Gilded Edge, The by Danny Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

featuring Isabel Saxmore-Blaine on her travels, and invariably posing with Johnny Beresford. She was decorously draped around him in exotic and expensive locations, and they made for quite an eye-catching couple. Dressed up or dressed down, caught mid-laughter or unawares, from every angle she looked as though she oozed class. It was as plain as the perfectly poised nose on her face that this woman was on very good terms with the camera – it lapped her up.
    ‘May I ask,’ said Vince, picking up a picture of the happy couple on holiday in Sardinia, ‘how long had Mr Beresford and your sister been going out with each other?’
    The swathe of Dominic Saxmore-Blaine’s hair was yet again hiding half his face. Vince glanced briefly at Mac, as if to check with him what the rules were regarding annoying haircuts, but from Mac’s neutral expression, apparently there weren’t any. Vince would soon change all that once he ruled the world, but right now he contented himself with watching as Saxmore-Blaine did the mental calculation, then his pinched little mouth twitched into life as he spoke.
    ‘Oh, gosh, let me see. They met around about the time I first went up to Oxford . . . so about three years now.’
    Vince put the photo back on the shelf. ‘It’s very important that we talk to your sister soon. Do you have the phone number of the address she’s staying at?’
    ‘No . . . no I don’t.’
    ‘You’re staying here in her flat, yet you don’t have a number to contact her? Not even in an emergency?’
    ‘I’m sorry, but she always calls me, you see, so I don’t. I’m sorry.’
    Vince noticed that Mac was noisily lighting up a Chesterfield, almost as a means of disguising the fact that he too didn’t believe a word he was hearing. ‘Okay, Mr Saxmore-Blaine,’ said Vince, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing him his card, ‘when you next talk to your sister, can you tell her to call us straight away?’
    ‘Yes, of course I will.’
    Dominic Saxmore-Blaine stood up and walked the two policemen to the door. Vince turned sharply to face him and said, ‘You’re not driving, are you, Mr Saxmore-Blaine? Because it’s recommended that if you’ve been drinking, you really shouldn’t drive. Apparently they’re even thinking of bringing in laws against it.’
    ‘No, no, of course not. I’ll get a taxi.’
    ‘Where are you meeting your father?’
    ‘The Ritz.’
    ‘Of course. We happen to be going right past Piccadilly, right, Detective McClusky?’
    ‘Right past it, Detective Treadwell.’
    ‘We’ll give you a lift.’
    Dominic Saxmore-Blaine did that annoying thing with his hair again, a sharp upward jolt of the head, and, for good measure, dealt it a double scrape back with both hands. ‘No, no, but thanks. That’s awfully kind, but I need to get changed first, you see.’
    Vince made a show of checking out young Dominic Saxmore-Blaine’s duds – and, yes, he could see that. They left him to it.

    Vince and Mac sat in the Mk II opposite the Pont Street flat, waiting for Dominic Saxmore-Blaine to emerge.
    ‘You allowed him a choice,’ said Mac, shaking his head.
    ‘I know that.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because, “Can you give me your sister’s number?” is a leading question, because I’ve made the assumption that he does have her number, because it’s a logical conclusion – because of course he does. By posing the question, “Do you have her number?”, there’s no assumption, no following logic, and he has a choice. And it’s the choice he then makes that nails him.’Vince studied Mac’s reaction; the older detective smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘But you knew all that already, right, Mac?’
    Mac lit a Chesterfield and said: ‘She’s quite a looker.’
    Vince rolled down the window. ‘Who?’
    ‘The big sister – who else?’
    ‘Really? I didn’t notice.’
    ‘ Really? I thought you were about to eat her picture.’
    ‘I noticed something else, too. She had lots of