Page 153 of Crocodile Tears

The light drizzle of earlier had given way to a storm, and it was pouring with rain as he left the house. A quick conversation with the waiting press confirmed Charles’s alibi. Then he ran back to his duck and decided to wait for the downpour to pass.

A brief search of the Waterlooville Boat Show brought up a holovid of Charles Lytton demonstrating a product at 9.10a.m. and again at 11.30a.m. on the day of the murder. There was no way he could have driven from there to Dacre’s house, shot him, and driven back again.

Neither could he have left The Orchard to post the gun the following day without the press seeing him, and nobody had visited the house to collect a package, either.

Charles Lytton couldn’t be the murderer or the murderer’s accomplice, and it would have done him no good to kill Elliot Dacre anyway, as he didn’t have the money to buy Alexander.

Josiah had wondered if Noah Lytton was a possible suspect, but quickly dismissed the notion. There was no way that frail old man had made the journey to Dacre’s house, and he certainly hadn’t been responsible for posting the gun.

So, if neither Charles nor Noah Lytton had made an offer to buy Alexander, then who had? Josiah was sure that question was at the heart of this case; if he could answer it, then he would find his murderer.

At that moment, Reed called. “Ballistics confirm that the gun was definitely the one used to kill Dacre.”

“As we expected.” Josiah rolled his neck from side to side until it made a satisfying click.

“And the blood spatter report’s back, too. The pattern indicates that both Dacre and his assailant were standing when Dacre was shot. The shooter was probably around the same height as Dacre – maybe a bit taller – so Charles Lytton probably isn’t our guy.”

“Yeah, I’ve already figured that out,” Josiah said wearily.

“Any idea who is?”

“When I know, you’ll know. Did you get anything off that envelope?”

“No prints, as expected, but I’m still following up on precisely where and when it was posted.”

“Keep me informed.” Josiah ended the call.

He took the little silver box out of his jacket, wanting a chocolate fix, and then remembered he hadn’t yet refilled it. To his surprise, it made a little rustling noise, so he flipped open the lid and found two dark chocolates nestled inside.

He stared at them, wondering if he’d put them there and forgotten – and then he recalled leaving Alexander alone for a few minutes while he’d gone upstairs to find his old nanopad. He’d left his jacket hanging over the back of a chair, and Alexander had clearly taken advantage of the moment to refill his chocolate stash.

Who exactly was Alexander Lytton? The tortured genius, the spoiltbad boy, the smart player trying to beat him in a game of wits, or the perfect servant, trying his best to please his new houder with a gift of chocolate?

He put one of the chocolates in his mouth and let it slowly melt while he tried to work out which Alexander was the real one. Maybe they all were.

He needed to have another chat with his elusive IS. The storm had passed and it was getting late – it was time to head for home.

As he drove, he mulled over everything he’d learned during the day. By the time he arrived, he had a whole list of questions he wanted to put to Alexander – and this time he had no intention of being fobbed off by the indie’s evasive answers.

He parked his duck in the garage beside Peter’s gleaming red car, jogged into the house, and threw open the living room door.

“Alexander! You and I need to…”

He stopped dead in his tracks. The room was warm and cosy. The nanofire he rarely used was flickering invitingly, and the lounge was gently lit by two glowing turquoise lamps he’d never seen before. There were several cerise scatter cushions on the sofa and a fleece throw in the same shade hung neatly over it, complementing the colours of the lamps. Music was playing softly in the background and a delicious scent was wafting enticingly from the kitchen.

“You wanted me, sir?” Alexander appeared in the doorway, dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft blue sweatshirt, with nothing on his feet. His hair was gelled and glistened in the soft lamplight, framing his face in soft waves.

“Uh…” Josiah glanced around. “What have you done to my house?”

“Well, it was already tidy, so there wasn’t much clearing up to do, but maybe it was a little cold and formal, sir.” Alexander stepped into the room.

“So, I reprogrammed a few things, and ordered some items online and got them delivered this afternoon, along with the ingredients for dinner.”

Josiah ran his fingers over the throw on the back of the sofa and discovered it was exquisitely soft. His new IS had good taste.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t spend a fortune. I’ve sent the receipts to your nym. Would you like a snack before dinner, sir?”

Alexander brought over a tray containing a glass of Coke and a bowl of nuts. “You’ve had a long day, and I’m sure you want to relax. I didn’t know when to expect you home, so I prepared a casserole and have it on a low heat; it’s ready whenever you are.”

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