The Death of Marco Styles (3 page)

‘Louise is lovely, but I don't want a trophy wife, and I definitely don't want to end up having to support my mother-in-law, especially if it was Irene Styles. No, I'll marry, eventually, but it will be to a woman who can pull her weight in the world.'

‘I take your point. I think Irene has me earmarked for Elaine.'

‘Great choice, if you want to run a stable. I mean, does she really need three horses?'

‘So she says. The old pony from when she was little and a choice of hunters.'

Adam laughed, then went quiet as de Lacy took his stance in front of the golf ball. He could barely see the green between the broad pine trunks and chose an easier angle for fear of hitting one and having the ball bounce back into a yet worse position. A click as the head of the club met the ball and it shot clear of the trees, to bounce once and roll across the fairway to the rough grass at the far side.

‘Too much power, not enough control,' Adam remarked. ‘Of course, now that Marco's gone Irene will have the house and the income from the royalties, maybe a nice fat insurance payout too, which ought to take the pressure off her a bit. What do these people think they're doing, walking right across the green? Isn't that the inspector who was at Elthorne?'

‘Yes,' de Lacy answered as he turned to see the imposing bulk of Inspector Morden approaching from the direction of the car park with another, younger man beside him. ‘I imagine he wants to talk to one of us, probably me.'

IV

The recorder clicked into life and Inspector Morden

turned towards it as he spoke.

‘Interview with Charles de Lacy commences at 11.15. Present are Detective Inspector Morden and Detective Constable Pymm. Mr de Lacy …'

De Lacy glanced around the interview room as the inspector continued with the formal caution. A panel of what appeared to be one-way glass suggested that there might be onlookers but otherwise there was only the table and four chairs, while the neutral grey of the walls added to the Spartan feel. He gave a polite nod to the glass, then turned back to the two policemen to decline the offer of a solicitor. Inspector Morden put his first question.

‘Mr de Lacy, you have a degree in biochemistry?'

‘Zoology,' de Lacy stated, ‘although we did do a module of biochemistry in the first year.'

‘But you have a degree-level knowledge of the subject?'

‘Hardly that, but better than A-Level, shall we say.'

‘Can you tell me what this is?'

The Inspector had pushed a piece of paper forward, apparently a print out of an email with some details blacked out in heavy pen but with a molecular diagram at the centre.

‘It appears to be the structural formula for some complex organic chemical,' de Lacy said, ‘and at a guess I'd say it's the neurotoxin that killed Marco Styles.'

‘And how did you know that Marco Styles was killed by a neurotoxin?' Inspector Morden demanded.

‘Simple deduction,' de Lacy replied. ‘The way he died suggested neurotoxin poisoning; tetrodotoxin, I thought. I suggested as much to Sergeant McIntyre when I gave her the port glass. You now present me with the structural formula of a chemical similar to that of tetrodotoxin, although more complicated, and so it is highly likely to be the neurotoxin in question. That's hardly an intricate deduction.'

‘Maybe not, but it's a very interesting one, isn't it, Mr de Lacy? You admit you know about these things and Marco Styles is dead as a result of swallowing one. Not only that, but you were seated next to him at the dinner, weren't you?'

‘No. I was seated next to Elaine Styles, who was to her father's left. I was only next to Marco after the ladies had left the room. Besides, how do you suppose I'd get access to what is clearly an advanced and synthetic neurotoxin?'

‘I don't know, Mr de Lacy, but I aim to find out. How do you know it's synthetic?'

‘Because the email came from Vulcan Pharmaceuticals. If you're going to black things out, Inspector, it's probably better not to follow the outline of a company logo so precisely. Vulcan specialise in synthetics for the cosmetic industry, so my guess is that it is intended to stiffen up the muscles, but in minute doses of course, rather like Botox. I'd also guess it's still in the experimental stage, otherwise I'd probably have read about it in one of the journals, while your forensics people might even have got it the first time around. However, I am absolutely certain that Vulcan don't give out samples of their secret creations, especially anything so comprehensively lethal. I've certainly never had any.'

The inspector's face showed irritation, but only for a moment before he carried on.

‘I don't believe you, de Lacy. It's all rather convenient, isn't it? However you got hold of the stuff, probably through some old college friend, I think you poisoned that glass and then drew Sergeant McIntyre's attention to it in order to make yourself seem innocent.'

De Lacy shrugged.

‘You chain of logic has a superficial plausibility,' he admitted, ‘but no more than that. Why would I want to poison Marco Styles?'

‘Revenge.'

‘Revenge? I hardly knew the man.'

‘Your father was at school with Marco Styles, yes?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you say they were friends?'

‘Yes.'

‘The fact is, Mr de Lacy, that your father was bullied by Marco Styles.'

‘Bullied?' de Lacy responded in surprise. ‘My father was Marco's personal fag for a while, but I don't believe that involved anything particularly unpleasant. They became friends through a shared love of music.'

‘Marco Styles used to beat your father with a cane,' Morden stated.

‘Possibly,' de Lacy admitted, ‘but that sort of thing was perfectly normal at a British public school in the sixties. Surely you're not suggesting that that constitutes a motive for me to murder Marco Styles?'

‘I don't know, Mr de Lacy, does it?' Morden answered.

‘No,' de Lacy responded.

‘So you say,' Morden went on. ‘These are the facts, Mr de Lacy. You were the only person at that dinner party with any understanding whatsoever of neurotoxins. You deliberately drew the attention of a police officer to the glass in which the poison had been placed. You have a motive, revenge on behalf of your father.'

‘Circumstantial evidence at best,' de Lacy told him, ‘and hardly compelling.'

‘Compelling enough,' Morden told him, ‘and we also know that you went back into the house while the other guests were drinking Champagne on the terrace. I suspect you went into the dining room.'

‘I did,' de Lacy admitted. ‘I wanted to see what we were being served with dinner, the wines that is, and to check that the butler was handling them properly. The staff were hired from an agency, you know, and I wasn't at all sure of his expertise, although apparently he'd worked for them before. He wasn't there, as it happens, but if you want to check up on that you can ask one of the maids, who came in at the same time as me to fetch another bottle of Champagne; rather a pretty girl, red-haired.'

‘We've already spoken to the maid, Mr de Lacy, and she states that you left the dining room after she did. She says you were reading the labels on the wine bottles, which looks to me like an excuse to hang around until you were on your own.'

‘Not at all. I was merely admiring the selection of wines Irene and Marco had chosen for us. As you know, we started with Champagne, followed by an excellent Chablis, 1
^er
Cru Vaillons with the Dover soul, then …'

‘I'm not interested in your gross over-indulgence, Mr de Lacy.'

‘No?' de Lacy answered, now beginning to enjoy himself. ‘It might be relevant, you never know. What was it Sherlock Holmes used to say about omitting no details, however small?'

‘You can turn off the act, Mr de Lacy,' Morden said. ‘I've seen it all before, and I'm not fooled. What about your fingerprints and DNA on the glass? Yes, I know what you're going to say, that you took the glass and gave it to Sergeant McIntyre, but that's just the point, isn't it? You did it on purpose, didn't you? I know your sort, de Lacy, stuck-up public school boys who think everybody else is stupid, and you, you think you're so fucking clever, don't you?'

He was getting angry, or pretending to, his great, heavy face now red and his eyes staring. De Lacy allowed himself a languid shrug and Morden carried on.

‘Do you want to call your solicitor now, Mr de Lacy?'

‘No thank you, Inspector,' de Lacy replied. ‘Unless you intend to charge me?'

Morden paused, as if considering the matter.

‘No, not yet.'

De Lacy started to rise.

‘Will that be all, Inspector?'

‘No it will not,' Morden answered, his voice a growl. ‘I can hold you here for 24 hours, Mr de Lacy, or four days if I apply for an extension. Sit down.'

Resuming his seat, de Lacy waited as the inspector looked him over, slowly and carefully, as if seeking a weakness, only to suddenly turn to the recorder, speak a few sharp words, and turn it off.

‘You are free to go,' Mr de Lacy, ‘but you are to remain in the vicinity.'

‘My pleasure,' de Lacy answered. ‘I'll be at The George in Great Aldbury if you need me, and of course I'll be delighted to assist you in any way I can.'

As de Lacy left he caught two words from the inspector, clearly intended to be loud enough for him to hear.

‘Idle bastard.'

De Lacy had done his best to keep up the calm, self-assured manner he liked to present to the world during the interview with Inspector Morden, but it had shaken him more than he'd have admitted to, while being forced to walk through the heart of Solsbury and take a bus to Great Aldbury while dressed for golf had been both embarrassing and irritating. His annoyance had lasted as he set up his laptop and began to search for information on the employees of Vulcan Pharmaceuticals, only to give way to shock and a dull sense of horror at his discoveries.

His hand moved to his phone, only to stop. It was obvious that the inspector had received much of his information from Sergeant McIntyre, and he felt no particular obligation to tell her first, but as his mind raced from one link of a chain of logic to the next he put the phone down once more. His duty was clear: to inform the police of what he'd discovered in case they missed it, but in the circumstances he could hardly be expected to do their reasoning for them. Yet presenting Inspector Morden with the true facts of the case was going to be immensely satisfying.

Pausing only to change into something more suitable, he drove out to Elthorne House.

There was a constable stationed at the gates, one of the men who had been among the first to arrive on the night of the murder. Slowing the Jaguar, he lowered the window and gave the man a friendly smile, hoping to be waved through, only to be directed to pull over beside the drive just inside the gates.

‘Wait here, please, sir,' the constable instructed.

‘Couldn't I park at the house?' de Lacy asked. ‘I'm here to see Sergeant McIntyre.'

‘No, sir. You have to be accompanied at all times.'

De Lacy didn't try to argue, but got out of the car while the constable spoke into his intercom. When the sergeant appeared around the curve of the drive he greeted her with a measured, formal nod. For an instant she seemed embarrassed, before composing herself and greeting him with equal formality.

‘Can I help you, Mr de Lacy?'

‘I have information for you,' he told her, ‘but first, are you aware that I was taken into Solsbury Police Station this morning and interviewed by Inspector Morden?'

‘Yes.'

‘I thought we had an agreement?'

‘Yes, that you would give me any information you had on this case, and that you would be discreet about what you'd told me.'

‘Discretion works two ways, or it should. I appreciate that you have a job to do, but the information you passed on to Inspector Morden was given in confidence, and I kept my part of the bargain, by the way. My hope was that we could assist each other in finding out who the killer is, and that only then would you present the facts to Inspector Morden, as a
fait accompli
.'

‘I can't do that,' she answered him. ‘What do you imagine it would do to my career prospects if I withheld information from a senior officer?'

‘True,' de Lacy admitted, ‘and it's not your fault that Morden chose to put two and two together and make about two dozen, but it was rather a shock to be hauled into the station and all but charged with murder. You might at least have warned me.'

‘That's not the way it works, Mr de Lacy,' she told him firmly. ‘Now, what do you have to say?'

‘Inspector Morden showed me a printout of an email,' he explained, ‘probably in the hope of shocking me into a confession. The printout showed the structural formula for the neurotoxin used to murder Marco Styles, and I recognised the logo at the top as belonging to a company called Vulcan Pharmaceuticals. It's synthetic and still at the trial stage, so even to identify it must have been difficult, and the murderer cannot possibly have obtained it from any other source. Therefore an employee of Vulcan Pharmaceuticals must be involved.'

‘I'm sure Inspector Morden realises that.'

‘Probably, but does he know that Dr Mary Adams, a senior research assistant at Vulcan, disappeared while on holiday in Cornwall this spring?'

‘Do you think she was murdered?'

‘Well, it certainly bears investigation, and if she was murdered, well, the implications are obvious: that she was coerced into providing a quantity of the neurotoxin, then killed in order to cover the murderer's tracks.'

‘Yes, so all very carefully planned, by somebody intelligent and completely callous.'

‘So it seems. Fortunately I have a cast-iron alibi. I was in Burgundy at the time, on a wine tasting tour, which means I have any number of witnesses. Still, no doubt the inspector will want to bring me in for another grilling.'