Jennings nodded miserably. Three days ago, this man’s son had been found hanging in a barn belonging to a close friend of the family. So far, although it was early days, there were no signs to suggest that it had been anything other than suicide. Naturally, the village was aflame with speculation, and the newspapers were only too happy to stoke the fires.
‘I find that impossible to believe,’ Keith Finch said. Then he held up a placatory hand as the Inspector opened his mouth to respond, adding quickly, ‘And yes, I know, how many times have we heard family members of suicide victims or murder suspects say exactly the same thing?’ He ran a hand helplessly over his face.
The Inspector, aware that he could put it off no longer, said, ‘Sir, I assure you that we’re going to conduct a proper investigation into everything, but, obviously, I can’t keep you apprised of anything …’
Luckily, he didn’t have to continue. Usually, telling a superintendent things that he didn’t want to hear wasn’t a smart move for a man with ambitions, and Harry Jennings hadn’t been looking forward to doing it. So it was with something of a relief that he stopped speaking as his superior officer again raised a hand.
‘Don’t worry, Harry, I’m not here to ask you to keep me updated. The Chief Constable has already made it clear that I can’t be involved in this thing in any way. Especially with David being a murder suspect in the Carmody case.’
Harry let out a relieved breath. ‘Yes sir.’ But he was very much aware that he was in a uniquely awkward and unenviable position. He wanted to be able to tell his superiors – and the press – that he’d found the killer of the May Queen; and when a murdered girl’s boyfriend hangs himself a few days later, that’s usually taken to be as good as a confession. Which meant that, normally, he could be confident of closing the case once they’d been able to collect some evidence cementing the hypothesis that her lover had killed her in a jealous rage.
But when the dead suspect was the son of a superintendent of police, and an old acquaintance, it could hardly be business as usual. Especially when dealing with a man who, before now, could claim to have high-ranking friends in both the police force and society in general.
But Harry was well aware that the Superintendent would not be able to weather this particular storm unscathed. Unfair or not, the chances were that Keith Finch now faced not only a personal loss, but a professional loss too. For surely the powers-that-be were already making plans to pension him off – the usual fate of anyone who caused them such public embarrassment?
Harry had been careful to make sure that there were no newspapers on his desk that morning, but it was impossible that the Finch family wouldn’t have read the speculation in the local press. He knew David had had a sister, and he could only guess the hell she was going through right now. He suppressed a shudder and sighed gently.
‘The thing is, of course, that I don’t believe for one moment my son killed her, Harry. Of course, I know you have to consider the possibility that he did, but I have every confidence that you’ll find no evidence supporting this. And that you will eventually find out who did,’ the Superintendent added hastily, although there was nothing on his face to indicate whether he believed this to be true or not.
Harry swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze.
‘So, to get down to brass tacks. I’m here about the inquest on David. It’s set for this Monday, yes?’ Superintendent Finch said briskly. Whatever his personal tragedy, he was determined to keep a stiff upper lip, and for that Jennings was grateful. He wasn’t sure, given the circumstances, what comfort he could give to a grieving father in imminent peril of breaking down.
‘Yes sir. Starting at 10 a.m.’
‘And it’s the old vulture presiding?’
Inspector Jennings nodded. ‘Yes, sir. He’s the best, as you know.’
‘I agree. I’ve always rated Dr Ryder very highly – even when he’s being the proverbial pain in our necks,’ Keith Finch said heavily but with a wry twist of his lips.
Jennings merely grunted. In the past, he’d had to have more to do with Dr Clement Ryder than he’d ever wanted. Why the man couldn’t act more like a regular coroner, and just do his job and leave the police to do theirs, he didn’t know. But no, he had to stick his nose in – and, even more annoyingly, often come up trumps.
‘And that brings me to the purpose of this visit. I’ve had a word with the Chief Constable, and he’s agreed with my proposal.’
At this, Harry Jennings felt his heart rate began to ratchet up a notch or two, and a slow, sick feeling sidled into his stomach, making him swallow hard. ‘Sir?’ he asked warily.
‘We might turn a blind eye to things, Harry, but that doesn’t mean to say that the powers-that-be haven’t noticed that that girl of yours and our coroner have developed a habit of, well, shall we say, “supplementing” our more normal lines of inquiry?’
At this point, Harry Jennings got a really bad feeling. ‘Sir,’ he began to object, but wasn’t allowed to finish.
‘Now, I know we can’t expect WPC Loveday and Dr Ryder to help you on the actual Iris Carmody case—’
‘No sir, we definitely can’t! WPC Loveday has barely completed her probationary period and—’
‘But Dr Ryder, as city coroner, has before now done some, shall we say, follow-up inquiries on
