Bad Blood by Geraldine Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

happy to listen as the combatants poured out their grievances. In spite of the grievances, he thought it likely they did look out for one another as she claimed. Though if the ‘Mat Wars’ and the ‘Freddy Talbot Spat' were indicative, they also appeared to share a real family's inclinations towards bickering, spite and grudge holding.
    He guessed from her expression, that Amelia Frobisher was about to indulge in the second of these woeful family tendencies and claim payback – from Rita Atkins at least.
    ‘Of course, you know, Inspector, poor Mrs Atkins has a little problem.' As though she suspected eavesdroppers concealed behind her flounced arras, Miss Frobisher confided in a conspiratorial stage whisper, 'She drinks. It's what makes her turn from quiet and meek into loud and vulgar. I understand she feels offended that I have never included her in our little theatrical soirées with the rest of the residents of the block. But I mean – how could one? Since you chose to speak to her first, before coming to see me’ – another grievance? Rafferty wondered – ‘you must have noticed the smell of whisky on her breath, even this early in the day. Who is to know what kind of an exhibition she would make of herself – and us – if she decided to make free of the bar during one of our theatre trips?’
    Amelia Frobisher shook her head as though to indicate she spoke more in sorrow than condemnation, though whether this was a true reflection of her feelings Rafferty was inclined to doubt. Like Rita Atkins, Miss Frobisher was another who chose indiscretion.
    A degree of sensitivity might have reflected better on both of them, Rafferty thought. Though as a policeman with a murder to solve, he was just grateful that, thus far, the residents he had interviewed had seemed to feel his ears suitable receptacles for their outpourings.
    And this latest outpouring provided one possible solution as to how the intruder had gained admission. If Rita Atkins was as careless as Miss Frobisher had implied, she might have left the front door unsecured. Though that still didn't explain how the murderer had gained access to Clara Mortimer‘s apartment.
    Amelia Frobisher's next words went some way to explaining what might have happened.
    ‘Of course, as warden, Mrs Atkins keeps skeleton keys to each of the apartments as a security measure in case any resident living alone should press the panic button and she needed to let the emergency services in.’
    Rita Atkins had not only failed to mention if any of the sets of skeleton keys had gone missing – she hadn't mentioned them at all.
    At a nod from Rafferty, Llewellyn slipped from the room to obtain an answer to this question. He was back in less than five minutes. His shake of the head to Rafferty indicated all the skeleton keys were present and correct.
    ‘I presume the panic bell sounded in the warden's apartment?’ Rafferty now asked.
    Miss Frobisher nodded. ‘I have to say, that in spite of the drinking, Mrs Atkins always answered the bell. I can't fault her on that.’
    From the wistful note in her voice, Rafferty guessed she would have liked to. He wondered how the other residents felt about her 'adoption' of them. From what she had said about Clara Mortimer‘s refusal to join them on their excursions, it sounded as if Mrs Mortimer, at least, hadn't much relished being gathered to Amelia Frobisher‘s flat bosom.
    ‘I know Mrs Atkins claimed that Clara didn't press the panic button,’ Miss Frobisher mused aloud. ‘There are several in each room. You're always within a few paces of one or the other.’ She eyed them speculatively before she suggested, ‘But there's a first time for everything, and I did rather wonder, if on this occasion, and given our warden's unfortunate and increasing habit, whether she simply didn't hear the bell and slept through it…’
    Amelia Frobisher didn't pursue the subject further. She had planted the seed. Now she could wait to let the idea