Dying Fall

but Henry takes the question seriously.
    ‘No. On the contrary. He did most of his digging – archaeology, you know – at the weekends.’
    ‘Professor Henry,’ says Nelson. ‘Is it true that Daniel Golding had recently made a significant archaeological find?’
    Sandy looks at his friend in amazement but Henry answers eagerly.
    ‘Yes. How did you …’
    ‘I have my sources,’ says Nelson grandly. ‘Was there any controversy linked to this discovery?’
    Now Henry really does look worried. He glances from one policeman to the other and then down at his feet. Nelson waits. He knows the power of silence, of leaving a space for the suspect to convict themselves, and is, therefore, rather irritated when Sandy butts in.
    ‘Answer the question please, Professor Henry. Was there any controversy attached to this archaeological discovery?’
    Henry rubs his face with his hand. Eventually he says, in almost a whisper, ‘The right-wing group on campus, they’re racists, idiots, not a brain cell between them. But there’s a sub-group, a kind of secret society. They call themselves the White Hand. They’re obsessed with history, particularly with King Arthur.’
    ‘King Arthur?’ echoes Sandy.
    ‘Yes. That’s what Dan thought he had discovered. The tomb of King Arthur.’
    Sandy and Nelson look at each other. Sandy says, ‘Isn’t he meant to be buried in Cornwall somewhere?’
    ‘There are all sorts of legends,’ says Henry. ‘And some link Arthur to this area, to the northern borders. The thing is, this group, they’ve got a special thing about Arthur.’
    ‘What do you mean, a special thing?’ asks Sandy, sounding impatient. Nelson would have been impatient himself once but his association with Ruth has made him more tolerant.
    ‘For them he’s the big English hero,’ says Henry, stillsounding scared. ‘They call him the White King, the High King. They wouldn’t want him associated with the Romans. They see the Romans as foreigners, invaders. And that’s where Dan uncovered the tomb. At Ribchester, a famous Roman site.’
    ‘And was Golding aware of any intimidation from the group, the White Hand?’ asks Sandy.
    ‘I don’t know,’ says Henry miserably. Nelson wonders if he’s telling the truth.
    ‘Do you know the names of anyone involved with this group?’
    ‘No,’ says Henry. ‘It’s all deadly secret. They wear masks when they appear in public, on demos and the like.’
    ‘Would they have known about Daniel Golding’s find?’
    Clayton Henry attempts a jocular tone. ‘You know what universities are like. Nothing stays secret for long.’
    ‘No, I don’t know what universities are like,’ says Sandy. ‘Barely managed CSEs in art and metalwork. So you think that someone in this secret society may have found out that Daniel Golding had discovered the lost tomb of King Arthur?’
    ‘It’s possible,’ says Clayton Henry miserably.
    ‘Is it possible that one of these White Hand people killed Daniel Golding?’
    ‘No,’ says Clayton Henry. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would do that.’
    ‘You’d better believe it,’ says Sandy brutally. ‘Daniel Golding died of smoke inhalation. The door of his house was locked from the outside.’
    Clayton Henry puts a hand over his face. ‘Don’t.’
    ‘Ever see anyone dead after a fire?’ asks Sandy. ‘Pretty nasty way to die.’
    Henry’s shoulders shake. Nelson wonders if he’s going to break down altogether. Sandy, obviously thinking the same thing, moves in for the kill.
    ‘Professor Henry, do you know anything about Dan Golding’s death?’
    Henry says nothing but another voice cuts through the air.
    ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
    The two policemen turn as a tall woman stalks into the room, followed by a small fluffy dog. The woman hurries to Clayton Henry’s side and puts her arm round him.
    ‘It’s all right, Clay. It’s all right.’
    The dog, sensing tension, starts barking wildly. Nelson sees Sandy’s foot itching to kick it.
    ‘What’s going on?’ The woman looks up. Despite being casually dressed in sports clothes, she is extremely attractive, with the sort of classic good looks that need no adornment. Nelson guesses that she’s in her early forties. Is she Henry’s personal assistant? His therapist?
    ‘I’m Pippa Henry,’ says the vision. ‘Clayton’s wife. Can you please tell me what’s happening here?’
    Nelson and Sandy exchange glances. Clearly there’s more to the