A Christmas Beginning by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

stared at Warner with a look of hope, then seeing Runcorn behind him, his expression closed over.
    â€œGood evening,” he said tersely. “Is there something we can do for you, Mr. Runcorn?” He did not use Runcorn’s police rank, although he knew it.
    Runcorn assessed the situation. There was no room for prevarication. He must either explain himself, or retreat. He felt foolish for having allowed Warner to do this in front of Costain and his wife. Now his humiliation would be that much more public. Faraday could not afford to lose face in front of others; this had been a tactical error, but it was too late to mend now. He chose his words as carefully as he could, something he was not used to doing.
    â€œIt appears to be a far more difficult case than it looked to begin with,” he began. “I imagine that this close to Christmas, like everyone else, you are shorthanded, especially of men used to dealing with crime.”
    The silence was deafening. They were all staring at him, Costain with bewilderment, Naomi with hope, Faraday with contempt.
    â€œThis is an island where there is very little crime,” Faraday replied. “And even that is mostly the odd theft, or a fight that’s more hot temper than cold violence.”
    â€œYes,” Costain agreed quickly. “We … we’ve never had anyone killed … so long as I’ve been here. We’ve never dealt with anything like this before. What … what do you advise?”
    Faraday glared at him. His question had been peculiarly tactless.
    Runcorn knew to retreat. A word of pride or the slightest suggestion of professional superiority, and he would be excluded in such a way that there would be no room for Faraday to change his mind and ask him back.
    â€œI don’t know enough to advise,” he said hastily. “All I meant to do was offer whatever help I can, as an extra pair of legs, so to speak.”
    Faraday moved his weight from one foot to the other, still standing directly in front of the fire.
    â€œThank you,” Naomi said sincerely, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
    â€œTo do what?” Faraday asked with an edge to his voice.
    Runcorn hesitated, wondering if Faraday’s question was a demand that he explain himself, or an oblique and defensive way of asking him for advice. He looked at Faraday, who, as usual, was immaculately dressed, his thick hair neat. But there were hollow shadows smudged around his eyes and a tension in the way he stood which had little to do with the cold. He was in an unenviable position, and with a sudden surge of pity that startled and disconcerted him, Runcorn realized just how out of his depth Faraday was. He had never faced murder before, and people who were frightened and bewildered were looking to him for help he had no idea how to give.
    â€œAsk some of the questions that may lead us towards whoever attacked Miss Costain,” he answered. He chose the word “attacked” because it was less brutal than “murdered.”
    Outside, thunder rolled and the rain beat against the windows.
    â€œOf whom?” Faraday raised his eyebrows. “We have already spoken to all those who live anywhere near the graveyard. Everyone in Beaumaris is appalled by what has happened. They would all help, if they could.”
    â€œNo, sir,” Runcorn spoke before he thought about it. “At least one would not, and maybe many others.” He ignored Faraday’s scowl, and Costain’s wave of denial. “Not because they know who is guilty,” he explained. “For other reasons. Everyone has things in their lives they would not share with others: mistakes, embarrassments, events that are private, or which might compromise someone they care for, or to whom they owe a loyalty. It’s natural to defend what privacy you have. Everyone does.”
    Costain sank back in his chair. Perhaps as a minister he was beginning to