02 Blue Murder (13 page)

“
I’m Lionel Oliphant, family
counsel for the Wardles. If Scotland Yard is prepared to take
responsibility for the loss of the amphora vase, we should be able
to get all the details sorted in less than an hour. Here’s the most
recent appraisal. And here’s a photograph,” Oliphant added, showing
Bhar a faded snapshot of something that resembled a Victorian
chamber pot. “Magnificent, wasn’t it? As the appraisal indicates,
Lloyd’s of London valued the item at 2.1 million pounds
…”

“
In 1990,” Bhar burst out,
pushing aside Oliphant’s thumb to see the date at the appraisal’s
upper left-hand corner. “Mate! You do realize what year this
is?”

Mrs. Wardle clapped a hand to her throat,
pink lips forming an “O” of disbelief. Mr. Wardle, whiskey in hand,
stood up. Judging by the deep red blossoms on his nose and throat,
this wasn’t his first drink of the day. Oliphant only coughed.

“
Timeless items need not be
reevaluated every year, Constable.”

“
Sergeant.
And be that as it may,”
Bhar dodged the fountain pen Oliphant tried to thrust into his
hand, “I am not here to discuss damages the Wardles believe they
sustained during the police investigation. I am certainly not here
to sign anything or—”

“
Do you lack the authority
to handle this, Detective?” Mrs. Wardle snapped. It was necessary
for her to take the lead—whiskey had apparently rendered her
husband mute. “Shall I ring your superiors and demand an officer
with greater powers?”

Bhar took another deep breath. Then he put
on his most charming smile, wishing his guv was present to see him
gamely swallow the insult.

“
Mrs. Wardle, I have
sufficient authority to ensure your daughter’s interests are
correctly represented. I realize that on the night of the murders,
there was a misunderstanding with another officer. I would like to
take this opportunity to sit down with your daughter and
re-interview her from scratch, to be certain no details were taken
out of context or overlooked.”

“
The amphora vase comes
first! Nothing is more important!” Mrs. Wardle cried, jerking the
papers out of Oliphant’s hands and trying to force them into
Bhar’s. “I have lost a priceless family heirloom and no one will
speak with Emmeline until someone from Scotland Yard accepts
responsibility!”

“
Candace, you cannot issue
that sort of condition to the police,” Oliphant murmured, lips
barely moving. “Emmeline is an adult. She is therefore obligated to
assist with their inquiries. To submit to any and all reasonable
requests by—”

“
Submit?” a voice said from
behind them. Bhar turned first.

Emmeline Wardle had been working out. She
wore a pink sleeveless T-shirt over a sports bra. Her shorts were
the same color pink, matching the “swoosh” on her Nikes. Bhar was
surprised by how robust Emmeline looked compared to her mother’s
prematurely brittle pallor—perhaps they weren’t so sisterly after
all. Emmeline’s blond hair was pulled back in a long braid. She
wore no makeup Bhar could detect, nor did she need it.

“
Ms. Wardle. Please forgive
the intrusion. And accept my condolences on your loss,” Bhar said,
smiling at Emmeline. It wasn’t difficult. She was pretty, haughty,
posh and, fortunately, legal. Just his type.

“
I’m not into submission.”
Emmeline met his gaze and held it.

“
Well, I don’t expect for
you to go for my first suggestion. We can negotiate,” he replied,
captivated, before remembering her parents and lawyer were still
present in the room.

“
This is unacceptable,” Mrs.
Wardle snapped. “Mr. Bhar, I want you out of the house this
moment!”

“
Oh, Mum, do go upstairs and
take one of your pills. Take Daddy along, too.” Folding her arms
across her chest, Emmeline gave Mrs. Wardle an implacable
stare.

“
We won’t be spoken to this
way,” Mrs. Wardle hissed. Mr. Wardle, Bhar noticed, was already
moving toward the distant stairs and Oliphant was gathering up his
papers.

“
Mum! I witnessed the
murder. Not you. Now go upstairs.”

“
At least allow Lionel
to—”

“
Lionel didn’t stop me from
getting arrested, now, did he?”

“
I have a prior engagement,”
Oliphant muttered, exiting without a backward look. Mr. Wardle was
halfway to the stairs, ice cubes clinking, having never said a
word.

Left alone, Mrs. Wardle blew out her breath
in frustration. Her immobile forehead never creased, but tiny lines
appeared at the corner of each eye, revealing who was the mother
and who was the daughter.

“
Very well. Call for us if
you need us,” Mrs. Wardle told Emmeline, and followed her husband
upstairs.

Chapter Eleven

“
T
hank God.” Emmeline shot Bhar a
conspiratorial look. “I swear, if I wasn’t moving out in six
months, I’d top myself. Now.” She tossed herself down on the sofa.
“Sorry to turn up in spandex, but I’ve been working out like a
fiend since the murders. It’s the only thing that keeps me from
going crazy.”

“
You seem fit,” Bhar said,
trying to keep his eyes trained on Emmeline’s. If he raked his gaze
over her well-toned body again, he would cross the line from human
male to overreaching authority figure.

“
Swim team. Gymnastics.
Archery,” Emmeline smiled. “Me and Kyla Sloane, since we were both
eight years old. Always trying to outdo each other.”

“
Who’s better?”

“
I’m a much better swimmer,”
Emmeline said. “You should see my breast stroke. Better at
gymnastics, too. But I can’t touch Kyla when it comes to
archery.”

“
Lot of upper body strength
needed for archery.”

“
You’d better believe it.”
She smiled at Bhar. “So. Are you here to beg my forgiveness for
your boss’s behavior?”

“
Not exactly.” Bhar couldn’t
help grinning at her cheekiness, not to mention the unapologetic
sparkle in her blue eyes. “But you’re being so reasonable compared
to—well, certain others—I’m tempted to give it a go.”

“
Smart man. I don’t suppose
you have any ciggies, do you?”

“
Actually …” Bhar felt in
his jacket’s inner pocket. He didn’t smoke, not really—if he made
it a habit, Sharada would have his head—but he kept cigarettes with
him most of the time. Not just for interviewees, but for bar girls.
Nothing worse than chatting up a bird in search of a fag and
finding oneself empty-handed.

“
Thanks.” Emmeline held the
cigarette between her lips as he lit it. Yes, he had been right—no
makeup of any kind. Those flawless pink lips and blooming cheeks
were perfectly natural.

Taking a long, satisfied drag, Emmeline
smiled at Bhar. “So. What do you want to know?”

Some detectives would use such an opening to
cut right to the meat of the interview. If things turned hostile,
they’d pivot back to minor details, circling back to the meat as
soon as possible. It was a legitimate strategy, one Paul often used
for antagonistic or transparently stupid witnesses. But Emmeline
didn’t strike him as either, so a more linear approach seemed
best.

“
What made you decide to
throw a Halloween party?” Bhar opened his notebook and waited, pen
poised.

“
I’ve thrown one every year
since I was fifteen.” Locating an ashtray, Emmeline balanced it on
her lap as she smoked. “People expect great parties from me. The
secret to staying popular is giving the people what they want. Half
the time, anyway.”

“
And the other
half?”

Emmeline blew out a plume of smoke. “Mess
with their minds and keep them guessing.”

“
Fair enough.” Bhar smiled.
“According to public records, Sir Duncan Godington bought 16
Burnaby less than a year ago. Did throwing a Halloween party next
door to a man acquitted for triple murder make your friends and
schoolmates more eager to attend?”

A pause, and a flick of the eyelashes. What
came next from Emmeline was probably a lie. “None of them
knew.”

“
Oh, really?” Bhar did his
best to sound neutral. “You had a piece of gossip that choice and
shared it with no one?”

Emmeline took another deep
drag. “How do you think Mummy and Daddy took the news we lived next
door to a serial—excuse me,
alleged
serial killer? They wanted to sue him for bringing
down property values.” She smiled. “Of course, that went up in
smoke, so all the families on Burnaby got together and made
everyone swear we wouldn’t spread the news around. You can see we
went ten months before the story went global. Better than I
expected, given Mum’s big mouth.”

“
I understand. My mum gets
on my nerves sometimes, too,” Bhar said. “But yours is very
protective, you must admit. Threatening a civil suit in defense of
her daughter.”

Emmeline tossed her head. “That’s all for
Mum, not me. You won’t see me getting any of the money. I’ve half a
mind not to testify, if it comes to it. Just to see her face when I
take the mickey.”

“
So absolutely none of your
friends knew that Sir Duncan lived next door?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Emmeline
tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, watching Bhar with
narrowed eyes. “Kyla Sloane knew. She knows everything about me.
But she never would have said anything.”

“
What about your boyfriend,
Trevor Parsons?”

“
No.”

“
Clive French?”

Emmeline gave a huff. “Of course not. If
I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. Clive wasn’t a
friend. He wasn’t invited. I don’t know why he so much as set foot
on my property.” She stabbed the cigarette toward his notebook.
“Write that down!”

Bhar jotted,
More emotional re: French than boyfriend
Parsons.

“
Noted. So it is fair to say
you disliked him?” Bhar deadpanned. When Emmeline’s eyes widened,
he grinned. To his pleasure, she grinned back, the tension across
her shoulders disappearing.

“
You’re nothing like that
old man. What made you decide to join the filth?” Issuing from her
pink lips, the old-fashioned slang sounded sweetly
ironic.

The doorbell rang. Emmeline ignored it. By
the second ring, Mrs. Wardle was already hurrying down the grand
staircase. Emmeline still paid no attention, so Bhar decided to
answer her.

“
I knew the filth didn’t
want me, so what can I say? I barged in. Do you think that’s what
Clive about? Crashing your party because he knew he wasn’t
welcome?”

Emmeline frowned.

“
Seriously,” Bhar urged.
“I’ll never put all this together if people like you don’t give me
your ideas—good, bad or indifferent.”

“
Em,” Mrs. Wardle sang out
from the foyer. Her heels clicked across the marble as she appeared
with a hulking figure behind her. Bhar, rising automatically—his
mother had taught him well—was dismayed to see one of the athletes
he’d interviewed at Scotland Yard, Quinton Baylor.

“
Thank you for coming over
so quickly,” Mrs. Wardle told Quinton with a hammy emphasis surely
intended to ruffle Bhar. “I fret about Em so, I feel better with
you around.”

“
Not a problem, Mrs. W.,
glad to help,” Quinton said crisply, forgetting his Mockney
altogether. Clearly when it came to the Wardles, he embraced the
Received Pronunciation he’d known since his first words. Then he
saw Bhar and the Mockney was back, as if they were meeting one
another on the rugby pitch. “Oi! Don’t I know you?”

“
DS Paul Bhar.” Removing his
warrant card from his inner jacket pocket, he held it out for
Quinton’s perusal, silently wondering if the giant could
read.

“
Fair enough,” Quinton said,
frowning as if the effort of taking in so many words had indeed
been a bit too much. “Wotcha? Didn’t you lot already grill Em on
the night of the party?”

“
Just a follow-up
interview,” Bhar said serenely. “I should be done in a quarter
hour, if you’d like to wait …”

Quinton dropped onto the sofa beside
Emmeline. “I’ll wait right here, thank you.” Pulling Emmeline into
an embrace, he kissed her full on the lips, turning back to Bhar
and grinning for emphasis. “Anything you say to Em, you say to
me.”

Bhar bit back a sigh. Emmeline, at least,
had the grace to appear mildly embarrassed. Quinton was all
muscle-bound smugness and Mrs. Wardle looked ready to play the
wedding march, if she only had an organ.

“
You’re not wanted here,
Mum,” Emmeline said at last, when Mrs. Wardle showed every sign of
hovering throughout the end of the interview.

“
Shall I send Lionel back
in, or—”

“
I have
this
quite under
control
,” Emmeline snapped. Biting her lip,
Mrs. Wardle stalked back upstairs again.

“
Now. Where were we?”
Emmeline asked Bhar, as if Quinton hadn’t slid a possessive arm
around her waist.

“
I was given to understand
you were dating Trevor Parsons,” Bhar said, trying not to sound as
inexplicably irritated as he felt.

“
She was.
Planned to split up with him before he got
himself—
deceased
,”
Quinton said, transparently choosing a new word when Emmeline
narrowed her eyes at him. “Now Em’s with me. Like it should be. Got
a problem with it officer?”