The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(65)

Graves’ lips twitched. ‘Inspector Rycroft is a fine officer.’

‘But you’re a better one,’ she shot back.

‘You’re stalling, Miss Starling,’ Graves said quietly, shaking his head and forcing the cook to stop her frantic tea making and look at him more closely.

‘You really are good,’ she said at last, sounding just a little — not much, just a little — surprised.

Sergeant Graves smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘But you’re better — is that what you’re waiting to hear? Now — out with it. Who did it?’

Jenny turned back abruptly to the kettle and fiddled with the gas. She didn’t like to be hurried. She wasn’t being given time to mull it all over. And she needed time.

‘Miss Starling,’ Graves pressed her firmly. ‘I want that name.’ Jenny slowly put down the kettle, turned, and took a deep breath.

‘You’re not going to like it,’ she warned him.

Graves’ face tightened. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said simply, ‘murder is still murder.’

Jenny stared at him for a long, long moment. Then she sighed. ‘Yes,’ she agreed sadly. ‘I suppose, when all’s said and done, murder is murder.’

The kettle began to boil and she turned and filled the teapot. She put the cups, milk and sugar onto a huge tray, added the full teapot and lifted the whole into the air. When she turned, Graves was still standing firmly in front of the door.

Jenny thought for a moment, then gave a brief nod. ‘All right,’ she said flatly. ‘Do you still have that warrant for David Leigh’s arrest?’

Graves paled, but nodded calmly. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I suggest you use it,’ she said fatalistically.

Graves paused, then inclined his big head and opened the door for her. Jenny went through into the main salon, and put the tray down on the table. Now the whole cruise party was gathered together once more. After their long, hot walk, everyone congregated around it eagerly.

As Graves bent over Rycroft and whispered something in his ear, David Leigh poured a cup for his wife and took it to her where she sat on the sofa. There he rested it on the wide wooden armrest for her to allow it to cool, before returning for his own cup.

Rycroft cast the cook a quick, searching look, then nodded at Graves. Graves extracted the warrant, which he’d returned to his coat pocket, and straightened up.

Brian O’Keefe, who’d grabbed a mug of tea and was about to scarper back to the engine room, caught the look on the sergeant’s face and froze. Tobias Lester and Lucas Finch stiffened as Graves suddenly coughed very loudly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Graves moved a little to his right, just to be within grabbing distance of David Leigh should he decide to try and make a run for it.

‘Mr David Leigh,’ he said, his voice as grave as his name. ‘I have a warrant for your arrest on the charge of murder. You do not have to say anything . . .’

David Leigh stared at him, slack-jawed. As a solicitor, of course, he was probably more aware of his legal rights than the policeman arresting him, but he looked so surprised and stricken that Jenny wondered nervously if he was even taking it in at all.

She felt a fierce thump of contrition hit her. Then, just as the cook had known she must, Dorothy Leigh suddenly jumped to her feet, knocking over her cup of tea to the ground.

Nobody noticed the minor mishap. Everyone was too transfixed by the drama being played out in front of them to pay any attention to such a small thing.

‘No!’ Dorothy cried out desperately. ‘You can’t!’

Lucas made an instinctive move to go to her, but Dorothy was already rushing towards her husband and Sergeant Graves.

The others continued to stand, frozen in shock. Ever since the body had been discovered, each and every one of them had known that a killer was amongst them. But although they might have suspected each other in turn, none of them had ever really thought that the police would make an arrest.

Now, they could only watch in helpless fascination as one of their number — the quiet, handsome young solicitor — was culled from the herd.

‘. . . anything you do say will be taken down and can be used in evidence against you,’ Graves continued, ignoring Dorothy’s shouted denials. ‘If you choose not to say anything that you later rely on in court . . .’

Dorothy had now reached her husband’s side, and she clung to him, grabbing his arm, thrusting herself forward to stand between the man she loved and the forces of the law.

‘Mrs Leigh, please move out of the way,’ Inspector Rycroft said, anxious to avoid any roughhousing. Mrs Leigh, in her condition, could seriously hurt herself if she accidentally got in the big sergeant’s way.

He reached for her arm, but she shook him off angrily. Her blue eyes blazed like lightning bolts. ‘No!’ she shouted again. ‘You can’t arrest him. You can’t.’

‘Mrs Leigh, please,’ Rycroft said. ‘We have proof that your husband forged the suicide note we found in Mr Olney’s room. We have proof that Olney was responsible for his father’s death during the Falklands War, and that Mr Leigh knew about it. We—’

‘No, you don’t understand!’ Dorothy all but screamed now, as she listened in mounting panic to the evidence that was being piled up against him.