Keith Finch’s lips twisted grimly. ‘Yes, to both questions. DI Jennings mentioned that he was a person of interest in Iris’s murder not long ago. Apparently, he holds a lot of wild parties with friends of his that come down from London. The Inspector is not sure if the rumours of drugs and debauchery that surround his set are accurate or not, but the village on the whole tends to regard him as a bad lot. And Iris was known to be friendly with him.’
‘Something he denies,’ Clement grunted.
‘Yes, well, that’s hardly surprising is it?’ Keith Finch responded laconically. ‘And yes, naturally, I’ve seen him out and about in the village and we exchange the odd pleasantry, but I can’t say that I know the man. Or want to. But since I learned he was on the radar for Iris’s killing I’ve put out a few feelers amongst my friends both here and further afield and from what I can tell he’s – legally at least – above board. He inherited a lot of money from his late wife, and has invested most of it in real estate and art galleries.’ The Superintendent paused and put the tips of his fingers together in what was obviously a subconscious habit, before smiling wryly. ‘Now as I’m sure you’re aware, there can be a lot of hanky-panky going on in the art world – I had a word with a chap who specialises in art forgery and whatnot, and the things he told me made my hair stand on end! I can tell you, I’ll never go into another museum and look at the pictures in the same light again. But having said that, our friend Crowley’s name hasn’t been mentioned in connection with anything remotely shady. He tends to steer clear of fake Corot’s and what-have-you, and specialises instead, in a quiet sort of way, with promoting and selling new painters. There’s a growing market for them apparently.’
He shrugged. ‘Not that a clean sheet in his business-practices means anything. If Iris did fall foul of him in some way, it won’t have had anything to do with his work, but with his social life.’
‘Yes I tend to agree,’ Clement mused. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but the thinking is that she met someone a bit wild at one of the parties and things got out of hand, yes?’
The other man nodded but frowned. ‘Yes, but I’m not sure how seriously DI Jennings is pursuing that line of inquiry. It presupposes that Iris met some man who really lost his head over her and strangled her in a fit of … well, who can say?’ He shot a quick look at Trudy, who was looking rather young and innocent, and had to remind himself that she was a very able police officer. He cleared his throat and carried on gamely. ‘But if Iris did meet someone who was off his head on drugs or mentally unstable, or a bit of a sexual sadist, it seems odd that they’ve been able to find no trace of him. This is a small village, after all, not a big city. Anyone out of place would have been clocked and observed almost at once.’
Clement nodded glumly.
But Superintendent Finch wasn’t quite finished. ‘However, I’m not inclined to let Crowley off the hook quite yet. When I was asking around about him, a friend of mine from the golf club told me in confidence that he knows a chap called Rhys Owen, who apparently is well in with Mortimer Crowley and his arty friends. He told me this Rhys fellah is often as drunk as a skunk and in a bragging mood, and liked to hint about his daring peccadilloes with the opposite sex. And had boasted that he’d attended one or two parties locally that had proved very interesting indeed. I wanted to talk to him and narrow that down a bit, but unfortunately he’s a slippery bastard, and I couldn’t manage to get hold of him. I don’t know whether he was so anxious to avoid me because I’m with the police, or because I’m David’s father. But you might have more luck?’
He turned to Trudy as he finished speaking.
‘Yes sir,’ Trudy said, taking that as an order. ‘We’ll make that a priority.’ Then she took a deep breath and glanced at Clement. ‘There is one more thing we’ve come up with that might prove very helpful. Do you know if David kept a journal or a diary, sir?’
The Superintendent looked at her quickly, his eyes flickering rapidly in thought. ‘I’m not sure,’ he finally said. ‘What makes you think that he might have done?’
‘Somebody mentioned him writing something down in a notebook or pocket diary-type thing,’ Trudy said vaguely, aware that she was being evasive, but not wanting to give the grieving father false hope. ‘Of course, it may have been something he had taken up recently – after Iris died.’
Keith nodded. ‘That sounds like something David might do. He was very methodical, you know. Painstaking. I suppose it had to do with his love of engineering …’ He broke off and cleared his throat again. ‘My son didn’t kill that girl, Constable, I’m sure of it.’ He stiffened his shoulders briskly. ‘But you’re right. If he did keep some sort of a record, it’s vital that we find it.’
‘You haven’t come across it in his things then, sir?’ she prompted gently. ‘Here in the house, I mean?’
‘No. But his mother might have some idea …’ He clicked his fingers angrily as something obviously occurred to him. ‘I’ll go and search his student digs myself. We haven’t got around to collecting his things from there yet. What with one thing and another, neither of us have felt like facing it. I could kick myself for not doing
