Benton said, “Even if we find that he has more than one friend with a grievance, I can’t somehow envisage an enemy going down to Stoke Cheverell to kill him, getting access to the Westhalls’ cottage and sticking the body in their freezer. But obviously a copy of the will must mean something, unless he just wanted to confirm that the old man had left him nothing. I wonder why it was handwritten. Obviously Grace Holmes isn’t still living in Rosemary Cottage. The place is for sale. But why was Boyton trying to contact her? And what’s happened to Elizabeth Barnes? She isn’t working for the Westhalls now. The date of the will is interesting though, isn’t it?”

Kate said slowly, “Not only the date. Let’s get out of this mess. The sooner we get this to AD the better. But we’ve been told to see Miss Gradwyn’s agent. I’ve a feeling that it shouldn’t take long. Remind me who and where she is, Benton.”

“Eliza Melbury, ma’am. Our appointment’s for three-fifteen. The office is in Camden.”

“Damn! It’s out of our way. I’ll check with AD that there’s nothing else he wants done in London while we’re here. There’s usually something he needs picking up at the Yard. Then we’ll find somewhere for a quick lunch and be on our way to see what, if anything, Eliza Melbury has to tell us. But at least this morning hasn’t been wasted.”

Chapter 2

2

With their car enmeshed in London traffic, the journey to Eliza Melbury’s address in Camden was tedious and time-consuming. Benton hoped that the information gained from her would justify the time and trouble taken to reach her. Her office was over a greengrocer’s shop and the smell of fruit and vegetables followed them as they climbed the narrow stairs to the first floor and passed into what was obviously the general office. Three young women were seated at their computers while an elderly man was busy rearranging the books, all in their bright jackets, on a shelf which ran the whole length of one wall. Three pairs of eyes looked up, and when Kate showed her warrant card, one young woman got up and knocked on the door at the front of the building and called cheerily, “The police are here, Eliza. You said you were expecting them.”

Eliza Melbury had been finishing a telephone call. Now she replaced the handset, smiled at them and indicated two chairs opposite the desk. She was a large handsome woman with a flaring bush of dark crimped hair to her shoulders, plump-cheeked and wearing a bright caftan festooned with beads.