Boomerang by Sydney J. Bounds Read Free Book Online Page A

knew are the Kellers. She’s got money, in case you didn’t know, and Wilfred is serious about painting. They move from one course to another through the season. I met Wilfred when I was tutoring in Warwickshire.”
    Reid asked, “Is there anyone you can think of who might have lost his cool with Bullard?”
    “Anyone? My dears, everyone!” Parry’s hands fluttered like butterflies. “Such a dreadful person—he was spoiling my class, I tell you. He upset—deliberately, I’m certain—everybody in turn. Including Val. And our cook. A simply awful person. It’s a great pity no one killed him before he arrived here.”
    Reid’s gaze moved to the painting on the wall. “One of yours?”
    “Yes, indeed. One of my better efforts, I think. If you’re interested, the asking price is two hundred.”
    “I’m not that interested. Was Bullard any good as a painter?”
    “He wasn’t bad,” Parry admitted. “One of the more experienced students. He’d obviously done quite a lot of painting, but he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.”
    He frowned, and asked: “What can I do, Inspector? Can I continue with the class? Take them out sketching?”
    Reid looked thoughtfully at the light blue eyes, the blond hair.
    “I don’t see why not—after my questioning is completed. Of course, no one must leave here without my permission, and everyone must be prepared to answer further questions, as necessary. But I don’t see why you shouldn’t get on with your job.”
    “That’s a relief. The atmosphere is so depressing now. If I can get them outside in the sun, painting again, I’m sure they’ll soon forget this nasty business.”
    “I shan’t,” Reid said. “I’m hunting a murderer.”
    “But it’s good riddance to bad rubbish,” Parry objected. “You really should award a medal to whoever did it.”
    Reid’s smile was bleak. “The police aren’t allowed to take that attitude, officially. When did you last see George Bullard alive?”
    “Ooh!” Parry’s hands fluttered again. “It must have been, let me see...after dinner I gave a demo. He was there—somewhat subdued, I thought, if that means anything. Afterwards, he stopped me as I came out of the studio. I was going upstairs to my room—it’s private, you understand, otherwise I’d get no rest at all. Someone is always wanting something....”
    He drew a deep breath. “Yes, that’s when it was. Bullard stopped me in the passage to ask for a private talk.”
    Reid leaned forward. “Did he say what was on his mind?”
    “There was no need. Students always want to talk about their work.”
    “He said that? Or you assumed it?”
    “I see what you mean.” Parry paused, thinking. “You’re right, Inspector, I assumed it. But what else could it have been?”
    “If we knew that, it might give us a lead.”
    “Well, he didn’t turn up, and I didn’t worry. He was such a bighead, so full of himself, I was surprised he asked me at all. It’s part of my job, of course. But I wonder...students do change their minds and panic when it cones down to the nitty-gritty of a personal crit.”
    “I wonder too,” Reid said dryly. “Mrs. Courtney said you’d asked her to do something about Bullard. Mr. Courtney apparently keeps a low profile. Any comments?”
    Parry’s blue eyes opened wide.
    “You suspect me, Inspector. Yes, you do, it’s no good denying it! That’s wonderful. I can see all that lovely publicity...accused has West End show...it’ll double the price of my pictures!”
    “All right, that’ll do. I may want to talk to you later, Mr. Parry. I’ll see the girl, Snow, next—ask her to come in, will you?”
    As the door closed after Keith Parry, Reid looked at Trewin. The constable probably had never had to deal with that sort before.
    “Queer, would you say?”
    Trewin shrugged. “Not necessarily. The artistic type.”
    “If he is queer, and Bullard needled him...well, they blow up, don’t they?”
    “It’s a