A Share in Death by Deborah Crombie Read Free Book Online Page B

her. Why the hell hadn’t they put a constable on the door, Kincaid thought as he crossed to her, simply to keep things like this from happening. He touched her arm. “Cassie.” She hadn’t looked at him, all her attention frozen on the little tableau by the pool. Anne Percy carefully slipped off her gloves and closed her bag, speaking a quiet word to Peter Raskin. “Cassie,” Kincaid repeated, “let me take you—”
    “No. What happened? What happened to him? He had no right. Oh, sod the little bugger.” Tears began to slip down her face, more anger and shock, Kincaid thought, than grief.
    “Had no right to do what?”
    “He’s killed himself, hasn’t he? Here. He had to do it here, didn’t he? Out of spite. Christ, what am I going to say … how am I going to explain …” The perfect BBC elocution had stretched with shock, the lengthened vowels betraying their South London origins.
    “Explain to whom?” asked Kincaid.
    “The management. It’s my responsibility, to see that things like this don’t happen. And you—” she looked at Kincaid for the first time—“you’re a bloody cop! That ox of a constable said you were a policeman and were ‘assisting them with their inquiries.’ You never said. What have you been doing—sneaking about and spying on us?”
    “Cassie, I’m sorry. At the time it didn’t seem that it was anyone’s business what I did for a living.”
    Her attention drifted away from him, back to Sebastian, and her voice rose alarmingly. “When are they going to take him away? Everyone will see. And why have they shut everyone up together like criminals?”
    Anne Percy recognized the sound of imminent hysteria and came toward them, exchanging a glance with Kincaid. “I’m Dr. Percy. Can I—”
    “I know who you are.” Cassie jerked her arm away from Anne’s touch. “I don’t need any help. I don’t want any sedatives.” She seemed visibly to gather herself together, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a breath.
    P.C. Trumble, flushed and perspiring, clattered down the tile stairs and skidded to a stop at the glass door. Kincaid had to move Cassie gently aside so that the door would open—this time she didn’t flinch from his touch.
    Trumble looked anxiously around for Inspector Nash, then gave a quick puff of relief when it seemed he might be spared immediate retribution. “You’re all right, Constable.” Peter Raskin’s quiet voice held a hint of amusement as he joined them. “He’s just gone out the back to direct the ambulance crew, now that Dr. Percy’s finished.”
    “Miss,” Trumble drew himself up and faced Cassie, “you’re not supposed to be here. It’s restricted. You have to stay with the others until the Chief Inspector’s spoken with everyone.” To Raskin he said, by way of apology, “I didn’t know about the cottage, sir. The others told me, said somebody should inform Miss Whitlake. So I did, and she said she’d join the others straight away. It was only when she didn’t show I discovered she’d come over—”
    “It’s my right. I’m in charge here. I’m responsible forevery … all right.” Cassie subsided, as she looked at the half-circle of implacable faces. “I’ll wait with the others, but it had better not be too long. I’ve phone calls to make.” She was calmer now, and Kincaid thought he detected a certain calculation returning to her manner. Trumble, with frequent mumblings and glances over his shoulder, hustled her off, and Kincaid noticed that Cassie didn’t look at Sebastian again. Well, what had he expected? A grief-stricken farewell scene over Sebastian’s prostrate body? Not bloody likely. Not from Cassie, anyway. Any tears shed for Sebastian would have to come from another quarter.

CHAPTER 5
    Peter Raskin drew Kincaid aside, keeping his chief in line of sight and lowering his voice so that it was audible only to Kincaid. “I’ll let you know the results of the p.m. And the lab reports, if you’re