Over My Dead Body, page 4
Miles smiled as he picked up his knife and fork. ‘On one condition,’ he said. ‘Make it clear that if Christina ever breaks the agreement, I’ll dock her monthly allowance until the million is paid back.’
• • •
‘So how was the lecture?’ asked William, pulling back Beth’s chair before she took her place at their table.
‘We listened to different arias from La bohème, after which Catherine explained the dramatic realism of Puccini’s operas. I can’t wait for tomorrow.’
‘Tosca or Madame Butterfly?’ asked William as Franco handed him a menu.
‘Madame Butterfly – want to join us?’
‘I fear I’ll be otherwise occupied with a chrysalis who’s hoping to become a butterfly. Did you find out if she’s the wife of Mr Justice Whittaker?’
‘The same, and Charlotte has invited us to join them for dinner tomorrow evening,’ said Beth. William became distracted when Fraser Buchanan entered the dining room with his wife on his arm. He was dressed in a smart double-breasted dinner jacket that disguised his weight, while she wore an elegant long cream gown which caused several women in the room to take a second look, including Beth.
The chairman took his place at the top of the table. All the men stood and waited for his wife to take her seat at the other end of the table – a cricket pitch away.
‘Who’s the man sitting next to the chairman’s sister, Flora?’ asked Beth, once Franco had taken their order.
‘Andrew Lockhart,’ said William. ‘He’s the company’s doctor and sits on the main board. He’s also the chairman’s personal physician. Buchanan had a heart attack a couple of years ago and since then Lockhart has accompanied him on every trip.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Beth. ‘He must be two or three stone overweight.’
‘I’d be two or three stone overweight,’ said William, ‘if I spent half my life on a cruise liner.’
‘Would you like to order, madam?’ said Franco.
‘Two consommés followed by Caesar salads,’ said Beth without looking at the menu.
William smiled as he closed his menu and handed it back to Franco.
‘Are you married, Franco?’ he asked innocently.
‘Only for fourteen weeks a year, sir.’
‘About the same as me,’ said Beth, taking William’s hand.
• • •
The British have many qualities and even more failings, George Bernard Shaw once told the English Speaking Union, and one of those qualities is to ignore an altercation that’s taking place in front of them. The Italians can’t resist watching from a distance, the Germans want to take sides, while the Irish just have to join in.
Beth pretended to be unaware of the raised voices coming from the chairman’s table, while continuing to eat her consommé.
‘I thought tonight’s magician …’ began William.
‘Shh,’ said Beth. ‘As you’ve got a far better view of what’s going on than me, you can give me a blow-by-blow account.’
William suppressed a smile, and began taking a closer interest in the Buchanans’ table.
‘It looks to me as if the chairman is having a heated discussion with his former deputy chairman, while the rest of the table is studiously ignoring both of them.’
‘They don’t want to get involved,’ suggested Beth.
‘A shrewd observation.’
‘So what’s the row about?’
‘Not sure. I can only catch the odd word. But don’t despair, James will give me a blow-by-blow account in the morning.’
‘I can’t wait until then,’ said Beth, sounding exasperated. ‘They might all have murdered each other by the time you next meet up with James. I want to know now.’
‘It seems to be something to do with Hamish Buchanan’s drinking habits,’ said William, but he stopped in mid-sentence when Franco reappeared with their main courses. He placed the two Caesar salads in front of his guests as if nothing untoward was happening just a couple of tables away.
‘I presume you’ve seen all this many times before,’ said Beth, looking up at him.
‘Not quite this bad, madam,’ Franco admitted, as he poured them both a glass of white wine.
‘Perhaps it was unwise for the whole family to travel back to New York together,’ suggested Beth, ‘after what took place at last year’s AGM.’
‘James tells me his grandfather insisted on it,’ said William, ‘despite the bad feeling between him and his son Hamish. I suspect it’s no more than background noise to the old man.’
‘I’m only glad I’m not serving on that table this evening,’ said Franco, before placing the wine bottle back in its ice bucket and leaving them.
‘I wish I was,’ said Beth, as she watched Hamish Buchanan take a silver hip flask from an inside pocket and pour the contents into his coffee.
• • •
‘I thought you told me you’d stopped drinking!’ barked the chairman from the top of the table.
‘Indeed I have,’ replied Hamish as he screwed the top back on the flask. ‘This is no more than a mild sedative prescribed by Dr Lockhart to help me sleep, because as you well know, Father, I’m not a good sailor.’
‘The sea is as flat as a pancake tonight,’ retorted the chairman. ‘Not to mention the fact that I’ve spent a fortune on stabilisers to ensure that every passenger is guaranteed a smooth voyage. Once you’re safely tucked up in bed you wouldn’t even know we were at sea.’ Hamish took another sip from his hip flask. ‘I’d like to taste that so-called sedative.’ Fraser held out his hand, as if it were a command, not a request.
‘As you wish, Father,’ said Hamish, who handed the silver flask to his aunt Flora, who in turn passed it up the table to the chairman. Several passengers, including Beth and William, watched as Fraser unscrewed the top, put the flask to his lips and took a long swig. They all waited for an explosion.
The chairman paused for a moment. ‘Foul stuff,’ he announced, before screwing the top back on the flask.
‘Would it be too much to ask for an apology?’ asked Hamish’s wife, as Fraser passed the flask back down the table. Everyone turned to see how the chairman would react to Sara’s suggestion.
‘I don’t think so, my dear,’ replied Fraser coolly, ‘because no one believes for a moment that Hamish has given up drinking. If you doubt me, I suggest you check the contents of your drinks cabinet when you return to your cabin after dinner.’
Hamish didn’t respond, but unscrewed the top of the hip flask and took another long gulp, before screwing the top back on and placing it in an inside pocket.
• • •
Commander Hawksby sat at his desk, thinking about his next meeting and the potential consequences of getting it wrong. He knew they called him ‘The Hawk’ behind his back, which he considered a compliment – but it wouldn’t be too long before he retired and he didn’t want his reputation to be damaged so late in his career. DI Ross Hogan was the missing piece in the jigsaw that would complete the picture.
William Warwick was the natural leader of the team but DS Adaja, impressive though he was, was not ready to take on the role of second-in-command. DS Roycroft wouldn’t have wanted the job, while DC Pankhurst would in time overtake both of them, but not yet.
The Hawk didn’t need to check Ross Hogan’s record. He’d served four years with the SAS, before joining the Met. He’d spent only a couple of years on the beat before taking his detective’s exam and joining the murder squad. Four years later he was among those chosen few to go undercover, where he found his calling. If a group of rebels had formed a gang, he would have been their leader. He had a Queen’s Gallantry Medal, three official warnings, and a suspension for sleeping with a suspect to complete his CV. However, The Hawk knew he couldn’t leave him undercover for much longer. If Ross was ever to return to the real world and still be capable of obeying an order, it had to be before it was too late for him to change his ways. Was it already too late? Would he resign?
Ross had already played a crucial role in gathering enough evidence to convict Miles Faulkner and get him sent down, even going to prison himself to gather the necessary evidence. Even risk-takers considered him a risk-taker.
When Faulkner escaped, Ross had gone AWOL and become even more determined to snap the handcuffs back on him, because he never believed for one moment that Faulkner was dead.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ said The Hawk.
Anyone who’d seen the man who walked into Commander Hawksby’s office that morning would never have believed he was a police officer. Dressed in a grubby T-shirt, torn jeans and a leather jacket, Ross Hogan looked more like a bother boy than an upholder of the law.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said as he sat down.
The Hawk stared at his secret weapon, wondering how he would break the news, but Ross came to his rescue.
‘As you called me into the Yard for this morning’s meeting, sir, should I assume my days as an undercover officer are numbered?’
‘Over,’ said The Hawk. ‘You’ve been in the field for far too long, Ross. Although you’ll be almost impossible to replace, I’ve decided it’s time for you to rejoin the human race.’
‘Which humans did you have in mind, sir?’
‘I’ve recently set up a small cold case unit to deal with unsolved murders, some of which have been gathering dust for years.’
‘Who’ll be the SIO in charge of the unit?’
‘Chief Inspector Warwick.’
Ross nodded. ‘I’ve watched him at close quarters over the past couple of years, and I wasn’t surprised by his promotion. How exactly would I fit in?’
‘The rest of the team consists of DS Paul Adaja, DS Jackie Roycroft and DC Rebecca Pankhurst, all fine officers. But I want you, Detective Inspector Hogan, to act as William’s second-in-command.’
Ross smiled. ‘Is there an alternative, sir?’
‘Yes, you could return to your old patch in Chiswick, as a traffic warden.’
‘Or I could resign.’
‘You’re unemployable,’ said The Hawk, unable to resist a smile. ‘Unless you plan to end up as a seedy private eye, eavesdropping on errant husbands, which is hardly your style.’
‘When do I start?’
‘Chief Inspector Warwick will be back in ten days’ time. He’s presently having a well-earned holiday on the high seas, so I suggest you also take a break until he returns. Just make sure you’ve shaved and have a bath before you meet the choirboy.’
‘No one will recognize me,’ said Ross.
‘That’s all part of my plan,’ said the commander.
• • •
Franco was pouring hot chocolate sauce over a large portion of vanilla ice cream when a woman’s shrill scream echoed round the dining room. Beth swung around to see Fraser Buchanan leaning forward, shaking and gasping for breath as he clung to the edge of the table.
Dr Lockhart leapt up and was quickly by his side. He untied the chairman’s bow tie and loosened the collar of his dress shirt. Franco rushed across to join him.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked.
‘I need a stretcher immediately,’ said the doctor calmly, ‘and get my medical bag from the infirmary.’
Franco ran out of the room, while all the other diners abandoned their meals and became an uninvited audience to the drama taking place in front of them.
Mrs Buchanan had left her seat at the other end of the table and took her husband’s hand. She was trembling, but seemed otherwise remarkably calm, allowing the doctor to carry out his calling while everyone else stared on in shock. Well, not everyone. William’s eyes never left Hamish Buchanan, who showed no emotion, while his brother Angus joined their mother and placed an arm gently around her shoulders.
Suddenly, Fraser Buchanan turned white, and his head dropped to the table. The doctor tried desperately to revive him, but William knew it could only be a matter of time before he confirmed that the chairman was dead.
Mrs Buchanan sobbed as she knelt down beside her husband and took him in her arms. James burst into tears, a child once again. From a distance, William studied the faces of those seated at the chairman’s table. His eyes moved slowly around the rest of the family as he searched for clues, quite forgetting he was on holiday. Not all of them displayed grief, and two of them didn’t even appear to be surprised by what had taken place. The dining room door suddenly swung open and Franco came rushing back in clutching the doctor’s bag. He was followed by two young ratings carrying a canvas stretcher.
William found himself instinctively getting up from his place and walking across to the chairman’s table to see if there was anything he could do to help.
‘We don’t require your assistance, Chief Inspector,’ said Hamish Buchanan as the ratings gently lifted his father onto the stretcher. ‘You have no authority aboard this vessel.’
An unprompted and unnecessary comment, was William’s first thought, which made him wonder if this tragic event might not be quite as straightforward as it appeared. He recalled The Hawk’s advice when investigating an untimely death: Listen, listen, listen. If you give people enough rope, sometimes they’ll hang themselves. However, William knew Hamish Buchanan was correct, and was about to return to his table and reluctantly mind his own business when Angus Buchanan intervened, saying, ‘Unless I give him that authority.’
‘I think you’ll find, Angus, that I’m now head of the family,’ countered Hamish, glaring at his brother.
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Hamish, that I am now deputy chairman of the Pilgrim Line, and this tragedy has taken place on one of the company’s ships.’
Both men continued to stare belligerently at each other, until Hamish said, ‘Perhaps we should seek Dr Lockhart’s opinion.’
‘Your father has suffered a massive heart attack. As we all know, it wasn’t his first.’
William couldn’t help feeling that the doctor’s words sounded a little too well rehearsed. Even more strange, he showed no sign of grief at the death of his old friend, as if he were a professional onlooker, no more.
‘As I said, we have no need of your services, Chief Inspector,’ prompted Hamish, turning to his aunt for support. But she didn’t reply immediately.
‘I think it might be wise to allow the Chief Inspector to carry out a routine inquiry,’ said Flora, struggling to compose herself in her new role as the grand dame of the family. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to suggest that the family was involved in a cover-up.’
No one contradicted her.
Even Hamish remained silent as the body of the late chairman was carried out of the dining room by the two ratings, accompanied by the doctor and Mrs Buchanan.
‘What do you want us to do, Chief Inspector?’ asked Flora, who seemed to have taken over command.
‘With the exception of James, I’d like you all to return to your cabins, and remain there until I’ve had a chance to speak to every one of you. Mr Buchanan, before you go, perhaps you would be kind enough to leave your hip flask on the table.’
Hamish hesitated for a moment before removing the silver flask from an inside pocket and placing it on the table. A smile flickered across his face when he saw the commodore entering the dining room with Franco following a yard behind.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The person who has ultimate authority on his own ship. Perhaps you could tell Chief Inspector Warwick that we no longer have any need of his services.’
‘Mr Buchanan is correct to remind you, Chief Inspector, that I am the master of this vessel,’ said the commodore gravely, ‘and that my decision is final.’
‘I accept your authority without question,’ said William.
Hamish picked up the silver flask and put it back in his pocket.
‘With that in mind, Chief Inspector,’ said the commodore, ‘I would be grateful if you felt able to carry out a preliminary investigation. While I have no doubt that you’ll find the chairman died of a heart attack, your confirmation will settle the matter. How would you like to begin your inquiry?’
‘By asking Mr Hamish Buchanan to put his silver hip flask back on the table.’
CHAPTER 5
EX-SUPERINTENDENT LAMONT WAS AT HOME reading the Racing Post when Mr Booth Watson QC’s clerk called to inform him that the head of chambers required his presence at ten o’clock the following morning. It was the first time Booth Watson had been in touch since the police corruption trial at the Old Bailey when Jerry Summers, a Detective Sergeant who’d taken one risk too many, had ended up going down for ten years because Lamont had failed to remove a vital piece of evidence that would have got Summers off. Lamont had rather assumed after that particular balls-up, Booth Watson wouldn’t be requiring his services again. Although he intensely disliked the oleaginous QC, the expression ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ ensured that he would be on time for the appointment.
During the past few weeks, he’d also done a couple of jobs for Mrs Christina Faulkner, and wondered if Booth Watson might consider that a conflict of interest. After he’d checked his bank balance, he decided not to mention his double-dating to either party. Lamont made sure he was sitting in the waiting room of No. 1 Fetter Court at ten to ten the following morning. He was kept waiting.
When the Head of Chambers eventually called for him, he didn’t mention Summers or the key piece of evidence Lamont should have switched, but got straight to the point.
‘I need to know what your old friend Warwick is up to at the moment.’
‘Warwick’s no friend of mine,’ said Lamont, almost spitting out the words.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Booth Watson. ‘In which case it should make your task even more enjoyable. I can tell you that the Inspector and his wife are currently sailing first class to New York aboard the Alden.’
‘A holiday that must have been paid for by his father, because he certainly couldn’t afford to travel first class on a Chief Inspector’s salary.’
Booth Watson knew exactly who had paid for the trip, but satisfied himself with repeating the words, ‘Chief Inspector?’
‘Warwick was promoted following the success of the Summers trial,’ said Lamont, who immediately regretted the word ‘success’, as it produced a scowl on his paymaster’s lips.
• • •
‘So how was the lecture?’ asked William, pulling back Beth’s chair before she took her place at their table.
‘We listened to different arias from La bohème, after which Catherine explained the dramatic realism of Puccini’s operas. I can’t wait for tomorrow.’
‘Tosca or Madame Butterfly?’ asked William as Franco handed him a menu.
‘Madame Butterfly – want to join us?’
‘I fear I’ll be otherwise occupied with a chrysalis who’s hoping to become a butterfly. Did you find out if she’s the wife of Mr Justice Whittaker?’
‘The same, and Charlotte has invited us to join them for dinner tomorrow evening,’ said Beth. William became distracted when Fraser Buchanan entered the dining room with his wife on his arm. He was dressed in a smart double-breasted dinner jacket that disguised his weight, while she wore an elegant long cream gown which caused several women in the room to take a second look, including Beth.
The chairman took his place at the top of the table. All the men stood and waited for his wife to take her seat at the other end of the table – a cricket pitch away.
‘Who’s the man sitting next to the chairman’s sister, Flora?’ asked Beth, once Franco had taken their order.
‘Andrew Lockhart,’ said William. ‘He’s the company’s doctor and sits on the main board. He’s also the chairman’s personal physician. Buchanan had a heart attack a couple of years ago and since then Lockhart has accompanied him on every trip.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Beth. ‘He must be two or three stone overweight.’
‘I’d be two or three stone overweight,’ said William, ‘if I spent half my life on a cruise liner.’
‘Would you like to order, madam?’ said Franco.
‘Two consommés followed by Caesar salads,’ said Beth without looking at the menu.
William smiled as he closed his menu and handed it back to Franco.
‘Are you married, Franco?’ he asked innocently.
‘Only for fourteen weeks a year, sir.’
‘About the same as me,’ said Beth, taking William’s hand.
• • •
The British have many qualities and even more failings, George Bernard Shaw once told the English Speaking Union, and one of those qualities is to ignore an altercation that’s taking place in front of them. The Italians can’t resist watching from a distance, the Germans want to take sides, while the Irish just have to join in.
Beth pretended to be unaware of the raised voices coming from the chairman’s table, while continuing to eat her consommé.
‘I thought tonight’s magician …’ began William.
‘Shh,’ said Beth. ‘As you’ve got a far better view of what’s going on than me, you can give me a blow-by-blow account.’
William suppressed a smile, and began taking a closer interest in the Buchanans’ table.
‘It looks to me as if the chairman is having a heated discussion with his former deputy chairman, while the rest of the table is studiously ignoring both of them.’
‘They don’t want to get involved,’ suggested Beth.
‘A shrewd observation.’
‘So what’s the row about?’
‘Not sure. I can only catch the odd word. But don’t despair, James will give me a blow-by-blow account in the morning.’
‘I can’t wait until then,’ said Beth, sounding exasperated. ‘They might all have murdered each other by the time you next meet up with James. I want to know now.’
‘It seems to be something to do with Hamish Buchanan’s drinking habits,’ said William, but he stopped in mid-sentence when Franco reappeared with their main courses. He placed the two Caesar salads in front of his guests as if nothing untoward was happening just a couple of tables away.
‘I presume you’ve seen all this many times before,’ said Beth, looking up at him.
‘Not quite this bad, madam,’ Franco admitted, as he poured them both a glass of white wine.
‘Perhaps it was unwise for the whole family to travel back to New York together,’ suggested Beth, ‘after what took place at last year’s AGM.’
‘James tells me his grandfather insisted on it,’ said William, ‘despite the bad feeling between him and his son Hamish. I suspect it’s no more than background noise to the old man.’
‘I’m only glad I’m not serving on that table this evening,’ said Franco, before placing the wine bottle back in its ice bucket and leaving them.
‘I wish I was,’ said Beth, as she watched Hamish Buchanan take a silver hip flask from an inside pocket and pour the contents into his coffee.
• • •
‘I thought you told me you’d stopped drinking!’ barked the chairman from the top of the table.
‘Indeed I have,’ replied Hamish as he screwed the top back on the flask. ‘This is no more than a mild sedative prescribed by Dr Lockhart to help me sleep, because as you well know, Father, I’m not a good sailor.’
‘The sea is as flat as a pancake tonight,’ retorted the chairman. ‘Not to mention the fact that I’ve spent a fortune on stabilisers to ensure that every passenger is guaranteed a smooth voyage. Once you’re safely tucked up in bed you wouldn’t even know we were at sea.’ Hamish took another sip from his hip flask. ‘I’d like to taste that so-called sedative.’ Fraser held out his hand, as if it were a command, not a request.
‘As you wish, Father,’ said Hamish, who handed the silver flask to his aunt Flora, who in turn passed it up the table to the chairman. Several passengers, including Beth and William, watched as Fraser unscrewed the top, put the flask to his lips and took a long swig. They all waited for an explosion.
The chairman paused for a moment. ‘Foul stuff,’ he announced, before screwing the top back on the flask.
‘Would it be too much to ask for an apology?’ asked Hamish’s wife, as Fraser passed the flask back down the table. Everyone turned to see how the chairman would react to Sara’s suggestion.
‘I don’t think so, my dear,’ replied Fraser coolly, ‘because no one believes for a moment that Hamish has given up drinking. If you doubt me, I suggest you check the contents of your drinks cabinet when you return to your cabin after dinner.’
Hamish didn’t respond, but unscrewed the top of the hip flask and took another long gulp, before screwing the top back on and placing it in an inside pocket.
• • •
Commander Hawksby sat at his desk, thinking about his next meeting and the potential consequences of getting it wrong. He knew they called him ‘The Hawk’ behind his back, which he considered a compliment – but it wouldn’t be too long before he retired and he didn’t want his reputation to be damaged so late in his career. DI Ross Hogan was the missing piece in the jigsaw that would complete the picture.
William Warwick was the natural leader of the team but DS Adaja, impressive though he was, was not ready to take on the role of second-in-command. DS Roycroft wouldn’t have wanted the job, while DC Pankhurst would in time overtake both of them, but not yet.
The Hawk didn’t need to check Ross Hogan’s record. He’d served four years with the SAS, before joining the Met. He’d spent only a couple of years on the beat before taking his detective’s exam and joining the murder squad. Four years later he was among those chosen few to go undercover, where he found his calling. If a group of rebels had formed a gang, he would have been their leader. He had a Queen’s Gallantry Medal, three official warnings, and a suspension for sleeping with a suspect to complete his CV. However, The Hawk knew he couldn’t leave him undercover for much longer. If Ross was ever to return to the real world and still be capable of obeying an order, it had to be before it was too late for him to change his ways. Was it already too late? Would he resign?
Ross had already played a crucial role in gathering enough evidence to convict Miles Faulkner and get him sent down, even going to prison himself to gather the necessary evidence. Even risk-takers considered him a risk-taker.
When Faulkner escaped, Ross had gone AWOL and become even more determined to snap the handcuffs back on him, because he never believed for one moment that Faulkner was dead.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ said The Hawk.
Anyone who’d seen the man who walked into Commander Hawksby’s office that morning would never have believed he was a police officer. Dressed in a grubby T-shirt, torn jeans and a leather jacket, Ross Hogan looked more like a bother boy than an upholder of the law.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said as he sat down.
The Hawk stared at his secret weapon, wondering how he would break the news, but Ross came to his rescue.
‘As you called me into the Yard for this morning’s meeting, sir, should I assume my days as an undercover officer are numbered?’
‘Over,’ said The Hawk. ‘You’ve been in the field for far too long, Ross. Although you’ll be almost impossible to replace, I’ve decided it’s time for you to rejoin the human race.’
‘Which humans did you have in mind, sir?’
‘I’ve recently set up a small cold case unit to deal with unsolved murders, some of which have been gathering dust for years.’
‘Who’ll be the SIO in charge of the unit?’
‘Chief Inspector Warwick.’
Ross nodded. ‘I’ve watched him at close quarters over the past couple of years, and I wasn’t surprised by his promotion. How exactly would I fit in?’
‘The rest of the team consists of DS Paul Adaja, DS Jackie Roycroft and DC Rebecca Pankhurst, all fine officers. But I want you, Detective Inspector Hogan, to act as William’s second-in-command.’
Ross smiled. ‘Is there an alternative, sir?’
‘Yes, you could return to your old patch in Chiswick, as a traffic warden.’
‘Or I could resign.’
‘You’re unemployable,’ said The Hawk, unable to resist a smile. ‘Unless you plan to end up as a seedy private eye, eavesdropping on errant husbands, which is hardly your style.’
‘When do I start?’
‘Chief Inspector Warwick will be back in ten days’ time. He’s presently having a well-earned holiday on the high seas, so I suggest you also take a break until he returns. Just make sure you’ve shaved and have a bath before you meet the choirboy.’
‘No one will recognize me,’ said Ross.
‘That’s all part of my plan,’ said the commander.
• • •
Franco was pouring hot chocolate sauce over a large portion of vanilla ice cream when a woman’s shrill scream echoed round the dining room. Beth swung around to see Fraser Buchanan leaning forward, shaking and gasping for breath as he clung to the edge of the table.
Dr Lockhart leapt up and was quickly by his side. He untied the chairman’s bow tie and loosened the collar of his dress shirt. Franco rushed across to join him.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked.
‘I need a stretcher immediately,’ said the doctor calmly, ‘and get my medical bag from the infirmary.’
Franco ran out of the room, while all the other diners abandoned their meals and became an uninvited audience to the drama taking place in front of them.
Mrs Buchanan had left her seat at the other end of the table and took her husband’s hand. She was trembling, but seemed otherwise remarkably calm, allowing the doctor to carry out his calling while everyone else stared on in shock. Well, not everyone. William’s eyes never left Hamish Buchanan, who showed no emotion, while his brother Angus joined their mother and placed an arm gently around her shoulders.
Suddenly, Fraser Buchanan turned white, and his head dropped to the table. The doctor tried desperately to revive him, but William knew it could only be a matter of time before he confirmed that the chairman was dead.
Mrs Buchanan sobbed as she knelt down beside her husband and took him in her arms. James burst into tears, a child once again. From a distance, William studied the faces of those seated at the chairman’s table. His eyes moved slowly around the rest of the family as he searched for clues, quite forgetting he was on holiday. Not all of them displayed grief, and two of them didn’t even appear to be surprised by what had taken place. The dining room door suddenly swung open and Franco came rushing back in clutching the doctor’s bag. He was followed by two young ratings carrying a canvas stretcher.
William found himself instinctively getting up from his place and walking across to the chairman’s table to see if there was anything he could do to help.
‘We don’t require your assistance, Chief Inspector,’ said Hamish Buchanan as the ratings gently lifted his father onto the stretcher. ‘You have no authority aboard this vessel.’
An unprompted and unnecessary comment, was William’s first thought, which made him wonder if this tragic event might not be quite as straightforward as it appeared. He recalled The Hawk’s advice when investigating an untimely death: Listen, listen, listen. If you give people enough rope, sometimes they’ll hang themselves. However, William knew Hamish Buchanan was correct, and was about to return to his table and reluctantly mind his own business when Angus Buchanan intervened, saying, ‘Unless I give him that authority.’
‘I think you’ll find, Angus, that I’m now head of the family,’ countered Hamish, glaring at his brother.
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Hamish, that I am now deputy chairman of the Pilgrim Line, and this tragedy has taken place on one of the company’s ships.’
Both men continued to stare belligerently at each other, until Hamish said, ‘Perhaps we should seek Dr Lockhart’s opinion.’
‘Your father has suffered a massive heart attack. As we all know, it wasn’t his first.’
William couldn’t help feeling that the doctor’s words sounded a little too well rehearsed. Even more strange, he showed no sign of grief at the death of his old friend, as if he were a professional onlooker, no more.
‘As I said, we have no need of your services, Chief Inspector,’ prompted Hamish, turning to his aunt for support. But she didn’t reply immediately.
‘I think it might be wise to allow the Chief Inspector to carry out a routine inquiry,’ said Flora, struggling to compose herself in her new role as the grand dame of the family. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to suggest that the family was involved in a cover-up.’
No one contradicted her.
Even Hamish remained silent as the body of the late chairman was carried out of the dining room by the two ratings, accompanied by the doctor and Mrs Buchanan.
‘What do you want us to do, Chief Inspector?’ asked Flora, who seemed to have taken over command.
‘With the exception of James, I’d like you all to return to your cabins, and remain there until I’ve had a chance to speak to every one of you. Mr Buchanan, before you go, perhaps you would be kind enough to leave your hip flask on the table.’
Hamish hesitated for a moment before removing the silver flask from an inside pocket and placing it on the table. A smile flickered across his face when he saw the commodore entering the dining room with Franco following a yard behind.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The person who has ultimate authority on his own ship. Perhaps you could tell Chief Inspector Warwick that we no longer have any need of his services.’
‘Mr Buchanan is correct to remind you, Chief Inspector, that I am the master of this vessel,’ said the commodore gravely, ‘and that my decision is final.’
‘I accept your authority without question,’ said William.
Hamish picked up the silver flask and put it back in his pocket.
‘With that in mind, Chief Inspector,’ said the commodore, ‘I would be grateful if you felt able to carry out a preliminary investigation. While I have no doubt that you’ll find the chairman died of a heart attack, your confirmation will settle the matter. How would you like to begin your inquiry?’
‘By asking Mr Hamish Buchanan to put his silver hip flask back on the table.’
CHAPTER 5
EX-SUPERINTENDENT LAMONT WAS AT HOME reading the Racing Post when Mr Booth Watson QC’s clerk called to inform him that the head of chambers required his presence at ten o’clock the following morning. It was the first time Booth Watson had been in touch since the police corruption trial at the Old Bailey when Jerry Summers, a Detective Sergeant who’d taken one risk too many, had ended up going down for ten years because Lamont had failed to remove a vital piece of evidence that would have got Summers off. Lamont had rather assumed after that particular balls-up, Booth Watson wouldn’t be requiring his services again. Although he intensely disliked the oleaginous QC, the expression ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ ensured that he would be on time for the appointment.
During the past few weeks, he’d also done a couple of jobs for Mrs Christina Faulkner, and wondered if Booth Watson might consider that a conflict of interest. After he’d checked his bank balance, he decided not to mention his double-dating to either party. Lamont made sure he was sitting in the waiting room of No. 1 Fetter Court at ten to ten the following morning. He was kept waiting.
When the Head of Chambers eventually called for him, he didn’t mention Summers or the key piece of evidence Lamont should have switched, but got straight to the point.
‘I need to know what your old friend Warwick is up to at the moment.’
‘Warwick’s no friend of mine,’ said Lamont, almost spitting out the words.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Booth Watson. ‘In which case it should make your task even more enjoyable. I can tell you that the Inspector and his wife are currently sailing first class to New York aboard the Alden.’
‘A holiday that must have been paid for by his father, because he certainly couldn’t afford to travel first class on a Chief Inspector’s salary.’
Booth Watson knew exactly who had paid for the trip, but satisfied himself with repeating the words, ‘Chief Inspector?’
‘Warwick was promoted following the success of the Summers trial,’ said Lamont, who immediately regretted the word ‘success’, as it produced a scowl on his paymaster’s lips.
