Wexford 4 - The Best Man To Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

grief.’ Still the old man hesitated, biting his lip. ‘Go on, Dad,’ Jack said fiercely. ‘Tell them it’s all off and tell them why.’ He gasped as if suddenly, at this moment, it had come home to him. ‘Tell them Charlie Hatton’s dead!’
       Oh, Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. . . How are the mighty fallen and the weapons of war perished!

    ‘A best man, indeed,’ said Burden. ‘Everyone’s best man.’
       You callous devil, thought Wexford. ‘Naturally Pertwee’d be upset. What did you expect?’
       Burden made a moue of disgust. ‘That sort of grief, that’s the widow’s province. A man ought to have more self-control.’ His pale ascetic face flushed unbecomingly. ‘You don’t suppose there was anything . . .’
       ‘No, I don’t,’ said Wexford. ‘And why can’t you call a spade a spade? They were friends. Don’t you have friends, Mike? A pretty pass we’ve come to if a man can’t have a friend without being labelled queer.’ He stared aggressively at Burden and declaimed loudly and meaningfully, ‘0 brave new world, that has such people in it!’
       Burden gave a stiff repressive cough and maintained silence until they reached York Street. Then he said coldly, ‘George Carter’s place is down here, old Pertwee said.’
       ‘He’s the Morris dancer, isn’t he? I’ve seen him cavorting about on summer nights outside the Olive and Dove.’
       ‘Lot of affected nonsense.’
       But George Carter wasn’t wearing his cap and bells this morning. From the brilliantined hair and the smart lounge suit, Wexford gathered that here was a wedding guest.

    He hinted at the unlikelihood of Jack Pertwee’s being married that day and was inwardly amused to observe that this piece of information - the fact that Carter would be deprived of his cold chicken and champagne - distressed him more than Hatton’s death. The wedding guest did not exactly beat his breast but he looked considerably crestfallen.
       ‘All that money wasted,’ he said. ‘I know, I was making plans for my own wedding, but then you won’t want to know about that. Pity Jack had to be told, really. I don’t seem to be able to take it in. Charlie Hatton dead! He was always so full of life, if you know what I mean.’
       ‘And very well liked, I gather.’
       George Carter’s eyebrows went up. ‘Charlie? Oh well, mustn’t speak ill of the dead.’
       ‘You’d better speak the truth, Mr Carter,’ said Burden, ‘and never mind whether it’s ill or not. We want to know all about this party last night. The lot, please. You can take your time.’
       Like Jack Pertwee and yet utterly unlike him, Carter took off his jacket and loosened his tie. ‘I don’t know what you mean by the lot,’ he said. ‘It was just a bunch of mates having a drink.’
       ‘What happened? What did you talk about?’
       ‘O.K.’ He gave them an incredulous glance and said sarcastically, ‘Stop me if I’m boring you. Charlie come into the Dragon at about half nine, maybe a quarter to ten. We was drinking beer so, of course, Charlie has to make us all feel small by paying for whiskies all round. A crack hand at that, was Charlie Hatton. I made some comment and he bit my head off. This the sort of thing you want to know?’
       ‘Exactly the sort of thing, Mr Carter.’
       ‘Seems a bit mean, that’s all, with the poor geezer dead. Then someone else was telling a joke and he sort of - well, humiliated him, if you know what I mean. He was like that, always had to be top dog. He drank my drink because I said something about all the money he was always flashing around and then he made a dirty crack about. . . Well, that doesn’t matter. It was personal. He got at our chairman too and he left with a couple of the others. Geoff had already gone. There was me and Charlie and Maurice and Jack left and we went when they closed. And that’s the lot.’
       ‘You’re sure?’