The Cold Hand of Malice by Frank Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

day?’ Grace eyed him critically. ‘You seem a bit down, tonight.’
    He shrugged and shook his head. ‘I’m not, really,’ he told her. ‘Just a bit frustrated. Tregalles and I have been going through everything we have but there is nothing we can get our teeth into. Holbrook’s friend, Trevor Ballantyne, came in to give his statement, but it was virtually a carbon copy of what he told us last night. I had hoped to talk to Simon Holbrook today, but his doctor wouldn’t allow him to come in until tomorrow.’
    Grace eyed him curiously. ‘That’s not a problem, is it? I mean it’s not as if he’s a suspect, or if there’s any doubt about how Mrs Holbrook died – or is there?’
    ‘Not that I know of, but you know the old rule of thumb when dealing with a suspicious death: look first at relatives and friends. I have to make sure that every angle is checked, even though we are ninety-nine per cent sure that Mrs Holbrook was killed by the people who broke into their home.’
    Grace looked thoughtful. ‘What does the autopsy show?’
    ‘Still waiting for the results. Starkie called to say that he won’t be able to do the autopsy until tomorrow morning. However, we did manage to get a commitment from Holbrook to meet Tregalles at the house tomorrow so they can go through the place together to find out exactly what, if anything, is missing.’
    ‘What time?’ Grace asked.
    ‘That they’re meeting? Nine o’clock. Why?’
    ‘Because I think I’d like to go through the place with them,’ Grace told him. ‘Unless you have any objections, of course?’
    ‘No, no, none at all,’ he told her. ‘I’ll let Tregalles know in the morning.’

Six
    Friday, March 6
    Grace Lovett was already there, standing beside the wrought iron gate, when Tregalles pulled up in front of Holbrook’s house in Pembroke Avenue at five minutes to nine, but there was no sign of Holbrook.
    ‘Morning, Grace,’ he greeted her, nodding toward the house. ‘Is Holbrook inside?’
    She shook her head. ‘Haven’t seen him, but it’s not quite nine; I expect he’ll be here soon.’
    ‘Beautiful morning,’ he observed, raising his face to the morning sun, stretching, and settled his back against the car. ‘I wouldn’t mind living here – except I doubt if I could afford the rates, let alone the price. Holbrook’s firm must be doing all right.’
    ‘It is,’ Grace told him. ‘We looked it up yesterday, and it’s one of the fastest growing small businesses in the area.’
    Pembroke Avenue was a pleasant little backwater. The houses were set back from the street, separated by fences, walls and hedges high enough to ensure privacy – and high enough to shield the activities of anyone trying to break in, thought Tregalles. Which might be why so many of the houses, including Holbrook’s, had home security logos in their windows. Not that it had done Mrs Holbrook any good.
    He pushed himself away from the car to join Grace. ‘That’s Holbrook,’ he said, indicating a man who had just emerged from the driveway of a house three doors down. ‘He’s been staying with the Ballantynes.’
    He leaned closer to Grace and lowered his voice as Holbrook approached. ‘Looks a bit drawn,’ he said critically, ‘but you still wouldn’t think he’s over forty, would you? Looks more like one of these young blokes you see in the magazines, surrounded by birds in bikinis.’
    It was true, Grace thought. She’d seen the man’s picture in the newspapers from time to time, but this was the first time she had seen him in the flesh.
    ‘Good morning, sir,’ Tregalles said as Holbrook came up to them. His face was pale, but he looked considerably better than when Tregalles had last seen him.
    ‘Good morning, Sergeant,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know if you realize how painful this is for me, but I suppose it has to be done. I hope it won’t take too long.’ His words were for Tregalles, but his eyes kept flicking to