Dead Man's Time

large suitcase standing by the front door, then followed her as she walked slowly and stiffly across the hallway, and knocked on the door to Gavin Daly’s study.
    Grace went in, breathing in the dry reek of old cigar smoke, which seemed ingrained in the oak panelling and the furniture. He’d always liked the smell, because it reminded him of his
father, who enjoyed the occasional cigar. Daly, dressed in a crisply pressed sports jacket, checked shirt, cavalry twill trousers and suede brogues, stood up. ‘How can I help you, Detective
Superintendent?’ he said, looking distinctly uneasy. He strode across the room with his stick, shook Grace’s hand with his own bony grip, then ushered him to a sofa, and perched on the
one opposite.
    ‘I hope you don’t mind me popping in to see you, sir?’
    ‘No. I apologize if I was a bit short with you previously. This is all very stressful, as I’m sure you can understand.’
    ‘Indeed, sir.’
    Grace noticed him glance anxiously at his watch.
    ‘You have a plane to catch, sir?’ he asked him.
    ‘Yes – I do – I’m off to France; to Nice. I thought I’d get away to my villa there for the weekend. I need a break from all of this.’ He gave him a smile that
was more affable than at their last meeting.
    ‘I can understand. A nice luxury to have. Although if I lived in a house as beautiful as this, I’m not sure I’d ever want to leave it.’
    Daly sat stiffly and just smiled. ‘Do you have some news for me, Detective Superintendent?’
    ‘We’ve recovered an Art Deco mirror that we think belonged to your sister – I’d like you to identify it at some point, if that is possible?’
    Daly nodded with enthusiasm.
    ‘But that’s not my reason for coming. Actually it’s a rather delicate situation, sir.’ Grace glanced down at the fine inlaid table between them. It was 9.30 a.m. and he
craved a coffee, but that did not seem to be about to happen.
    Daly looked at him inquisitively.
    ‘We know how well protected your watch was, in the safe with the dummy door. And we’ve been fairly sure all along that there must have been inside information.’
    ‘From the knocker-boy?’
    Grace shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have thought your sister would have shown him the safe, would she?’
    ‘Never,’ he said fiercely, and glanced at his watch again. ‘It was when they tortured her; that’s when she must have told them.’
    ‘That is of course one distinct possibility, sir. But I’d like to ask you something. How friendly was your late sister with Sarah Courteney?’
    ‘Extremely. Aileen was very fond of her. She never got on with my son Lucas, but she liked Sarah a lot. Sarah called in on her often, keeping Aileen company.’
    ‘Would you think it possible your sister might have shown Sarah Courteney your watch at some time?’
    His face darkened. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That Sarah had something to do with this?’
    Grace, faced with a difficult decision, looked back down at the coffee table, studying it intently for a moment, as if he might find the answer to what he should do carved there in the wood.
‘There’s no delicate way of saying this, but it would seem your daughter-in-law was having an affair,’ he said, looking Daly in the eye.
    Daly shrugged. ‘Good luck to her. She deserves better than my son, that’s for sure.’
    Surprised and relieved by the man’s reaction, Grace went on. ‘The man she’s been having the affair with is Gareth Dupont – who has been charged with your sister’s
murder.’
    There was a long silence. Grace saw Daly clenching both his hands so tightly he could almost see the bones through the thin, white skin. ‘This explains a lot,’ he said, finally.
    ‘Do you think the two of them might have been in cahoots, sir?’
    Daly shook his head. ‘Not for one moment, no. Sarah is a decent person. I would imagine this Dupont character would have targeted her, and just gently, gently got the information from her.
Have you talked to her?’
    ‘Yes, and I’m inclined to agree with you,’ Grace replied.
    ‘I’d say she was used, exploited. Lucas treated her like dirt. She was a ready target for a piece of vermin like Dupont.’
    Grace watched his face closely. ‘What time is your flight to Nice, sir?’
    ‘One o’clock.’
    ‘Safe travels, and I’ll keep you updated on any news.’
    ‘I’d appreciate that.’
    *
    As he left Daly’s house, two things were preying on Roy Grace’s