intervals between them that he didn't know what use he could be here but if there was anything he could do his father, sister and the Chief Inspector had only to ask. He yawned, looked once more at his watch and replied to Wexford that he had hardly slept a wink on the previous night, he and his wife and the au pair having been up for most of it with the youngest child who was ill.
'Mumps, actually,' he said. 'Poor little scrap.'
Jennifer Norris had put her feet up. Her husband was
93
standing by one of the windows, looking thoughtful. He seemed worried or puzzled, perhaps only concerned that a man in his position - as he would doubtless refer to himself - could suddenly find himself involved in so unsavoury a business. And Wexford's next remark made him turn slowly round to exchange with his wife a glance of dismay or possibly incredulity.
'I'd like to see what we can do by way of making an inventory of Mrs Knighton's missing jewellery.'
For Knighton this was a hopeless task. He now seemed stunned or bemused by what had happened and his face was drained of all colour and animation. He sat limply in an armchair, gazing at a fixed point and occasionally shaking himself out of his reverie with a shiver. Wexford's suggestion fetched from him a vague shake of the head. Roderick was on the phone again, whispering discreetly, sometimes cupping his hand round the mouthpiece.
'Is any jewellery actually missing?' said Norris in his courtroom drawl.
'One would suppose so. There's none in the house.' Wexford said dryly, 'I'm assuming Mrs Knighton possessed jewellery apart from her wedding ring.'
'Of course she did,' said Jennifer very sharply. Wexford wondered how much of that steel-trap snapping Norris had to put up with. 'There was a gold bracelet that had been my grandmother's,' she said, and added with a resounding lack of discretion, 'that she always said would be mine one day.' Norris closed his eyes and winced. 'And her pearls, of course. A few rings and brooches, a couple of watches. We aren't the sort of people who decorate ourselves like Christmas trees. Mummy thought it dreadfully vulgar to have your ears pierced.'
'I'd like you to do your best to make a list, Mrs Norris. No doubt your father gave her presents of jewellery over the years?'
Knighton said nothing. Wexford suddenly noticed the
94
large, square-cut diamond on the daughter's small red left hand. 'I don't actually think he did much,' she said.
Or Moss, who was Crocker's partner and Adam Knighton's GP, arrived at one and offered Knighton sleeping pills, tranquillizers and restrained sympathy. Roderick said he would be off but if there was anything he could do they had only to ring him. He left a string of phone numbers. Jennifer Norris remarked to her husband that they could phone her brother in Washington now, it would be eight in the morning in Washington. To her brother in Ankara she had sent a cable.
Wexford went back to the police station.
The house-to-house had produced nothing. Wexford hadn't thought it would. Thatto Hall Farm was too iso- lated. Pending Sir Hilary Tremlett's report, Crocker had volunteered that death had taken place approximately between two and four a.m. It would be at least tomorrow before they knew more: the type of gun used, the precise cause of death, other injuries, if any, to the body.
'It wasn't a burglary, was it?' said Burden. 'It was a clumsy half-hearted attempt to make it look like a burglary.'
Wexford nodded. 'Possibly not even what Jennifer Norris calls a "rough type".'
'Knighton,' said Burden cautiously, 'is not what anyone would call a rough type.'
Wexford's eyebrows went up.
Burden sat down in the only other seat apart from Wexford's swivel one that might remotely be called an armchair. 'He's fixed himseelf up a wonderful alibi for an innocent man. Going up to London, dining in St James's, staying in Hyde Park Gardens. He hardly ever spends a night away from home but the very night he does his wife gets
'Mumps, actually,' he said. 'Poor little scrap.'
Jennifer Norris had put her feet up. Her husband was
93
standing by one of the windows, looking thoughtful. He seemed worried or puzzled, perhaps only concerned that a man in his position - as he would doubtless refer to himself - could suddenly find himself involved in so unsavoury a business. And Wexford's next remark made him turn slowly round to exchange with his wife a glance of dismay or possibly incredulity.
'I'd like to see what we can do by way of making an inventory of Mrs Knighton's missing jewellery.'
For Knighton this was a hopeless task. He now seemed stunned or bemused by what had happened and his face was drained of all colour and animation. He sat limply in an armchair, gazing at a fixed point and occasionally shaking himself out of his reverie with a shiver. Wexford's suggestion fetched from him a vague shake of the head. Roderick was on the phone again, whispering discreetly, sometimes cupping his hand round the mouthpiece.
'Is any jewellery actually missing?' said Norris in his courtroom drawl.
'One would suppose so. There's none in the house.' Wexford said dryly, 'I'm assuming Mrs Knighton possessed jewellery apart from her wedding ring.'
'Of course she did,' said Jennifer very sharply. Wexford wondered how much of that steel-trap snapping Norris had to put up with. 'There was a gold bracelet that had been my grandmother's,' she said, and added with a resounding lack of discretion, 'that she always said would be mine one day.' Norris closed his eyes and winced. 'And her pearls, of course. A few rings and brooches, a couple of watches. We aren't the sort of people who decorate ourselves like Christmas trees. Mummy thought it dreadfully vulgar to have your ears pierced.'
'I'd like you to do your best to make a list, Mrs Norris. No doubt your father gave her presents of jewellery over the years?'
Knighton said nothing. Wexford suddenly noticed the
94
large, square-cut diamond on the daughter's small red left hand. 'I don't actually think he did much,' she said.
Or Moss, who was Crocker's partner and Adam Knighton's GP, arrived at one and offered Knighton sleeping pills, tranquillizers and restrained sympathy. Roderick said he would be off but if there was anything he could do they had only to ring him. He left a string of phone numbers. Jennifer Norris remarked to her husband that they could phone her brother in Washington now, it would be eight in the morning in Washington. To her brother in Ankara she had sent a cable.
Wexford went back to the police station.
The house-to-house had produced nothing. Wexford hadn't thought it would. Thatto Hall Farm was too iso- lated. Pending Sir Hilary Tremlett's report, Crocker had volunteered that death had taken place approximately between two and four a.m. It would be at least tomorrow before they knew more: the type of gun used, the precise cause of death, other injuries, if any, to the body.
'It wasn't a burglary, was it?' said Burden. 'It was a clumsy half-hearted attempt to make it look like a burglary.'
Wexford nodded. 'Possibly not even what Jennifer Norris calls a "rough type".'
'Knighton,' said Burden cautiously, 'is not what anyone would call a rough type.'
Wexford's eyebrows went up.
Burden sat down in the only other seat apart from Wexford's swivel one that might remotely be called an armchair. 'He's fixed himseelf up a wonderful alibi for an innocent man. Going up to London, dining in St James's, staying in Hyde Park Gardens. He hardly ever spends a night away from home but the very night he does his wife gets
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