Playing for the Ashes by Elizabeth George

the nursing chair stood a tripod table on which sat a decanter and small, stemmed glasses. One of these was half-full. Miriam Whitelaw drank from it, saying, “I’ve always had sherry after dinner. A social solecism, I know. Brandy or cognac would be more appropriate. But I’ve never liked either. Would you like a sherry?”
    Lynley said no. Havers looked as if she would have jumped at the chance to have a Glenlivet had it been offered. But she shook her head and plunged her hand into her shoulder bag, bringing forth her notebook.
    Lynley explained to Mrs. Whitelaw how the case would be handled, coordinated from the two locations of Kent and London. He gave her Inspector Ardery’s name. He handed her one of his cards. She took it, read it, and turned it over. She laid it next to her glass.
    “Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t quite understand. What do you mean, ‘coordinated’?”
    “Have you not spoken to the Kent police?” Lynley asked. “Or the fir e brigade?”
    “I spoke to the fire brigade. Sometime after lunch. I can’t recall the gentleman’s name. He phoned me at work.”
    “Where’s this?” Lynley saw Havers beginning to write.
    “A printing factory. In Stepney.”
    At this, Havers raised her head. Miriam Whitelaw didn’t exactly look the part of either Stepney or a factory worker.
    “Whitelaw Printworks,” she clari fie d. “I run it.” She reached in her pocket and brought out a handkerchief, which she held in her palm, curling her fingers round it. “Can you tell me exactly what’s going on, please?”
    “What have you been told so far?” Lynley asked.
    “The gentleman from the fir e brigade told me there’d been a fire in the cottage. He said they’d had to break through the door. He said they’d found that the fire was out and there wasn’t much damage aside from smoke and soot. I wanted to go out and have a look for myself, but he told me that they’d sealed off the cottage and I wouldn’t be able to get in until the investigation was completed. I asked him what investigation. I asked him why we needed an investigation if the fire was out. He asked me who was staying in the cottage. I told him. He said thank you and rang off.” She curled the handkerchief further against her palm. “I phoned down there twice during the afternoon. No one would tell me anything. They took my name and my number each time and said thank you very much and they’d be in touch directly they had some news. That was the extent of it. Now you’re here and… Please. What’s happened?”
    “You told them a woman called Gabriella Patten was staying in the cottage,” Lynley said.
    “She is. The gentleman who phoned asked how to spell her name. He asked if anyone was staying with her. I told him no, as far as I knew. Gabriella had gone out there for seclusion, and I couldn’t imagine she’d be up to entertaining. I asked the gentleman if Gabriella was all right. He said he’d be in touch as soon as he knew.” She raised the handkerchief hand to the necklace she was wearing. This was gold, constructed of heavy links. Her earrings matched it. “As soon as he knew ,” she said pensively. “How could he not know…? Was she hurt, Inspector? Is that why you’ve come? Is Gabriella in hospital?”
    “The fire started in the dining room,” Lynley said.
    “That much I know. Was it the carpet? Gabriella likes fires, and if an ember shot out from the fireplace while she was in another room—”
    “Actually, it was a cigarette in an armchair. Several nights ago.”
    “Cigarette?” Miriam Whitelaw’s eyes lowered. Her expression altered. She didn’t look as understanding as she had done at the thought of an unfortunate fireplace ember being the cause of the blaze.
    Lynley leaned forward. “Mrs. Whitelaw, we’ve come to talk to you about Kenneth Fleming.”
    “Ken? Why?”
    “Because, unfortunately, there’s been a death at your cottage. And we need to gather some information in order to