doubt â heâd written the date when he got whacked.â
âThe pen seems to have been in his hand, and the cap was off,â Slider said.
âThatâs probably how the murderer got him to sit down with his back turned,â Mackay said.
âGood point,â Slider said. âIâm not sure it helps, unless we can work out who he might have written a cheque to. Of course, it might have been one of the visiting lowlifes. Mrs Kroll said he didnât give people money, but again thatâs just her view.â
âBut guv,â McLaren objected, âmy point is, if chummy did persuade him to write him a cheque, why didnât he wait for him to finish, soâs he could have the money as well?â
âJaney Mac!â Connolly rolled her eyes â evidently it was a thing all girls could do, Slider observed with interest. âItâd be a bit of a dead giveaway, wouldnât it, ya gobshite, if he goes hoofinâ down the bank with the last cheque your man wrote?â
McLaren stood up for himself. âThereâd be nothing to say what time of the day he wrote it. Even if it was the last. If it was me, Iâd have waited and took it.â
Slider took a minute to phone home, and got Joanna.
âI wanted to catch you before you left. All serene?â he asked.
âIâve been resting, with my feet up, if thatâs what you mean,â she said defensively.
âDad all right with the kids?â
âHeâs only just back with them. He took them out, even George. Youâll never guess where.â
âWhere?â
âThe Tate.â
âHe took
my
children to an art gallery? We are talking about OMG Kate and Footy Mad Matthew, arenât we?â
âTurns out he was going there anyway today, to meet his lady-friend, and didnât see any reason to put off his date for a brace and a half of grandchildren. They had lunch, looked at paintings, came home on the top of the bus. A good time was had by all. He should have been a general. The army could do with his marshalling skills.â
âI hope he hasnât worn himself out,â Slider said guiltily.
âHe seemed all right. Heâs gone back to his flat for a rest. The kids are packed and Ireneâll be here any minute. Iâm going to get George fed and in bed before your dad comes back over. He wonât have anything to do but watch telly until you get home.â
âSounds like the armyâs missing you, too. I wonât be late home. Iâm just finishing up some paperwork here.â
âHow is it?â she asked. âSad or bad?â It was a shorthand they had.
âMore sad than bad. It seems the chap was a bit of a philanthropist, and may have been whacked by one of his philanthropees, probably for some petty reason.â
âAll reasons are petty, weighed against a human life,â she said.
âGood luck with your concert. Donât get too tired.â
âTell it to Prokofiev,â she replied. âI have no say in the matter.â
Just before he left, Porson sent for him. The old man looked tired, after a day with his seniors and the press officers.
âNot much in the media yet, thank God,â he said as Slider came in. Unusually, heâd got his bottle of White Horse out of the filing cabinet. Porson was not a big drinker, but it was going-home time in the real world, and his nerves were obviously strained. âDrink?â
âNo thank you, sir,â Slider said.
Porson poured himself a modest noggin. âI thought theyâd have been all over it. Kind man bitten by the hand that feeds him, that sort of thing. Makes a good story. Lucky they had their minds in the usual place. MP caught cottaging in Hyde Park, so theyâve all run away to play over there. The local papersâll be on ours, but we can live with that. What about this cleaner woman?â His sharp eyes came up to
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