The Bee's Kiss by Barbara Cleverly Read Free Book Online Page A

only have been done by someone standing on the roof. You’ll have noticed there’s a sort of ledge running around the building at this floor level. Very convenient. He stood there and tried to lever the window open. Couldn’t manage – good strong frames and locks – so he broke the glass with the sharp end of his tool – I think they call it a jemmy, sir – put a hand through, opened the lock and got in. Perhaps Dame Beatrice was in the bathroom or the bedroom and she came out and confronted him.’
    ‘She didn’t run to the door to raise the alarm? Wouldn’t that have been the most natural thing to do?’
    ‘For most women. Not for Dame Beatrice. As the pathologist said – I was listening at the door – she was facing the man when he hit her with the poker. The blows landed here and here . . .’ Westhorpe demonstrated.
    ‘Poker? Why not use the jemmy he must have been holding in his hand?’
    For a moment Tilly was disconcerted. ‘I’ve never seen a jemmy, sir . . . perhaps a poker makes a more efficient murder weapon? But as we have neither jemmy nor poker to hand yet, who can say?’ She frowned and went on, ‘Dame Beatrice was no ordinary victim. She wouldn’t have been prepared to just hand over her jewels – especially not those emeralds. She was ready to stand her ground and fight. Perhaps the intruder was afraid for his own life!’ she said with sudden insight. ‘Perhaps it was
she
who snatched up the poker and rounded on
him
. . . He took it from her and hit her to stop her raising the alarm.’
    ‘Mmm . . . yes . . . Look, could you walk out of the bedroom and retrace Dame Beatrice’s steps? That’s it. Now you catch sight of me. Dash to the hearth and pick up an imaginary poker – use the tongs – and go for me.’
    Tilly walked through the space which short hours ago had witnessed the outburst of deadly violence, miming the victim’s surprise on catching sight of the intruder, snatching up the tongs and rushing at him. They met on the hearthrug at the spot where the first jet of blood marked the overturned chair and carpet. Joe wrested the shovel easily from Tilly’s hand, mortified to see that she was trembling. She had turned pale and he forbore even in mime to smack her across the head with the implement. He was feeling it himself: the eddies of evil which still surged about the room. They were standing on the blood-soaked rug where the Dame had fought for her life and, defeated, had breathed her last, a defiant sneer on her face. And if
he
, battle-hardened survivor of many worse scenes of carnage, was affected by the atmosphere what must be the strain on this young, inexperienced girl?
    Guiltily, Joe put down the tongs and patted her shoulder. ‘That’s enough for tonight, I think, Tilly. And, yes, it’s a distinct possibility, your scenario.’
    She had apparently not noticed, as he had, that the first blow had been struck while the attacker had his back to the door, the Dame facing him, her back to the window. Could they have circled round each other like adversaries in some grotesque parody of a gladiatorial combat? A combat which would end with the death of one of them?
    ‘Sir? Are you all right, sir?’
    Tilly’s over-excitement was beginning to annoy him. He was reminded of his sister’s awful little spaniel: bright-eyed, quivering with its need for attention and under his feet whichever way he turned. ‘Thank you, Tilly. And now – it’s extremely late even for a fashionable young lady from Mayfair and I want you to go home in a taxi and have a well-earned sleep. You’ve rendered valuable assistance and insight tonight in circumstances which must be personally distressing to you. I don’t lose sight of that and, believe me, I’m very grateful.’
    Her expression had become cold and watchful. ‘And? Sir?’ she prompted when, embarrassed, he ran out of polite phrases.
    ‘And I would like you to take a day off to recover yourself from this ordeal before resuming