A Killing Resurrected by Frank Smith Read Free Book Online

door. ‘You’re still welcome to stay for tea,’ he said, but Claire shook her head.
    â€˜Perhaps another time, David,’ she said as she went down the stairs ahead of him and opened the door to the street. ‘I’ll be in touch about that seascape.’
    â€˜Right,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Good night, then, Claire.’ He closed the door behind her, but instead of going back upstairs, he sat down on the steps, elbows on his knees, chin cupped in his hands.
    Barry Grant! The guilt had come rushing back the moment Claire mentioned the name, and he could hear the kid’s voice inside his head as clearly as he had that night thirteen years ago. David groaned aloud. Just as he’d been in life; just when you thought you were rid of him, there was Barry, like an overeager puppy trying to nudge his way into your life. Always there even when you’d made it clear that you didn’t want him there, and you could only put up with that for so long before you became really annoyed. David closed his eyes, but there was no way he could shut out the sound of Barry’s pleading voice inside his head.
    Claire slid the key into the ignition, but she didn’t start the car. She was puzzled by David’s reaction. She’d thought he’d be pleased to hear that the police were reopening the investigation into his father’s death. As for the Chief Inspector’s questions, from what she had learned from watching crime shows on TV, the police always started out suspecting everyone, and they had to start somewhere, so it wasn’t as if David had anything to fear. All she had meant to do was let him know that the police would be coming round to talk to him about the things Barry had said in the letters to Aunt Jane.
    But it had come out all wrong.
    Claire had known David since she was about fourteen years old. He was a quiet boy, a couple of years older than she was, and she’d had quite a crush on him back then. But that had passed and she thought of him more as a brother now than just a friend.
    Their studies had taken them along different paths, but they would meet whenever they were in town together, and Claire had made a special trip back home to be at David’s wedding to Lucille Edgeworth, a girl he’d met on one of his field trips. She liked Lucille, who was outgoing, spontaneous, and full of fun, and a good match for David, who was inclined to take himself a bit too seriously. And yet, she remembered now the almost overwhelming sense of loss she’d felt as she’d watched the two of them join hands before the altar.
    Claire had left for Paris shortly afterwards, where she spent two years studying interior design and working six and sometimes seven days a week in a variety of part-time jobs to support herself and pay for her tuition. She’d heard nothing from David in all that time, but that was hardly unusual, since neither of them were great letter-writers, so it came as something of a shock to learn that he was no longer married when she returned to start her own consulting business in Broadminster.
    â€˜We’re still good friends, Lucille and I,’ David told her. ‘We just couldn’t live together. Turns out our lifestyles simply didn’t mix, so we thought it best to go our separate ways, and I must say we’ve been getting on famously ever since. Lucille is marrying a very nice chap by the name of Ray Fisher. He owns several travel agencies. Pots of money, which is a good thing, because one of our problems was there never seemed to be enough money to go round, and Lucille does love to shop and buy nice things. Me, I just like to be left alone to paint.’
    Claire sighed as she started the car. She and David had been good friends for a long time, and she hoped she hadn’t jeopardized that friendship tonight. Odd the way he’d reacted, though . . .

FOUR
Wednesday, July 8th
    J ack Rogers, Paget discovered, lived in