A Certain Malice by Felicity Young Page A

him cash?”
    “Yes, chicken feed, the amount wasn’t even declarable.”
    Cam made placating gestures in response to the man’s defensive tone. “That’s OK, I’m not here to question you about your taxes, it was just something I needed to double check. Mr Bell was involved in a little social welfare fraud of his own.” Cam turned to Mrs Smithson. “When did he last work at the school?”
    She raised her eyes to the ceiling for a moment before looking at her husband. “December?” she asked him, shrugging.
    He nodded and smoothed his moustache.“Yes, December I think.”
    Mrs Smithson put on large tortoise-shell framed glasses and flicked through her desk diary.“December the fifteenth to be precise.”
    Leanne wrote the date in her notebook.
    “What were his reasons for leaving, Mrs Smithson?” Cam asked.
    Mrs Smithson glanced at her husband. Again he answered for her. “Unfortunately, I had to dismiss him.”
    “Why?”
    “I found him in the potting shed, drunk, and not for the first time. He became abusive when I started to reprimand him. I had no choice but to dismiss him there and then.”
    Cam looked at the couple; neither returned his gaze. Mrs Smithson was twisting the pearls at her neck, Mr Smithson tapping his foot. This was getting interesting. After a while Mr Smithson sighed, crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap. Cam noticed how the knuckles on his right hand were swollen, like a fighter’s. He took his notebook from his breast pocket and rested it on his leg.“How did he react when you dismissed him, Mr Smithson?”
    Smithson’s eyes met his wife’s before returning to Cam. “He swore at me.”
    Cam began to write a nursery rhyme on his notebook. Always be writing something down, he had learned. It gets people agitated. Makes them more likely to say what they’d rather keep to themselves.
    “And then what?” he said.
    “He turned his back on me and left the shed.”
    Jack and Jill went up the hill…
    “He didn’t attack you?”
    “No, I would have reported him if he had. Exactly where are you going with this, Sergeant?”
    “Mr Bell recently lost some teeth, that’s how he was identified,” Cam said. “His dentist said he’d an appointment for a denture fitting two weeks ago. Apparently he told the dentist that someone knocked his teeth out in a fight.”
    Smithson stitched his lips into a thin jagged line and folded his arms. “That’s nothing to do with me,” he said.
    To fetch a pail of water…
    Cam’s pen hovered above the page. He glanced over at Leanne; her eyebrows were raised, and she leaned forward in her chair to study Mr Smithson as if he was an unusual insect. He’d have to have a word with her about that. Suspects often gave themselves away with body language, but cops did too. Cam had always likened the questioning of a suspect to an intricate game of poker. You had to know when to hold ’em, know when to show ’em. She was showing too much interest now.
    Anne Smithson had turned a lighter shade of pale.
    “It would’ve been quite a punch to get those teeth out. I imagine the person who hit him must have suffered some kind of knuckle damage,” Cam continued in his well-practised, neutral tone.
    “I know nothing about any fight.” Jeffrey’s lips pursed. He placed his left hand over his right.
    Jack fell down and broke his crown…
    Cam leaned over to scratch an itch on his leg, straightened to gaze around the luxurious office. He had never understood the attraction of antiques. Elizabeth’s parents had a house full of them and they’d always made him feel uneasy. He was not comfortable with the idea of collecting the possessions of long dead strangers.
    “Had you seen or heard from Herbert Bell since he stopped working for you?” he asked.
    Husband and wife shook their heads.
    “Do you have any idea where he went from here?”
    Mrs Smithson explained she’d heard Bell had moved to be caretaker at a neighbouring property. Leanne’s