Blood Sinister by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page B

So depressing! Not that she can’t hold it. Always a perfect gentleman. But you can’t punish yourself like that and get away with it for ever.’
    This was a promising vein, but Slider had other seams to mine first. ‘Let’s get back to what you were doing on Thursday evening,’ he said.
    Medmenham raised his glass to his lips defensively. ‘Oh, must we? Look, I know I told a teensy little porkie pie, but, honestly, it’s nothing to do with all this – nothing to do with poor darling Feeb. It’s purely my personal life, which is so utterly ghastly at the moment I wouldn’t trouble anyone with it. I promise you I know nothing about what happened upstairs, other than what I’ve told you.’
    ‘You have to understand, Mr Medmenham, that I have to verify every statement that’s made to me. When people tell me lies I have to assume they’ve got something to hide. Especially when they can’t be accounted for at the time of the crime.’
    ‘Well, you can’t suspect me of murder,’ he said, almost gaily, and then, looking shocked. ‘You don’t? No, really, look at me! I’m the human equivalent of a cosy eiderdown. Born a duvet and I’ll die a duvet! Even on stage I’d never cut it as First Murderer.
Please
tell me you don’t think I’m capable of such a horrible thing!’
    ‘I think you capable of anything you put your mind to,’ Slider said seriously, and he saw his words give Medmenham pause. He drank, put his glass down on the counter top and folded his hands together in his lap.
    ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked without affectation.
    ‘How much of what you told me yesterday was true? Did you see Miss Agnew at six forty-five? Did she say she had a visitor?’
    ‘Oh, yes, all that was true.’
    ‘But you didn’t see the visitor? Or hear his voice?’
    ‘No. There was music playing in the background. Quietly. Vivaldi, I think.’
    ‘So she might have been alone.’
    ‘But then why wouldn’t she have asked me in?’ Medmenham looked suddenly shrewd. ‘Oh, you think I’m a chattering nuisance and she might just want to be rid of me? But I assure you, she was quite capable of telling me she wanted to be alone, and often did. We had a very frank relationship. “Sorry, Peter darling, things to do. Bog off, sweetheart.” No, it wasn’t that. There was someone else in there: you can
feel
, can’t you, when a house is empty? You just
know
. And the way she opened the door only a little bit and stood there in the gap: she didn’t want me to see who it was.’
    ‘Why do you suppose she would do that? Was she usually secretive about her visitors?’
    ‘Well—’ He thought. ‘Not
secretive
. She didn’t go into graphic detail about her sex life, and I didn’t ask. But she didn’t go out of her way to hide the fact when she had visitors.’
    ‘So if it was Josh Prentiss, for instance—’
    ‘Well, why should she try and hide Josh from me?’ he said. ‘I’ve known Josh for yonks.’
    ‘It was you who told me that’s who was visiting her,’ Slider said patiently.
    Medmenham put a hand to his cheek. ‘You’re right! I did say that. Because I saw his car outside. It doesn’t make sense, does it?’
    ‘That’s what I was thinking.’
    He looked at Slider and went a bit pink. ‘You think I’m lying? But I’m not! It all happened exactly as I told you, up to that point; and I did see his car in the street. It’s only about where I went afterwards that I didn’t tell the truth.’
    ‘Well, suppose you tell me the truth now, and we’ll see how we get on,’ Slider suggested kindly.
    ‘Oh, we can be sarcastic when we try!’ Medmenham complained. ‘Well, look, I’ll tell you, since you make such a thing about it, but it’s very painful for me, and I hope you won’t repeat it to anyone. Can I trust you to be discreet?’
    ‘If it has nothing to do with the case, I will do my very best,’ Slider said.
    Medmenham sighed. ‘And I suppose that’s all I’ll get out of you.