Murder Most Royal

Anyway, it was too late. Roland had her cornered now, and told her a long and involved story, told to him by his grandfather in Singapore, about drug gangs in the UK who bought their way into pigeon racing clubs so they could use the sale of prize pigeons for nefarious money-laundering purposes. Roland wondered if the practice had yet reached Norfolk. She assured him it hadn’t. The fellow pigeon fanciers she encountered in East Anglia were some of the most straightforward people she knew. By the time she had reassured him not to worry, Hugh St Cyr was talking about the future of British farming in the wake of the loss of EU subsidies, and the conversation had moved on.

* * *

When the front door was shut behind them, Charles came to join his mother in the saloon. ‘Well, that went better than I feared. Poor Hugh, though. He looked practically at death’s door.’ And, as if prompted by that thought: ‘You’re not too exhausted, are you, Mummy?’

‘No, I can just about stand, thank you,’ she told him drily. ‘So tell me, what was Flora saying about Ned’s visit? I was distracted by pigeons.’

‘Nothing much. Only that they must have been some of the last people to see him alive. Papa asked point-blank if they had an alibi for the next day – I think he was joking – and Flora said she and her father spent several hours with the vicar, so unless he’s in on it . . . Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it, because the police have their man, thank goodness.’

The Queen nodded. She still wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 10

Her suspicions proved correct. When Rozie arrived in the office with the boxes the following morning, she announced that Jack Lions had been released. Perhaps ‘parking nearby’ had not been enough of a reason to detain him. Given his relationship to the victim, the Queen was relieved. She saw this as a positive development, although no doubt Bloomfield and his team would be disappointed.

However, as they were preparing to entertain their guests in the ballroom for New Year’s Eve, Rozie updated the royal couple with some worrying information.

‘Apparently Mr Lions has given the Sunday Recorder an exclusive interview, ma’am. It will be in the paper tomorrow. They wanted to let us know, because your name will be mentioned.’

‘Mine? Why?’ the Queen wondered.

‘They wouldn’t say. They were only informing us as a matter of courtesy.’

‘Do you have any idea what it might be?’

Rozie had just had a short and difficult conversation with the chief constable, who in turn had just had a short and difficult conversation with his team at the major crimes unit HQ. Both were sorry. It was maddening that the Queen had been landed in it like this, with no warning at all.

‘It turns out that Lions did have an alibi for the fifteenth,’ Rozie explained.

‘A good one?’

‘Er, yes, ma’am. It was provided by a Met officer who was working undercover with a group of animal rights activists. He recognised Mr Lions from a news item about the arrest. It turned out he was at a meeting in North London all day, to coordinate a campaign against a couple of medical laboratories. The Met officer saw him there in person. CCTV footage confirmed it, and once they presented him with the evidence, he admitted it straightaway.’

‘Why not say so before?’ Prince Philip wondered. ‘Surely planning to attack a laboratory is better than being accused of chopping up your own father?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rozie agreed. ‘They thought Lions seemed to be spinning out his detention deliberately. Apparently, he had a huge smile on his face when he made his admission. As if he had scored some sort of point.’

‘What sort of point?’

Rozie shook her head. ‘I asked, and they don’t know.’

The Queen pursed her lips. ‘Given what he was really doing, I think I have an inkling.’

She sighed and hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought.

* * *

It was worse.

INNOCENT MAN HELD FOR SANDRINGHAM MURDER

HEAVY POLICE TACTICS TO PROTECT QUEEN’S CHRISTMAS

JACK LIONS – HOW I WAS SNATCHED TO SPARE HM’S BLUSHES – FULL INTERVIEW INSIDE

Nobody dared read the tabloid in question too ostentatiously in the morning, but surreptitiously, it was snatched up and perused by everyone in the house.

‘The bastard!’ Philip said, the first to voice his opinion. ‘The absolute bastard.’

‘It had nothing to do with you!’ Sophie Wessex complained to the Queen, affronted on her behalf.

‘Those pictures of Bloomfield arriving at Sandringham on Christmas Eve . . .’ Anne pointed out tersely. ‘Not ideal.’