Page 67 of Crocodile Tears

“I did not judge,” Ms Boucher said primly. “Mr Elliot had lost the love of his life. How can any of us judge when we do not know the depths of his pain and loneliness? You must not judge him, either, sir. You cannot know how sad he was to lose the man he loved so much.”

Josiah changed the subject. “Did you know that Mr Dacre changed his will a couple of days ago, so that Christopher would be set free in the event of his death?”

“No, but I’m not surprised,” she replied. “Something happened at the weekend. When I saw Mr Elliot on Monday morning he was upset, and Christopher was in bed, unwell, and not to be disturbed. Mr Elliot said he was going to speak to his solicitor. I don’t know what happened, but he seemed agitated.”

“I see. So, going back to yesterday morning – you arrived here at your usual time?”

“Yes – I came on the bus, as usual. The house let me in, and I put my coat on the hook out there.” She gestured to the hallway. “Then I called out to let Mr Elliot know I’d arrived. He didn’t reply, but that wasn’t unusual – he was often still in bed, or in the shower, or busy working in his study, when I arrived. So, I came in here… into the lounge… and I saw him, lying there, eyes wide open, and with all that blood…” She pressed her handkerchief over her mouth. “I screamed, and then I ran back out of the front door. I called out in the street and one of the neighbours came, and then I phoned the police.”

That tallied precisely with what Reed had said – and the neighbour had confirmed it. The police had received a call at 10.36a.m., and Reed was looking into the CCTV of Ms Boucher’s bus route. If she’d arrived at the house at 10.30a.m., then, for her to be the killer, she would have had to have walked in, shot Dacre, and walked straight out again and made that call – and she didn’t have the look of somebody that cold-blooded. Of course, looks could be deceiving, but all the same, he didn’t think Ms Boucher was a likely suspect.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the house?” he asked. “Was anything disturbed, or not in its usual place?”

“No. It was all as it usually is, as far as I can recall.”

“What about the missing holopic?” he queried, waving at the walls.

“Sir?”

“The holopic of Christopher in the rain?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember that one… Are you sure, sir? Where was it?”

Josiah looked around the room, trying to remember. He took out his holopad and pulled up the crime scene photos, but the holopics only registered as blurs of light.

“I think it was around here,” he said, pausing in front of the photo of Alexander in the snow.

“Maybe you have them mixed up – there are so many of them. I stopped looking at them a long time ago. I cursed having to dust all these light boxes.”

“I see. Well, thank you for your help. I’ll arrange for a duck to take you to Inquisitus in the next few days, so you can record a formal statement.”

He escorted her to the front door, then returned to the lounge and called Reed. “The housekeeper – Chantal Boucher – was she mentioned in Dacre’s will?”

Reed was silent for a few seconds while calling up the data and then replied, “Yeah – a minor bequest of three hundred and fifty thousand. Not enough to kill someone for, surely?”

“I suppose it depends on how badly you need the money. Checkinto her and find out. She used to be an IS, and her houder left her money in her will when she died – that might have put the idea into her head. Check out that houder, too – make sure that was a natural death.”

Reed snorted. “You surely don’t think our dear little Ms Boucher is some kind of deranged serial killer?”

“I don’t, but I want to rule it out.”

“Are you coming back now?”

“Yeah – I’ll be there soon.”

Josiah stood in front of the holopic of Alexander standing in the snow, with the icy waters of a lost zone behind him. The IS looked back, unmoving, for what felt like ages, and then he gave that unexpected blink that was so unnerving. Each time, Josiah knew it was coming, but each time he was startled. It was spooky.

“Who are you, Alexander Lytton?” he murmured. “Who are you really?”

Alexander gazed at him blankly, giving nothing away. Had he really been stupid enough to kill his houder the day after the man had signed a new will? Maybe Alexander couldn’t bear being Dacre’s IS a second longer. It might have been a pampered existence, but it had also been a humiliating one from what the housekeeper had said. Was yesterday the day it became too much, and Alexander Lytton had finally snapped?

Hologram Alexander blinked again, and Josiah jumped – then was annoyed with himself, because he’d known it was coming.

He turned off the master switch, and the images disappeared. He heaved a sigh of relief at the peaceful cream walls.

“Thank you, sir,” one of the policemen said as he left the house. “Those bloody holopics were driving us nuts.”

“You’re welcome. One last thing – are you absolutely sure nobody entered the house last night?”

---