Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(13)
Mrs Buchanan had left her seat at the other end of the table and took her husband’s hand. She was trembling, but seemed otherwise remarkably calm, allowing the doctor to carry out his calling while everyone else stared on in shock. Well, not everyone. William’s eyes never left Hamish Buchanan, who showed no emotion, while his brother Angus joined their mother and placed an arm gently around her shoulders.
Suddenly, Fraser Buchanan turned white, and his head dropped to the table. The doctor tried desperately to revive him, but William knew it could only be a matter of time before he confirmed that the chairman was dead.
Mrs Buchanan sobbed as she knelt down beside her husband and took him in her arms. James burst into tears, a child once again. From a distance, William studied the faces of those seated at the chairman’s table. His eyes moved slowly around the rest of the family as he searched for clues, quite forgetting he was on holiday. Not all of them displayed grief, and two of them didn’t even appear to be surprised by what had taken place. The dining room door suddenly swung open and Franco came rushing back in clutching the doctor’s bag. He was followed by two young ratings carrying a canvas stretcher.
William found himself instinctively getting up from his place and walking across to the chairman’s table to see if there was anything he could do to help.
‘We don’t require your assistance, Chief Inspector,’ said Hamish Buchanan as the ratings gently lifted his father onto the stretcher. ‘You have no authority aboard this vessel.’
An unprompted and unnecessary comment, was William’s first thought, which made him wonder if this tragic event might not be quite as straightforward as it appeared. He recalled The Hawk’s advice when investigating an untimely death: Listen, listen, listen. If you give people enough rope, sometimes they’ll hang themselves. However, William knew Hamish Buchanan was correct, and was about to return to his table and reluctantly mind his own business when Angus Buchanan intervened, saying, ‘Unless I give him that authority.’
‘I think you’ll find, Angus, that I’m now head of the family,’ countered Hamish, glaring at his brother.
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Hamish, that I am now deputy chairman of the Pilgrim Line, and this tragedy has taken place on one of the company’s ships.’
Both men continued to stare belligerently at each other, until Hamish said, ‘Perhaps we should seek Dr Lockhart’s opinion.’
‘Your father has suffered a massive heart attack. As we all know, it wasn’t his first.’
William couldn’t help feeling that the doctor’s words sounded a little too well rehearsed. Even more strange, he showed no sign of grief at the death of his old friend, as if he were a professional onlooker, no more.
‘As I said, we have no need of your services, Chief Inspector,’ prompted Hamish, turning to his aunt for support. But she didn’t reply immediately.
‘I think it might be wise to allow the Chief Inspector to carry out a routine inquiry,’ said Flora, struggling to compose herself in her new role as the grand dame of the family. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to suggest that the family was involved in a cover-up.’
No one contradicted her.
Even Hamish remained silent as the body of the late chairman was carried out of the dining room by the two ratings, accompanied by the doctor and Mrs Buchanan.
‘What do you want us to do, Chief Inspector?’ asked Flora, who seemed to have taken over command.
‘With the exception of James, I’d like you all to return to your cabins, and remain there until I’ve had a chance to speak to every one of you. Mr Buchanan, before you go, perhaps you would be kind enough to leave your hip flask on the table.’
Hamish hesitated for a moment before removing the silver flask from an inside pocket and placing it on the table. A smile flickered across his face when he saw the commodore entering the dining room with Franco following a yard behind.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The person who has ultimate authority on his own ship. Perhaps you could tell Chief Inspector Warwick that we no longer have any need of his services.’
‘Mr Buchanan is correct to remind you, Chief Inspector, that I am the master of this vessel,’ said the commodore gravely, ‘and that my decision is final.’
‘I accept your authority without question,’ said William.
Hamish picked up the silver flask and put it back in his pocket.
‘With that in mind, Chief Inspector,’ said the commodore, ‘I would be grateful if you felt able to carry out a preliminary investigation. While I have no doubt that you’ll find the chairman died of a heart attack, your confirmation will settle the matter. How would you like to begin your inquiry?’
‘By asking Mr Hamish Buchanan to put his silver hip flask back on the table.’
CHAPTER 5
EX-SUPERINTENDENT LAMONT WAS AT HOME reading the Racing Post when Mr Booth Watson QC’s clerk called to inform him that the head of chambers required his presence at ten o’clock the following morning. It was the first time Booth Watson had been in touch since the police corruption trial at the Old Bailey when Jerry Summers, a Detective Sergeant who’d taken one risk too many, had ended up going down for ten years because Lamont had failed to remove a vital piece of evidence that would have got Summers off. Lamont had rather assumed after that particular balls-up, Booth Watson wouldn’t be requiring his services again. Although he intensely disliked the oleaginous QC, the expression ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ ensured that he would be on time for the appointment.