01 - Memories of the Dead by Evelyn James Page B

wanted to kill Mrs
Greengage, but had anyone thought to test the glass of sherry? It had to be in
there, didn’t it? Not the whole sherry bottle or else they would all be dead,
but just that glass, specifically that glass.
    “We have to test the sherry in
that glass Mr Bankes.” She said aloud just as Mrs Grimby walked in with the tea
tray.
    “Miss Fitzgerald is a keen
amateur photographer, Mrs Grimby.” Oliver said, carelessly knocking some papers
over the top of the Greengage photographs.
    Mrs Grimby gave Clara a smile
and left the tea tray on a stack of old photography magazines.
    “She doesn’t like the murder
pictures.” Oliver said when she was gone again, “Sorry, I should have mentioned
that sooner. But what was that about the glass?”
    “The police now know Augustus
was poisoned and the natural conclusion that I jumped to when I was told was
that the poison was actually meant for Mrs Greengage. The means was the bother,
but I saw that picture and it was so obvious. It had to be in the sherry, but
not the decanter, else we would all have perished, but just one glass. Specifically
the full glass in this picture. Augustus drank from it. It was a shocking risk
for the murderer to take, presumably he knew how the glasses were laid out and
handed around so he could guess which glass would ultimately end in Mrs
Greengage’s hand, but it still could have easily gone to someone else. Of
course, this is assuming there is poison in that glass, the same poison
that killed Augustus.”
    Oliver gave her a confused
frown.
    “You mean… this could point to
the killer?”
    “Yes… I mean… maybe. Actually,
I am not sure, but it must mean something, I suppose. I shall have to see the
inspector straight away.” Clara was gathering up her things without even
touching her tea. Oliver tried to detain her.
    “You’re going now?”
    “No time like the present.”
    “Perhaps there is more in the
photographs? Perhaps another look?”
    “No, I’ve seen enough. Thank
you for helping me Mr Bankes.
    “Oliver, please. And if you
need to see the photos again come straight here, I am almost always around.”
    They had made their way back
to the reception area and Clara was fumbling with her hat as she darted out the
door.
    “Thank you again, Oliver.
Goodbye.”
    She waved as she dashed off.
    “Bye.” Oliver called after
her.
    He watched her run up the
road, her hat half on and her hair flying wild. He was picturing her through a
camera lens, capturing that moment of excitement and haste. Oliver wondered, as
the door slowly closed, what it would be like to take a girl like Clara to the
music hall.
     
    The sergeant on the front desk
of the police station couldn’t have been less helpful if he had tried.
    “You can’t just waltz in and
see the inspector, it isn’t procedure.”
    “But it is extremely urgent.”
Insisted Clara.
    “So are most things people
come in here for.” The sergeant replied with heavy sarcasm.
    “He will want to see me.”
Clara demanded, but the sergeant had flipped open one of the big ledgers on his
desk and was studiously ignoring her.
    “Honestly!” Clara gasped in
exasperation looking around the police station for inspiration. There was only
an old drunk asleep on a wooden bench which didn’t help her at all.
    “It’s about a murder.” Clara
hissed to the sergeant, but he didn’t even look up, “How do you ever solve
crimes if you never listen to anyone?”
    “What crime is that Miss
Fitzgerald?”
    Clara glanced up and was
immediately torn between hope and annoyance at the face that greeted her. His
name was Percy Boyle, an odious boy Clara had had the misfortune to go to
school with. He had been a typical bully, though Clara was exempted from his
more unpleasant torments because of having an older brother who was quite good
with his fists. Tommy had sent Percy sprawling more than once.
    The fact that Percy had made
it into the police was more down to a shortage of men with all