Chill Factor by Stuart Pawson Page B

deceased.
    They all came from Gloucestershire. Silkstone had been a big wheel in a company based in Burdon Manor, variously known as Burdon Home Improvements, Burdon Engineering and Burdon Developments; and Latham was one of his salesmen. Back in 1975 they’d married two sisters but neither marriage had lasted. When the receiver finally pulled the plug on Burdons, Silkstone went to work for the now-defunct Oriental Bank of Commerce, or OBC, a name that sent a chill up the spine of every financial manager in the world. Now he was Northern big-cheese for a company called Trans Global Finance, and had been married to the late Margaret for ten years. Silkstone had five speeding convictions and two for careless driving. Latham had one for OPL and Margaret was clean.
    “So now,” I told the throng of eager, upturned faces, “you know all about them. Any questions?”
    “Yes Sir,” someone said. “Will you have the DNA results tomorrow?”
    “No. Saturday,” I replied.
    There was nothing else, so I terminated the meeting. Someone brewed up in the big office and I carried a mug of tea into my little den in the corner. I opened an A2 drawing pad and divided the sheet into several boxes. Dave came in, followed by Annette. In Box 1 I wrote:
    Silkstone telling truth. Latham killed Margaret,
    then Silkstone killed Latham, in a rage.
    “What next?” I asked.
    “Three in a bed romp,” Dave suggested. In Box 2 I wrote:
    Sex game gone wrong. Latham and Silkstone killed
    Margaret. Silkstone killed Latham to cover his tracks.
    “Hmm, that’s interesting,” Annette said.
    “Charlie’s idea,” Dave told her. “I don’t know about such things. What next?”
    In Box 3 I wrote:
    Margaret and Latham having an affair.
    Silkstone killed them both in a jealous rage .
    Dave said: “I reckon that’s the obvious explanation.”
    “It’s the favourite,” I agreed, “but how about this?” I wrote:
    All a plot by Silkstone
    and numbered it Box 4.
    “What, like, cold blooded?” Dave asked. “You think he planned it all?”
    “I don’t think that. We just have to consider it. What if Silkstone killed Margaret for personal reasons and threw the blame on Latham? The whole thing might be a pack of lies. We need to know if he gains financially in any way.” I turned to Annette. “That’s a little job for you, Annette. Find out if he had her insured. How much do they owe on the house and will the insurance company pay out for her death, if you follow me?”
    “You mean, if they had a joint life policy,” she replied.
    “Do I?”
    “She’s a clever girl,” Dave said.
    Annette picked up her still steaming mug of tea and walked out. I gazed at the door she’d closed behind her and said to it: “I didn’t mean right now!”
    I wrote M, O and F in each box, meaning motive, opportunity and forensic, and ticked them where appropriate. I didn’t bother with W for witnesses, because the only one we had was Silkstone himself. “That’s as far as we can go, Sunshine,” I declared, “until we get some results from the lab and find out who spread his seed all over the crime scene.” The phone rang before I could put cornices on all thecapital letters and generally titivate the chart. It was the professor , replying to the message I’d left for him earlier in the day.
    “It’s The Garth, Mountain Meadows,” I told him.
    “What, no number?”
    “No, but there’s only seven houses.”
    “Pretentious twats. I’ll see you there at five. You can have half an hour.”
    “Great, Prof. I appreciate it.”
    Annette came in as I was replacing the phone. I looked at her, bemused by the rapid departure and return. She said: “Silkstone paid nearly two hundred thousand for the house, and still owes over a hundred and fifty K on it. And yes, the mortgage is insured joint life, first death, so if he didn’t kill Margaret himself they’ll have to pay out.”
    It took me a few seconds to speak. Eventually I asked: “How did you find