Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,71

briefly. ‘As a matter of fact he wanted me to investigate.’

‘What?’

Anthony nodded. ‘That’s right. I refused, of course. I told him to wait for the coroner’s inquest. I’ll have to attend that, of course, as I found the body, but they more or less have to bring in a verdict of murder by Cedric Chapman. Sherston realized that, but couldn’t begin to imagine, or so he said, what a crook like Chapman was doing in Ticker’s Wood and he certainly couldn’t imagine what had taken Veronica O’Bryan there. Now whether he was simply meeting trouble head on, I don’t know. After all, he knows exactly who I am, so, if he is involved, he’ll know it’s an odds-on certainty that I’ll investigate Mrs O’Bryan’s death.’

‘How did Mrs Sherston react?’ asked Sir Charles curiously.

Anthony shrugged. ‘Very badly, considering we know Veronica O’Bryan wasn’t one of her bosom chums. When the chief constable told her the news, I thought she was going to faint. That was quite genuine, by the way,’ he added. ‘As the doctor on the spot, I can testify to it.’

He paused remembering the scene. Josette had been horrified at the news. ‘I knew it,’ she had constantly repeated. ‘I knew she was dead. I just knew it. I knew something dreadful had happened.’

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘we got her up to her room and I prescribed a sedative and waited until her own doctor arrived. That got me upstairs,’ he added. ‘So I took advantage of the situation and, when the maid thought I was safely downstairs, had another look in Veronica O’Bryan’s room.’ Sir Charles looked at him alertly. ‘I found this,’ said Anthony, taking an envelope from his briefcase.

He opened the envelope and carefully shook the contents onto the desk. There were charred scraps of writing paper, browned and burnt, but with the occasional word still visible.

‘They were in the grate,’ said Anthony. ‘They’d fallen into the firebox. I should’ve checked the firebox when I searched the first time but after I found the papers in the jewellery box, I didn’t think to examine the fireplace. It struck me afterwards that although Mrs O’Bryan might have thought her letters in the jewellery box were safe enough, she had very little time on Saturday morning to dispose of anything else and the obvious thing to do was burn any incriminating papers. There’s at least one sentence – or part of a sentence anyway – that I recognize.’

Sir Charles turned on the desk light and examined the scraps closely. ‘“Frankie’s Letter”,’ he said. ‘These are notes for “Frankie’s Letter”.’ He carefully put the scraps of paper back in the envelope. ‘I’ll have these read. There’s probably more that can be gleaned, but the central fact of them being “Frankie’s Letter” is clear enough.’

He sat down at the desk again. ‘So, what now? I’d give a year of my life to grill Sherston, but that’s not possible, damnit.’ He looked at Anthony squarely. ‘What do you think, Brooke? Is he involved or not?’

Anthony hesitated. ‘He could be,’ he said eventually. ‘On the one hand, his reaction to Veronica O’Bryan’s death seemed absolutely genuine. On the other hand, if he knew about it, he’d be prepared. When I turned up in company with the chief constable, he’d guess that Veronica O’Bryan’s body had been found.’

‘Was he upset?’

Anthony shook his head slowly. ‘Not excessively so, but he did seem shocked. He told me privately that Veronica had been awkward to live with, particularly since he got married. There’s been a lot of tension between her and Mrs Sherston.’

‘So why didn’t he make her an allowance and suggest she live elsewhere? That’s what everyone expected him to do.’

‘I asked him that – or, at least, I made it possible for him to volunteer the information. He was concerned for Tara. He thinks the world of her, you know. She’s more like a daughter than a niece to him. Veronica had a very uncertain temper and he thought they were better off living with him where, as he put it, he could help take the burden of motherhood off her shoulders.’ Anthony sighed. ‘That rings true. I simply don’t know about Sherston. He might be stringing me along. He’s clever enough, that’s for sure.’

Sir Charles put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. ‘That more or less sums up what I think. Let’s say the jury’s still out, as far as he’s concerned.’

He paused reflectively. ‘“Frankie’s Letter” is finished. That’s