A Quiet Kill by Janet Brons Read Free Book Online

Commission and the Roxborough, where the Canadians were staying.
    â€œUseful day?” inquired Hay, before testing his pint.
    â€œI think so, sir,” replied Wilkins. “We only finished twenty minutes ago; Ouellette, poor sod, hadn’t even checked into his hotel yet. I hope his bags have arrived by now—they seem to have been left behind in Ottawa. Anyway, we did quite a lot of digging on Guévin, and we might have some interesting stuff. Ouellette’s alright, you know,” he added. “Good officer. A bit young, maybe, but a good head for investigation.”
    Hay thought the comment on youth a bit odd coming from Wilkins, who must have been all of thirty-one. He spotted the Canadians standing in the door and waved them over. Inspector Forsyth, Sergeant Ouellette, and Gerry Middleton had been squinting in the entrance, trying to get their bearings. Two more pints and a glass of red wine, and they got down to business.
    â€œJust one item first,” said Liz Forsyth, lighting a king-size cigarette. “Middleton here has something to clear up.”
    When Middleton began to speak, Hay realized he had not heard the security man say more than a word or two before. Middleton had a shrill, somewhat whiny voice, whose only virtue was that it could easily be heard over the music.
    â€œI believe,” Middleton began, “that my visit to the High Commissioner earlier today may have caused some misunderstanding.” Wilkins and Ouellette exchanged puzzled glances. “You see,” he squeaked, “I have known Wesley, personally, for years. When he was just a Member of Parliament, and I was fresh out of university, I worked for him as a researcher on the Hill. I called on him for purely personal reasons, you see. I guess I should have mentioned it before, but it didn’t seem important. So that’s that. No harm done.”
    Liz looked expectantly at Hay. She wanted this member of the Canadian team—though he hadn’t been her own choice—to be in the clear. But Hay’s face was impassive as he continued to regard Middleton. It was Ouellette who broke in politely, “And what year was that?”
    Middleton responded, “Let’s see, eighty, eighty-one. Yes, eighty-one. Seems like another life now.”
    â€œOkay, fine. Thanks,” Hay said with a glance toward Liz. “Now let’s get on with it.” Hay and Forsyth reviewed the highlights of their interviews and the unexpected intervention of Mary Kellick. “And now, you lads,” said Hay, “what have you been up to?” Hay pulled on his cigarette, conscious of a mild sinus headache hovering behind his eyes. He realized it had been there all day.
    With a polite nod to Ouellette, Wilkins began recapping their activities. A search of Guévin’s flat had elicited nothing of importance, and her office had been similarly devoid of interest. No death threat letters had been found. Her appointment book for yesterday, the day of the murder, indicated an early morning staff meeting, a ten o’clock call at the Ministry of Commerce, lunch with her opposite number at the Australian High Commission, an early afternoon meeting with a Canadian telecoms representative, and a four-thirty appointment with a Dr. Julian Cox of some organization called Eco-Action. A scribbled note in the margin read “Spk Claude.”
    â€œDo you have the appointment book?” asked Forsyth.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” nodded Wilkins.
    Liz winced. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” she said. “Makes me feel about a hundred.”
    â€œShe prefers to be called sir ,” grinned Ouellette. He was quite fond of his inspector. She was one the best, and she didn’t take herself too seriously. Not like a lot of the senior types he had dealt with.
    â€œYes,” agreed Liz, “‘sir’ is far more dignified. ‘Ma’am’ sounds like someone