Dead Certain

the Opera House, before he checked into his hotel.”

“Before or after he spoke with Lloyd Clancy?”

Livingston fingered his scar. “I can’t tell you that.”

Carol thought Mark Bourke looked relaxed, disarming as he said, “And I suppose no one else was present?”

“No. No one.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone about this?”

“I would have done so, but when he died…”

“Ah yes, when he died,” said Bourke with polite regret. “Now let’s get this straight. You spoke to Raeburn on Saturday afternoon, and the earliest you could have known about his death was Monday. I don’t understand why you didn’t give the good news about Dingo to Graeme Welton.”

“I didn’t get around to it… And it was the weekend, too…”

“Would you say that you and Graeme Welton were good friends?”

Livingston stared at Carol. “Friends? More colleagues, I’d say. Why?” Before she could respond, he added furiously, “What’s he been saying about me? He’s a congenital liar, you know. Whatever story he’s fed you, it isn’t true.”

Ignoring his outburst, Bourke said, “Would you mind outlining your movements for Saturday and Sunday?”

“Why?”

Bourke sounded faintly surprised. “To assist our inquiries, of course.”

Nicole Raeburn, accompanied by a frowning, fidgeting Graeme Welton, and with Anne Newsome standing guard, sat waiting when Carol got back. Carol showed them into her office, then had a private word with Anne.

“Did you find the journal Martha Brownlye mentioned?”

“No. It isn’t with the papers taken from the house. I called Martha and asked her to check with Kenneth Raeburn, in case he took it, but he says he didn’t touch it. I got a full description in case we’d overlooked it in all the stuff brought in, but I’ve double-checked and it’s definitely disappeared.”

The anonymous public-service furniture and serviceable colors of Carol’s office provided a bland background to Nicole Raeburn’s bright candy-pink dress and her highly dramatic gestures. “Inspector Ashton! I just had to see you!” She added with a petulant frown, her heavy head of hair tilted on a too-thin neck, “They wouldn’t let us in, downstairs. Said it was security, or something, but I made a fuss and your constable came and got Welty and me. I like her. What’s her name?”

“Detective Constable Anne Newsome.”

Nicole giggled. “Did you use the title to remind us that you’re police officers?” she said archly. She turned to Welton. “Do you feel a little bit intimidated, Welty?”

Graeme Welton looked as though he was there on sufferance. He made an indeterminate sound and sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping a double tattoo on the armrests.

Nicole Raeburn was wearing what Carol categorized as a “little girl” dress, with many fussy adornments of ruffles and ribbons. Together with her extreme thinness, her attire made her seem very young and defenseless, although by Carol’s calculations she would be at least thirty.

“How can I help you?” said Carol, sitting down behind the familiar protection of her desk, conscious that she felt an instinctive aversion to Raeburn’s sister.

“We want to know what’s going on about Colly.”

Carol’s dislike made her cordial. She said gently, “My report will be seen by the Commissioner, and it will then go to the Coroner to assist him with the inquest into your brother’s death. None of it will be made public until that point.”

“I’m his sister! I have a right to know everything!”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to refer you to my Chief Inspector, or to the Commissioner.”

“I’ll tell Auntie Marge!”

Carol couldn’t imagine the new Minister for Police would welcome being dragged in to mediate. She let the childish threat hang in the air while she assessed Nicole’s state of mind. Her agitated movements and wide-eyed stare suggested hysteria, but Carol was convinced that this display was an attempt to manipulate the situation to her own advantage.

Welton was squirming in his chair. “Nicole, just get to the point.” Again, Carol was struck by the incongruity of such a high, light voice coming from such a powerful body.

His impatience had an effect on Nicole. She glared at him, then turned to Carol. “Inspector, I’d appreciate some kind of progress report about my brother.”

Carol said mildly, “Under the circumstances, I’d be prepared to answer your questions, if I can.”

She was wryly amused when Nicole appeared gratified by this seeming concession, as she had no intention of revealing anything other than the most general of observations.

“So when are you going to prove it was an awful accident? Daddy’s so upset about the publicity, and it’ll die down once you come up with the truth.”

“We haven’t completed our inquiries. In any case the inquest will determine what happened.” Obviously this answer didn’t satisfy Nicole, but before she could comment, Carol went on, “I’d like to ask if you ever saw your brother with a copy of The Euthanasia Handbook.”

“No.”

As Nicole sat tight-lipped after this bald reply, Carol tried another tack. “During my inquiries I’ve heard a rumor that your brother took cocaine…”

Welton’s tapping fingers stilled; Nicole gave a theatrical shrug as she said, “So?”

“He did use cocaine?”

It was clear Nicole considered the subject of little importance. “In the circles Colly moved, it was just taken for granted.” She added with a superior smile, “Like you’d use alcohol, with your friends.”

“Mr. Welton?”

He smoothed his hair. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“Welty, that isn’t true!”

He turned to Carol for understanding. “Inspector Ashton, you know there are always drugs around. Anything used was purely recreational. No one’s into it in any serious way, and Collis certainly wasn’t. He valued his voice too much to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“Do either of you know who supplied him?”

Her face twisted. “ I don’t! And what’s this got to do with him dying? Isn’t that the important thing?” Her eyes filled with tears; there was a rising note of hysteria in her voice. “I miss him so! You don’t know how I feel!”

She seemed to calm down when Graeme Welton leaned over to pat her hand. “Come on, Nikky, don’t upset yourself.”

Sympathy struggled with exasperation in Carol. “I’m sorry, Ms Raeburn. This must be very painful for you.”

Rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, Nicole said, “Have you seen Lloyd Clancy? Everyone knows he hated Colly.”

“Yes, I’ve interviewed Mr. Clancy.”

“Well? Where was he when Colly died? Do you know?”

Repressing a sigh, Carol said, “Because your brother’s body wasn’t discovered until some considerable time had elapsed, the time of his death is impossible to pinpoint accurately.”

“So alibis don’t matter?”

The shrewdness under her childish persona still surprised Carol. “We’re trying to narrow the possible time frame. For example, your telephone conversation with him in the early evening establishes that he was still conscious at that time.”

“Does it matter, since it was a dreadful accident?” she demanded peevishly.

Carol’s reply was matter-of-fact. “If it was an accident-probably not. If murder-yes.”

“Murder? It was an accident! It couldn’t have been anything else. When are you going to see that?” When Carol didn’t respond, she demanded, “Why won’t you give me straight answers? I’m entitled to know!”