Anne Perry's Silent Nights: Two Victorian Christmas Mysteries by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

what he could say that was honest andstill kept a remnant of tact? Or did tact matter any more at this point? Surely now it was harsh and dangerous enough that only the truth would serve? If he were taking over this case from someone else, what would he do, were he able to have complete control of it?
    Warner was waiting for him to speak, his face pale with the deep exhaustion of fear.
    “I’d be plain,” Runcorn told him quietly. “There’s not a lot of use going back over where everyone was because they’ve already said, and no one’s going to admit to a lie. I suppose you haven’t found the blade?”
    Warner shook his head.
    “It would have come from someone’s kitchen,” Runcorn observed.
    “We could see who’s missing one?” Warner suggested doubtfully. “But that’d mean pretty well saying as we thought it was one of them, or we couldn’t even look.”
    “And for all we know, it could’ve been washed and put back,” Runcorn added.
    Warner winced, his face clearly mirroring his racingimagination, the Sunday joint carved with the weapon of murder.
    Runcorn clenched his teeth. This was difficult, but he had promised Melisande that he would help, which meant that he must do so, wherever the truth led him, even to angering Faraday and possibly making an enemy of him. Nobody would welcome the sort of questions that must be asked, but to investigate other than honestly would serve no purpose. However painful the truth of why Olivia had been killed, and by whom, it must be found. And, inevitably, other secrets, follies, and shames would also be uncovered. Perhaps even Melisande would be forced to see things she might have preferred to overlook. Runcorn had a strong feeling that very little would be the same afterwards.
    Should he have warned her of his prediction? Should he do so now? Of course he knew the answer in his heart. In the past he had sometimes done what was expedient, said the right things, turned the occasional blind eye. It had won him the promotion Monk had never received. It had also earned him Monk’s contempt, and if he were honest, his own aswell. He could never have Melisande’s love—it hurt to say so—but he would keep the integrity which made him able to look at her without shame.
    “I don’t know whether Sir Alan will look into the weapon more closely or not,” he finally said to Warner. “But what I would do, were it with me, is to learn more about Miss Costain herself, until I knew everything I could about who really loved her, hated her. Who might have seen her as a threat, or a rival? And to do that I would also have to learn a lot more about her family and all those others who were part of her life.”
    “I see,” Warner said slowly, thinking about what that could mean. He searched Runcorn’s face, and saw there was no pretense in it, and no way of evading the truth. “Then that’s what we’ll have to do, isn’t it.” It was a statement. “I’ve only dealt with robberies before, and a little bit of embezzlement, a fire once. It was ugly. I expect this is going to be far worse. We’ll need your help, Mr. Runcorn.” This time there was a lift of doubt in his voice. He was asking as openly as he dared to.
    For Runcorn the die was already cast, he hadpromised Melisande. Warner could add nothing to that. But he realized now that to investigate with any honesty he would have to go to Faraday and ask for his permission, which the chief constable had every right to refuse. Even the thought of facing him, pleading to be allowed to have a part in the case, clenched his stomach like a cramp. But as an investigator he would be useless without Faraday’s approval. The simplest solution might be to ask and be refused. Melisande would have to accept that. She would see Faraday’s inadequacy and recognize it for the pride it was, and excuse Runcorn.
    But would he excuse himself? Not even for an instant. Part of honesty would be using his skill to ask Faraday in such a way