, thought Lindsay in surprise. They drove off, and Lindsay swiveled round in her seat. “What’s the deal, then?”

“I’ve just spoken to Mrs. Crabtree. She wasn’t keen, but I’ve persuaded her. I’ll take you there and introduce you to her. Then I’ll leave you to it. On the understanding that I can listen to the tapes afterwards and that you will give me copies of the transcript as agreed. In return, I need to know who was at the peace camp last night and where each woman was between ten and eleven. If you can give me that basic information, then I know who I need to talk to further.”’

“Okay,” Lindsay agreed. “But it’ll be tomorrow before I can let you have that.”

“Then tomorrow will have to do. The people who want quick results will have to be satisfied with the investigation proceeding at its own pace. Like any other investigation.”

“Yes, but to people round here, he’s not quite like any other corpse, is he?” Cordelia countered.

“That’s true,” Rigano retorted. “But while this remains my case, he will simply be a man who was unlawfully killed. To me, that is the only special thing about him.”

That must endear you to your bosses, Cordelia thought. Just what is Lindsay getting into this time? Maverick coppers we don’t need.