JCR easily on the ground floor of one of the larger residential buildings. It looked like a cross between something like a boating or sports club, a town pub, and an old-fashioned gentlemen’s reading room.
The room itself was large, and stuffed with odd bits of furniture that the college probably didn’t want elsewhere. There was a long, fully functioning bar along the back wall, and a vast fireplace that looked as if would be worth a fortune in a reclamation yard, on the facing wall. In between were three pairs of French windows leading out to a croquet lawn. Solid wooden tables with buttoned leather armchairs were scattered around the room, with one wall dedicated to bookcases and their various tomes.
At the moment however, it was full of people standing about with plates of party food and holding pints of beer, and all agog at the news that Peter and his two young colleagues had brought. So far the consensus between the police officers was that the majority of people seemed to be either amazed or uneasily excited, rather than shocked. And nobody seemed tobe feeling a particular sense of sorrow or loss.
‘So, you were there when Mr Raines unveiled the stuffed bear,’ Peter said. It was his fifth quick interview of that lunchtime, and he was getting more or less the same answers from everybody.
‘That’s right. He had it in a crate. Impressive specimen,’ the interviewee, a woman in her late sixties, nibbled a rather soggy-looking salmon canapé.
‘And when was the last time you saw Mr Raines, madam?’
‘Oh, about half past eleven or so. I’d finished setting up my table, and he chivvied me and George about not missing the free lunch down here. George, that’s my husband, made some joke about there being no such thing as a free lunch and we came away.’
Peter nodded. A few of his other interviewees had said much the same thing. He’d have to check with the two uniforms, but he was beginning to get the impression that the victim himself had been intent on having the hall to himself for some reason or other.
Like Jenny Starling, he too had noticed that there had been two cups of coffee on the table next to the body. He was beginning to think that maybe Maurice Raines had been meeting someone, and wanted to have a little privacy whilst he did so. He’d have to put his theory to Trevor when he had a minute.
He thanked the sixty-something, who was now tucking in to a little sausage roll, and wandered over to one of the uniforms. A few quick words confirmed his thoughts, he told them to carry on, and then went back upstairs to find his guv’nor.
Trevor Golder was still in the corridor outside the entrance to hall, but now there was a little, balding man with him. Over the top of the newcomer’s head, he saw Trevor catch sight of his approach, and raised a querying eyebrow. Was he to approach, or give his boss some time alone with the new witness?
‘Ah, Sergeant,’ Trevor said, beckoning him over, ‘this is MrMcIntyre, the assistant bursar. Mr McIntyre, Sergeant Trent.’
‘Sir,’ Trent said politely.
‘Mr McIntyre was just wondering when the body was going to be removed,’ Trevor said, deadpan, ‘and I was just explaining to him that it’ll probably be a few hours yet. Our forensics people have to give us the go-ahead first, Mr McIntyre.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Art responded unhappily, and looked again at Jenny Starling. He’d been surprised to see the new cook sitting down in the inspector’s company, and he was mindful of Julius’s edict. ‘Miss Starling, Dr Glover-Smythe would like to see you as soon as possible.’
‘Miss Starling will be along shortly,’ Trevor said, with a gentle smile. ‘But since we have you here, Mr McIntyre, what can you tell us about the deceased?’
‘Mr Raines? Nothing,’ Art squeaked in surprise. ‘I mean, we had correspondence with the society, naturally, but I talked mostly over the telephone with Mrs Voight.’
‘But you’d met Mr Raines?’
The room itself was large, and stuffed with odd bits of furniture that the college probably didn’t want elsewhere. There was a long, fully functioning bar along the back wall, and a vast fireplace that looked as if would be worth a fortune in a reclamation yard, on the facing wall. In between were three pairs of French windows leading out to a croquet lawn. Solid wooden tables with buttoned leather armchairs were scattered around the room, with one wall dedicated to bookcases and their various tomes.
At the moment however, it was full of people standing about with plates of party food and holding pints of beer, and all agog at the news that Peter and his two young colleagues had brought. So far the consensus between the police officers was that the majority of people seemed to be either amazed or uneasily excited, rather than shocked. And nobody seemed tobe feeling a particular sense of sorrow or loss.
‘So, you were there when Mr Raines unveiled the stuffed bear,’ Peter said. It was his fifth quick interview of that lunchtime, and he was getting more or less the same answers from everybody.
‘That’s right. He had it in a crate. Impressive specimen,’ the interviewee, a woman in her late sixties, nibbled a rather soggy-looking salmon canapé.
‘And when was the last time you saw Mr Raines, madam?’
‘Oh, about half past eleven or so. I’d finished setting up my table, and he chivvied me and George about not missing the free lunch down here. George, that’s my husband, made some joke about there being no such thing as a free lunch and we came away.’
Peter nodded. A few of his other interviewees had said much the same thing. He’d have to check with the two uniforms, but he was beginning to get the impression that the victim himself had been intent on having the hall to himself for some reason or other.
Like Jenny Starling, he too had noticed that there had been two cups of coffee on the table next to the body. He was beginning to think that maybe Maurice Raines had been meeting someone, and wanted to have a little privacy whilst he did so. He’d have to put his theory to Trevor when he had a minute.
He thanked the sixty-something, who was now tucking in to a little sausage roll, and wandered over to one of the uniforms. A few quick words confirmed his thoughts, he told them to carry on, and then went back upstairs to find his guv’nor.
Trevor Golder was still in the corridor outside the entrance to hall, but now there was a little, balding man with him. Over the top of the newcomer’s head, he saw Trevor catch sight of his approach, and raised a querying eyebrow. Was he to approach, or give his boss some time alone with the new witness?
‘Ah, Sergeant,’ Trevor said, beckoning him over, ‘this is MrMcIntyre, the assistant bursar. Mr McIntyre, Sergeant Trent.’
‘Sir,’ Trent said politely.
‘Mr McIntyre was just wondering when the body was going to be removed,’ Trevor said, deadpan, ‘and I was just explaining to him that it’ll probably be a few hours yet. Our forensics people have to give us the go-ahead first, Mr McIntyre.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Art responded unhappily, and looked again at Jenny Starling. He’d been surprised to see the new cook sitting down in the inspector’s company, and he was mindful of Julius’s edict. ‘Miss Starling, Dr Glover-Smythe would like to see you as soon as possible.’
‘Miss Starling will be along shortly,’ Trevor said, with a gentle smile. ‘But since we have you here, Mr McIntyre, what can you tell us about the deceased?’
‘Mr Raines? Nothing,’ Art squeaked in surprise. ‘I mean, we had correspondence with the society, naturally, but I talked mostly over the telephone with Mrs Voight.’
‘But you’d met Mr Raines?’
Similar Books
