Page 27 of Copper Script
“He didn’t talk to me about his work.A private detective must keep things private, he used to say, and quite right too.”She snapped her mouth shut illustratively.
“True.But unfortunately we do need to ask questions, so if you know anything—”
“Why?”she interrupted.“What happened to him?You said detectives.Was it—did someone—”
“We don’t know exactly what happened yet.It might well have been an accident, but we have to make sure.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect someone meant him harm?”Challice asked.
Mrs.Trotter drew back.“Well, he had a funny sort of business, didn’t he?That’s what he said.People hire you to ask questions other people don’t want asked.”
“Same as us,” Challice remarked, with a winning smile.
“Not on Mr.Marks’ saying,” Mrs.Trotter retorted.“He said there was plenty of questions the police didn’t want asked.”
“What sort of questions?”Aaron asked.
“Idon’t know.It wasn’t my business.”
She was clamming up; he could feel it.“Of course he couldn’t talk idly about his clients,” he said, trying to sound approving.“Sounds like he knew his stuff.What sort of cases did he mostly do?I tend to think of private detectives as mostly lost dogs and divorces, but perhaps that’s not fair.”
Mrs.Trotter bristled a little, as he’d intended.“Indeed it is not.Mr.Marks worked on some very serious matters.Miscarriages of justice, even.”She gave Aaron a significant look, which stung a touch.He hoped she had not recognised him from that dratted case in the papers; he still felt painfully self-conscious about the accusation.
“Really?”Challice chimed in.“Gosh, good for him.Was that recently?”
“No, it was not, or he wouldn’t have talked about it,” Mrs.Trotter said severely.“It was the case of poor Sammy Beech.Ifyou know his name.”
It rang a bell, but Aaron couldn’t immediately place it.He had a feeling that admitting ignorance would be taken as an affront.“What was Mr.Marks’ involvement?”
“The family asked him to look into it, afterwards.They never believed what that man said of poor Sammy.Lot of lies,” she said with clear challenge.
Aaron wasn’t getting drawn into that.“I’d like to take a look at his room, if we may?”
Mrs.Trotter allowed it with a little reluctance.Marks had not lived with any more luxury than he’d died with; his room was sparse and worn, though clean, probably thanks to Mrs.Trotter.They didn’t find money, or jewellery, or fine clothes to make sense of that gold watch.They also didn’t find notebooks, papers, or anything relating to his work.
“So what do you think?”Challice asked as they made their way back to the station house.
“Right now, I don’t think anything.I want to know what the coroner has to say.I want to know who used his keys last night, and where he got the money before he died.And I want to find his notebooks.I think Mr.Marks has a great deal more to tell us yet.”
