Page 50 of Carbon

“That’s right.”

“Not well at all. Why?”

“He’s disappeared. Last night, in fact.”

“Perhaps he just went out?”

“It looks as if he left in a hurry, and his motorcycle is missing.”

“I didn’t even know he had a motorcycle.”

That part was true.

Another, older, policeman walked in with two cups of coffee and gave me a kindly smile. “Ah, Miss Fordham. You’re awake.”

Ten out of ten for observation, but I bit back the sarcasm. “Yes, I am.”

“I was just asking Miss Fordham about Mr. Davies,” the first policeman said, taking a sip of coffee and then trying to style it out as it scalded his tongue.

“Do you mind if we record this conversation?” cop number two asked, taking over.

Yes, and I didn’t want to be having it in the first place. “Not at all.”

He fussed around setting up a digital recorder on the tray table as well as getting out a notepad and pen. A sliver of worry stabbed at me. “Where are my clothes?” They’d put me in a nasty paper nightgown, and the pen from Ben had been in the pocket of my dress.

“Right over there on the chair, ma’am.”

I could hardly ask about the pen, could I? They’d want to know why it was so important to me, and I didn’t have a plausible answer other than the truth. Instead, I muttered, “Good,” and left it at that.

“Now, about Mr. Davies. How much has Geoff here told you?”

“Almost nothing.”

“In that case, let’s start at the beginning.” He fiddled around with the recorder and a green light clicked on. “This is Detective Stuart Robinson and Detective Geoffrey Bell interviewing Miss Augusta Fordham.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “You’re here because you witnessed events surrounding the murder of Miss Angelica Fordham on the second of June. Do you understand this?”

I nodded.

“If you could keep all answers verbal for the tape, please.”

“Yes.”

“During this interview, we’ll talk to you about events at the party that took place at Shotley Manor on the night of the murder and the subsequent discovery of the body.”

Every time he mentioned the word murder, I wanted to be sick again, but there was nothing left inside me. Not even my heart. That had shattered last night.

“We’ll also ask you about anything else which may become relevant during the interview in order to properly establish the facts and issues.”

The man talked like a robot. He may have been a competent detective, but he most certainly failed the courses in sympathy and compassion.

“Could you walk us through the events of last night?”

I did so, basically saying the same things as I had in the pool house. The less I told them, the less I could trip over later.

“How long would you say there was between you finding your sister’s body and Mr. Davies arriving?”

“I’m not sure. It seemed like hours, but it couldn’t have been. Maybe a few minutes?”

“We’ve got reason to believe Beau Davies may have had something to do with your sister’s murder.”

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