A charming expression. "Ah." He read on. "And barbiturates in the
blood." He looked up, his brow furrowed, and stared sightlessly at
Sergeant Havers over the tops of his spectacles. "Somehow one never
thinks of a man like that needing sleeping pills. There he is, putting
in a hard day's work on a farm, out in that wonderful fresh air of the
dales. He eats a hearty dinner and just drops off to sleep by the fire.
Bucolic bliss. So why sleeping pills?"
"It looks as if he'd only just taken them."
"Obviously. One hardly expects him to have somnambulated his way out to the barn."
She froze at once at his tone, retreated back into her shell. "I only meant—"
"Excuse me," Lynley interrupted quickly. "I was joking. I do sometimes.
It relieves the tension. You'll have to try to get used to it."
"Of course, sir," she replied with deliberate courtesy.
★ ★ ★
The man accosted them as they walked over the pedestrian bridge towards
the exit. He was extremely thin, anaemic-looking, obviously someone who
was victim to at least a thousand different kinds of stomach problems
that were the bane of his existence. Even as he approached them, he
popped a tablet into his mouth and began chewing upon it with furious
determination.
"Superintendent Nies," Lynley remarked affably. "Have you come all the
way from Richmond to meet us? That's quite a drive for you."
"Sixty bloody miles, so let's get it straight right from the top,
Inspector," Nies snapped. He'd stopped dead in front of them, blocking
their way to the stairs that would lead them down to the departures
platform and out of the station. "I don't want you here. This is
Kerridge's goddamned game and I've nothing to do with it. You want
anything, you get it from Newby Wiske, not from Richmond. Is that
perfectly clear? I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you.
If you've come up here with a personal vendetta in mind, Inspector,
then just shove it up your arse right now. Got it? I've not time for
poncey schoolboys itching for a pretty scratch of revenge."
There was a moment of silence. Watching Nies's dyspeptic face, Barbara
wondered if anyone ever spoke to Lord Asherton in such a colourful
manner on his Cornish estate.
"Sergeant Havers," Lynley said mildly, "I don't believe you've ever been
introduced to Chief Superintendent Nies of the Richmond police force."
She had never seen a man driven to a loss so swiftly, done with an
impeccable show of manners. "Nice to meet you, sir," she said dutifully.
"Damn you to hell, Lynley," Nies snarled. "Just stay out of my way."
With that, he turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd
towards the exit.
"Nicely done, Sergeant." Lynley's voice was serene. His eyes searched
through the swarm of humanity in the terminal. It was nearly noon, and
the usual bustle of York's station was intensified by the lunch hour as
people took the opportunity to purchase tickets, to argue car hire
prices with the station agents, to meet loved ones who had timed
arrivals to fit into the schedules of a working world. Lynley found the
person he was looking for, said, "Ah, I see Denton up ahead," and raised
his hand in acknowledgment to a young man who was approaching them.
Denton had just come out of the cafeteria, caught in the midst of a
meal. He was chewing, swallowing, and wiping his mouth with a paper
napkin as he dodged through the crowd. He additionally managed to comb
his thick dark hair neatly, straighten his necktie, and give a quick
glance at his shoes, all before reaching them.
"Good trip, my lord?" he asked, handing Lynley a set of keys. "The car's
just outside." He smiled pleasantly, but Barbara saw that he avoided
Lynley's eyes.
Lynley gazed at his valet critically. "Caroline," he said.
Denton's round, grey eyes grew immediately rounder. "Caroline, my lord?"
he repeated innocently. His cherubic face became, if possible, even
more cherubic. He flicked a nervous glance back in the direction from
which he'd just come.
"Don't ‘Caroline, my lord?' me. We've a few things to straighten up here
before you go off on this holiday of yours. This is Sergeant Havers, by
the way."
Denton gulped and nodded quickly at Barbara. "Pleased, Sergeant," he said and turned his eyes back to Lynley. "My lord?"
"Stop being so obsequious. You don't do it at home and in public it
makes my skin positively crawl with embarrassment." Impatient, Lynley
shifted his black overnight case from one hand to the other.
"Sorry." Denton sighed and dropped the pose. "Caroline's in the cafeteria. I've a cottage lined up in Robin Hood's Bay."
"What a romantic you are," Lynley observed drily. "Spare me the details.
Just tell her to phone Lady Helen and reassure her you're not off to
Gretna Green. Will you do that, Den-ton?"
The young man grinned. "Will do. In a tic."
"Thank you." Lynley reached into his pocket and from his wallet
extracted a credit card. He handed it to the man. "Don't get any ideas,"
he warned. "I want only the car on this. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely," Denton replied crisply. He glanced over his shoulder to
the cafeteria, where a pretty young woman had come outside and was
watching them. She was as fashionably dressed and as fashionably
coiffured as Lady Helen Clyde herself always was. Practically her clone
if it came down to it, Barbara thought sourly and wondered if it was a
requirement of the job: handmaiden to the youngest daughter of an earl,
just like someone stepping out of the nineteenth century. The only real
difference between Caroline and her ladyship was a minor lack of
self-assurance evidenced by Caroline's grip upon her handbag: a
two-fisted clinging to the handles as if it were to be used as a
defensive weapon.
Denton spoke. "Shall I be off then?"
