Lessons in Murder by Claire McNab

exchanged pleasantries as he led her to his sumptuous study. One wall was lined with books, and the predictable large leather-topped desk dominated the room. Incongruously, it seemed to Carol, a huge stuffed blue marlin hung over the open fireplace. Sir Richard followed her eyes and smiled complacently. “Caught it myself off the Queensland coast a year or so ago,” he said. “Near record. Hope to do better next time.”
    Sir Richard rang for coffee, and then turned his formidable attention on Carol. She had met him often, but not usually alone. He had about him an aura of power which had not been even slightly diminished by his retirement from politics, so she was not surprised that he knew every development in the case. He had only to ask, and he would receive whatever he wanted.
    “That girl, the one Bill was supposed to be involved with, have you interviewed her?”
    “Hilary Cosgrove. Detective Sergeant Bourke saw her on Friday. She was too upset before then.”
    “I’m not surprised. She’s pregnant,” said Sir Richard.
    Carol’s expression didn’t change. “I didn’t know that. Your son?”
    “So she claimed. He told me about it last Saturday night. I advised him to persuade her to get rid of it. It would hardly do Bill any good to be associated with a scandal over a schoolgirl, would it?”
    “And?”
    “And nothing. He wasn’t keen on the idea, but he agreed to talk to her about it the next day.”
    “Do you know if he did?”
    “I rang him on Sunday afternoon. He said he was seeing her that evening, and that he’d be in touch later. That was the last time I spoke to him.” He carefully unwrapped a cigar. “You smoke? No? You don’t mind if I do?” He leaned back in his leather chair. “This kid, Hilary Cosgrove, could she have killed him?”
    “It’s not impossible. She wasn’t at school on Monday. She stayed home, alone, saying she had a stomach upset. She could have walked down to the school, but if she did, no one saw her.”
    Sir Richard grunted, and changed the subject. “How are your investigations going with Peter McIvor?”
    “We know he owed your son five thousand dollars, and he was having trouble paying it back.”
    “Ah, yes, the gambling club.” Sir Richard smiled saintly. “You know, of course, that my son was keen on gambling, and the Pink Dolphin Club, the one he introduced McIvor to, is illegal.”
    Carol nodded. It was strongly rumored that Sir Richard’s money had set up the Pink Dolphin Club and other successful illegal gambling casinos. “A teacher’s salary doesn’t seem to be enough to meet your son’s expenses,” she said mildly.
    “Oh, it wasn’t. I paid him an allowance. But he loved teaching, Inspector, he really did. Frankly, I wanted him in business, but he had neither the brains nor the inclination. He liked swimming, sailing, doing things with his hands . . . so he became an industrial arts teacher on the Peninsula. For him, it was an ideal life.”
    With access to an endless supply of young girls who were too young to threaten his masculinity, thought Carol. Aloud she said, “Do you have any information that could help the investigation?”
    “I have confidence in your abilities, Inspector. You know, of course, about Alan Witcombe’s activities?”
    “Yes.”
    Sir Richard blew smoke reflectively towards the ceiling. “And then there’s Sybil Quade,” he said.
    Carol’s pulse leaped at her name. “The Commissioner feels Mrs. Quade is a central figure,” she said neutrally.
    “So do I,” said Sir Richard. “Bill often mentioned her, especially after her marriage to Quade broke up.”
    “In what way?”
    Sir Richard smiled. “She’s a very attractive woman, isn’t she? Bill found her so, anyway. I don’t think they were just friends, if you see what I mean.”
    “Mrs. Quade denies any intimacy.”
    “I’m sure she does. Wouldn’t you, in her place? Besides, I believe she has someone else interested in her—Terry Clarke. He