The Death of Marco Styles Read Online Free PDF Page A

The George in Great Aldbury if you need me, and of course I’ll be delighted to assist you in any way I can.’
    As de Lacy left he caught two words from the inspector, clearly intended to be loud enough for him to hear.
    â€˜Idle bastard.’
    De Lacy had done his best to keep up the calm, self-assured manner he liked to present to the world during the interview with Inspector Morden, but it had shaken him more than he’d have admitted to, while being forced to walk through the heart of Solsbury and take a bus to Great Aldbury while dressed for golf had been both embarrassing and irritating. His annoyance had lasted as he set up his laptop and began to search for information on the employees of Vulcan Pharmaceuticals, only to give way to shock and a dull sense of horror at his discoveries.
    His hand moved to his phone, only to stop. It was obvious that the inspector had received much of his information from Sergeant McIntyre, and he felt no particular obligation to tell her first, but as his mind raced from one link of a chain of logic to the next he put the phone down once more. His duty was clear: to inform the police of what he’d discovered in case they missed it, but in the circumstances he could hardly be expected to do their reasoning for them. Yet presenting Inspector Morden with the true facts of the case was going to be immensely satisfying.
    Pausing only to change into something more suitable, he drove out to Elthorne House.
    There was a constable stationed at the gates, one of the men who had been among the first to arrive on the night of the murder. Slowing the Jaguar, he lowered the window and gave the man a friendly smile, hoping to be waved through, only to be directed to pull over beside the drive just inside the gates.
    â€˜Wait here, please, sir,’ the constable instructed.
    â€˜Couldn’t I park at the house?’ de Lacy asked. ‘I’m here to see Sergeant McIntyre.’
    â€˜No, sir. You have to be accompanied at all times.’
    De Lacy didn’t try to argue, but got out of the car while the constable spoke into his intercom. When the sergeant appeared around the curve of the drive he greeted her with a measured, formal nod. For an instant she seemed embarrassed, before composing herself and greeting him with equal formality.
    â€˜Can I help you, Mr de Lacy?’
    â€˜I have information for you,’ he told her, ‘but first, are you aware that I was taken into Solsbury Police Station this morning and interviewed by Inspector Morden?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I thought we had an agreement?’
    â€˜Yes, that you would give me any information you had on this case, and that you would be discreet about what you’d told me.’
    â€˜Discretion works two ways, or it should. I appreciate that you have a job to do, but the information you passed on to Inspector Morden was given in confidence, and I kept my part of the bargain, by the way. My hope was that we could assist each other in finding out who the killer is, and that only then would you present the facts to Inspector Morden, as a fait accompli .’
    â€˜I can’t do that,’ she answered him. ‘What do you imagine it would do to my career prospects if I withheld information from a senior officer?’
    â€˜True,’ de Lacy admitted, ‘and it’s not your fault that Morden chose to put two and two together and make about two dozen, but it was rather a shock to be hauled into the station and all but charged with murder. You might at least have warned me.’
    â€˜That’s not the way it works, Mr de Lacy,’ she told him firmly. ‘Now, what do you have to say?’
    â€˜Inspector Morden showed me a printout of an email,’ he explained, ‘probably in the hope of shocking me into a confession. The printout showed the structural formula for the neurotoxin used to murder Marco Styles, and I recognised the logo at the top as belonging to