A New Lease of Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘I’ve read the official transcript of the trial and I’ve discussed the whole thing with Colonel Griswold.’
    ‘What exactly do you want to know, then?’ Wexford asked in his blunt way.
    Archery took a deep breath and said rather too quickly:
    ‘I want you to tell me that somewhere in your mind there is just the faintest doubt, the shadow of a doubt, of Painter’s guilt.’
    So that was it, or part of it. Burden with his theories that the parson was a Primero relative or seeking to buy the Primero house couldn’t have been more wrong. This man, whatever axe he might be grinding, was bent on whitewashing Painter.
    Wexford frowned and after a moment said, ‘Can’t be done. Painter did it all right.’ He set his jaw stubbornly, ‘If you want to quote me in your book you’re quite welcome. You can say that after sixteen years Wexford still maintains that Painter was guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt.
    ‘What book is that?’ Archery inclined his handsome head courteously. His eyes were brown and now they looked bewildered. Then he laughed. It was a nice laugh and it was the first time Wexford had heard it. ‘I don’t write books,’ he said. ‘Well, I did once contribute a chapter to a work on Abyssinian cats but that hardly …’
    Abyssinian cats
. Bloody great red cats, thought Wexford. Whatever next? ‘Why are you interested in Painter, Mr Archery?’
    Archery hesitated. The sun showed up lines on his face that Wexford had not realized were there. Funny, he thought ruefully, how dark women age slower than fair ones but the reverse was true of men.
    ‘My reasons are very personal, Chief Inspector. I can’t suppose that they would interest you. But I can assure you that there’s no possibility of my publishing anything you tell me.’
    Well, he had promised Griswold – as to that, he didn’t have much choice. Hadn’t he, in any case, already resigned himself to giving up most of the afternoon to this clergyman? Weariness was at last beginning to gain a hold on him. He might be equal to reminiscing, going over past familiar words and scenes; on this hot afternoon he was quite unequal to anything more exacting. Probably the personal reasons – and he confessed mentally to an almost childish curiosity about them – would emerge in due course. There was something frank and boyish in his visitor’s face which made Wexford think he would not be particularly discreet.
    ‘What d’you want me to tell you?’ he asked.
    ‘Why you are so determined Painter was guilty. Of course I don’t know any more about this sort of thing than the average layman, but it seems to me there were a good many gaps in the evidence. There were other people involved, people who had quite definite interests in Mrs Primero’s death.’
    Wexford said coldly, ‘I’m fully prepared to go over any points with you, sir.’
    ‘Now?’
    ‘Certainly now. Have you got the transcript with you?’
    Archery produced it from a very battered leather briefcase. His hands were long and thin but not womanish. They reminded Wexford of saints’ hand in what he called ‘churchy’ paintings. For five minutes or so he scanned the papers in silence, refreshing his memory on tiny points. Then he put them down and raised his eyes to Archery’s face.
    ‘We have to go back to Saturday, September 23rd,’ he said, ‘the day before the murder. Painter didn’t appear with the coal at all that evening. The two old women waited until nearly eight o’clock when the fire was almost out, and Mrs Primero said she would go to bed. Alice Flower was incensed at this and went out to get what she called “a few lumps”.’
    ‘That was when she hurt her leg,’ Archery said eagerly.
    ‘It wasn’t a serious injury but it made Mrs Primero angry and she blamed Painter. At about ten on the following morning she sent Alice down to the coach house to tell Painter she wanted to see him at eleven thirty sharp. He came up ten minutes late, Alice showed him