Ryan took one look at her face and said, “What’s the matter?”

  She gasped and her legs gave way beneath her. As she fell, she called, “Help. Someone call 999!”

  Ryan grabbed her before she hit the floor.

  “What? Where?” Pippa said.

  The waitress lifted a shaking hand. “In there … He’s … I think he’s dead.”

  Pippa wrenched open the door. I shoved the glass statue at Jayne, not stopping to notice if she caught it or not, and Pippa and I ran into the room, leaving Ryan holding the waitress.

  My uncle Randolph, black sheep of the Denhaugh family, lay on the floor faceup, beneath a painting of sheep grazing in a meadow. A length of rope was tied tightly around his neck, his head lolled to one side, and his eyes bulged. He did not move.

  My father knelt beside him. A lamp with a heavy orange base lay on the floor next to him, and his hands were on the rope.

  Chapter Six

  My father groaned and swayed. He took his hand off the rope and put it against the floor for support.

  Pippa flew across the room and grabbed his arm. “Steady there. Can you stand?”

  “Pippa?” he said, blinking rapidly. “What’s happening?”

  “I need you to come with me,” she said. She put her arm under his left shoulder and helped him to his feet, and then she led him away. His steps were hesitant, and he would have fallen had she not been supporting him. As they passed me, she gave me a nod. I nodded in acknowledgment. She’d asked me to stay, to figure out what I could of what had gone on here in the short time before the authorities arrived.

  “Henry!” I heard my mother cry. “What’s happened?”

  “He needs to sit down,” Pippa said. “Has someone called 999?”

  “I did,” Grant said.

  “Gemma?” Ryan called.

  Pippa snapped out orders. “Ryan, help that woman to a chair. Grant, check on the man in there. Everyone else step back.”

  Grant ran past me. He dropped to his knees next to Uncle Randolph. He tore at the rope around Randy’s neck, but he couldn’t loosen it. He put his fingers on the man’s neck, looked up, and gave me a shake of his head.

  I stood perfectly still, taking in everything I could of my surroundings.

  The room was furnished in a retro style, with a thick cream shag carpet, orange sofa, and two matching chairs around a large coffee table. A bookcase, with books so perfectly aligned it was obvious no one ever read them, filled one wall. The mass-produced, but tasteful, paintings on the walls showed English pastoral scenes. The room had no windows, and light came from a wide-bottomed orange lamp on the far side of the couch. The lamp was one of a pair—its mate was now lying on the floor with its electrical cord yanked out of the socket.

  Eight dirty glasses holding the residue of red wine, beer, and whiskey were on the center table, but otherwise everything appeared to be in order, except for an overturned side table and the lamp on the floor. I touched the base of the lamp with my toe. It was solid and heavier than it looked. The bland scent of cleaning products lay over everything, but that was being overtaken by the smell of death. This room had no windows, thus no drapes. No side door and no closets. The table didn’t have a tablecloth over it; the couch and the bookcase were pushed up against the wall. No place to conceal anyone larger than a mouse.

  My uncle Randolph lay on the floor faceup, staring at the celling. The rope around his neck appeared to be quite ordinary, a beige rope, about three feet long, of the sort everyone had in their home for tying down garden furniture, wrapping burlap around plants, or securing heavy parcels. The ends were rough and shredded as though they’d been cut from a larger piece with a not-very-sharp knife or ordinary kitchen scissors.

  Behind me, coming from the hallway, I heard the increasing buzz of conversation as everyone asked everyone else what was going on. Pippa told Ryan to keep everyone out of the room, and I heard him politely telling people to mind their own business.

  “Use a handkerchief or the edge of your jacket,” I said to Grant. “Get his phone and hand it to me, but don’t put your prints on it. Quickly. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  Grant patted Randy’s pockets. “He doesn’t seem to have one.”

  Everyone has one. That Randy didn’t meant whoever had been in this room with him had taken it.

  I heard a shout, and Ryan said, “In there.” The security guard I’d encountered earlier ran into the room. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “Is he …?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Grant said.

  She bent over, rested her hands on her thighs, and her back heaved.

  “Don’t do it,” I said. “You don’t want to mess up the scene. Take a deep breath. Slowly, mindfully. In and out. In and out. There you go.”

  She breathed once, and then she straightened and looked at me. “Are you the police?”

  I considered saying yes, but I’d seen all I could see for the moment. “Not exactly.”

  “Then get out of here. What about you?” she asked Grant.

  “An innocent bystander.”

  “In here,” Ryan said, and two paramedics came into the room. Grant pushed himself to his feet and got out of their way. He and I slipped into the hallway.

  A male security guard stood at the entrance to the banqueting area. His arms were crossed over his chest and he no doubt thought he looked very formidable. It would have helped with his image if he’d been old enough to shave. “No one moves until the police get here,” he announced.

  My father sat in a chair; my mother stood beside him, her face grim, her hand on his shoulder. Pippa crouched in front of him. I went to join them.

  “Don’t remember.” Dad shook his head. “I remember leaving our table thinking I’d check the football scores. Next thing I knew, you and Gemma were in the room and Randy … Randy was on the floor.”

  “Let me have a look at you, sir.” Another paramedic approached my father. A uniformed police officer followed him.

  “I’m okay,” Dad said.

  “You certainly are not,” Mum said. “He can’t remember the last fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  Dad turned slightly to let the medic have a look, and I noticed a patch of matted hair and a wet spot on the back of his head. I sucked in a breath.

  The medic saw it too. “You’ve had a blow to the head, sir. We’ll get you to hospital, have that checked out.”

  “I don’t need …” Dad began.

  “Yes, you do,” Mum said.

  Pippa drew me aside. “Anything?” She meant, I knew, had I noticed anything out of place.

  “No. There’s no other exit to that room and no possible hiding places.”

  “I don’t want to be involved. I’ll go with Mum and Dad to the hospital. You stay here in case the police have questions.”

  “Of course they’ll have questions,” I said. “That was no accident.”

  “Even you and I don’t know that yet.”

  We kept our voices low and almost instinctively moved away from our parents and the people hovering around them. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Dad didn’t hit himself over the head.”

  Ryan came up behind me and put his arms around me. “You okay, Gemma?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “How’s everyone else?”

  Jayne and Donald were sitting together. Their faces were pale and they were not talking. Arthur’s award lay on the floor at Jayne’s feet. Grant dropped into a chair next to Jayne and put his head in his hands.

  More police were arriving. One guarded the door, another went into the meeting room, while one questioned the young waitress.

  “I’ll get you a stretcher,” the paramedic said to my father. “And we’ll be on our way.”

  “Not so fast.” A man crossed the room, heading for my parents. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting suit and a tie with a coffee stain on it. The laces on his right shoe flapped behind him. His head was covered in a few greasy stands of hair and his shoulders were sprinkled with dandruff. His narrow eyes passed over Pippa and me, lingered a brief moment on my mother, and then settled on my father. “Henry Doyle. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

  My dad looked up. His jaw clenched. “Sam Morrison. Still an inspector, are you? Not demoted yet?”

  “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, Henry. What’s happened here?”

  “A man is dead in that room,” Pippa said. “My family and I happened to be the ones nearest when he was discovered, and we attempted to help.”

  Grant got to his feet and stood next to Pippa. Sam Morrison looked at him for a long time. Next he turned his suspicious gaze onto Ryan.

  I realized Morrison was paying attention only to the men in our circle. That was quite the mistake. And one I could take advantage of.

  “I … I … went into the room. I wanted to help, if I could.” My voice quavered with emotion. Ryan glanced at me in surprise. “My father needs to go to hospital. Please. You can follow us there.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” Inspector Morrison said to me in a kindly voice that put my back teeth on edge. “Your father looks well enough to answer some questions first. I need you people to stay here while I check the scene.” He turned to the uniformed officer who’d followed him. “Start taking names and addresses of everyone here, but no one’s to leave until I say so. I’ll handle this group myself.”

  She nodded and walked away.

  “There was a banquet here tonight,” Ryan said. “Must have been three hundred people …”

  “Four hundred,” Pippa and I said in unison. “Plus the staff.”

  “Uh, okay,” Ryan said, “four hundred people. Most of them left before this was discovered. We were lingering to let the crowd disperse, that’s all.”

  “American, are you?” Morrison said. “What brings you here, and why you do think you can tell me how to do my job?”

  “My name’s Ryan Ashburton. I’m a police officer. A detective in West London, Massachusetts. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m attending the conference.”

  “Is that so? They tell me this was a Sherlock Holmes convention. About the last thing I need. First a bunch of Holmes wannabes and now an American hotshot. Don’t any of you move. I’ll be back.”

  He went into the meeting room. Behind Morrison’s back, Ryan rolled his eyes. I would have followed the inspector, but the stern-faced officer guarding the door held up his hand.

  “I’m all right,” Dad said to the hovering medic. “Bit of a sore spot on the noggin but nothing more serious. I don’t need to go to hospital. My wife will stay with me all night, and if there are any problems we’ll go straight to casualty.”

  “If you’re sure, sir.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  The medic left, and we were momentarily alone.

  “What happened, Henry?” Ryan kept his voice low. “Do you really not remember?”

  “Not here,” Pippa snapped.

  “Randy?” my mother said. “He’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mum,” I said. That the medics had not come rushing out, bearing my uncle on a stretcher, confirmed what Grant and I had observed.

  “How?” Mum said.

  “That’s a matter for the police,” I said.

  “You were lucky, Henry,” Grant said. “Looks like someone was after Randy and you got in the way.”

  I kept my questions to myself. If Dad had gone into the room with Randy, it would not have been to enjoy a chat about the old days over brandy and cigars. I believed my dad when he said he didn’t remember how he got into that room, or why, or what happened in there.

  I believed him, but his failure to remember was going to complicate things badly.

  Morrison returned, pulling off thin blue gloves. The officer who’d been with the waitress came up to him and whispered into his ear. Morrison went to speak to the waitress. I edged closer in a blatant attempt to hear what she had to say.

  “Why don’t you remain where you are, Miss?” the officer assigned to watch over us said.

  “Getting a cramp in my foot,” I said. “It helps to move around.”

  The young waitress was huddled into herself in an armchair. Her shoulders shook and she wept as she spoke. She mumbled a few sentences I couldn’t hear, and then she lifted her head and pointed directly at my father. “Him!” she said. “He was kneeling right beside him, tightening the rope. I saw it! I’m lucky he didn’t kill me too!”

  Morrison’s back was to me, so I didn’t hear his reply, but he must have told her she could go, and the medic guided her to her feet.

  She threw a panicked look at my father and allowed the paramedic to take her away. The few onlookers, trapped in the hallway, murmured their sympathy as she passed.

  Morrison walked slowly and deliberately back to my parents. He kept his face impassive and his eyes steady, but I detected a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. I put my arm around my mother.

  “Well, well, Henry Doyle,” Morrison said. “Looks like you’ve stepped into it this time.”

  “I have no idea—” Dad began. His color was not looking good, and I didn’t like the way his eyes seemed not to be focusing. He needed to get out of here and lie down.

  “My husband has no recollection of events of this evening,” Mum said in her best barrister tone. “He will contact you in the morning, after he’s rested, to make a statement.”

  Morrison ignored her. “Did you know the dead man, Henry?”

  Dad said nothing.

  “Do you know him, Mrs. Doyle?” Morrison asked Mum.

  “I haven’t been in that room, so I haven’t seen anything for myself,” she said, neatly avoiding the question.

  He turned to me. “What about you?”

  I hesitated. Everyone watched me. I couldn’t out-and-out lie and say I didn’t know him. Plenty of people had seen me talking to him. “His name’s Randolph Denhaugh. I’d never met him before this week.”

  Morrison nodded. “That’s what his driver’s license says. What’s this Denhaugh to you or your father?”

  I said nothing. Pippa broke the silence. “Randolph Denhaugh is … was my uncle. My mother’s brother. They have been estranged for some time.”

  Morrison couldn’t contain the smug grin that crossed his face. “Is that so? You didn’t just happen upon the victim of a random attack then, Henry. The young lady who found the body says you were beside him, tightening that rope. What do you have to say about that?”

  Dad said nothing. That he hadn’t leapt to his feet and defended himself was not a good sign.

  “She truthfully reported what she saw,” Pippa said, “but she is mistaken in her interpretation. It’s natural enough for anyone coming upon such a scene to immediately try to help the … person in distress. Obviously that is what my father did.”

  “That’s right,” Grant said. “I did the same myself. I tried to loosen the rope, but it was too tight. If I had a knife on me, I would have cut it off. But I don’t. I’m sure Henry was only trying to do the same.”

  Morrison ignored him. “You look okay to me,” he said to Dad. “Constable Jones, take Mr. Doyle here to the station. I’ll be along later to talk to him.” The policewoman took a step forward.

  “You can’t do that,” my mother said. “My husband is clearly unwell. He needs to be seen by a doctor.”

  “I heard him tell the medics he didn’t need their help,” Morrison said. “If you won’t come willingly, Henry, we’ll put the cuffs on.”

  Dad still said nothing.

  Pippa pulled her phone out of her bag. “This has gone far enough. A word, Inspector.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Phillipa Doyle.” She pushed buttons on her phone. Someone must have answered immediately, and she said, “Hold on one moment, please. Inspector, you’ll want to take this call.”

  “I’m not wasting my time nattering to one of your boyfriends. If he’s a lawyer, tell him to come down to the station.”

  “You will want to take this call,” Pippa repeated. She walked into the center of the room. If the floor had not been covered in industrial carpet, her heels would have beat a furious rhythm. She didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder to see if Morrison followed her.

  But he did.

  She handed him the phone. He looked at her. He looked back at us. He took the phone.

  He said, “Hello?” and listened for no more than a second before all the blood drained out of his face. He nodded and shoved the phone at Pippa. She didn’t smile as she put it away.

  Morrison marched back to our little group. The smirk had been wiped off his face and something dark and unpleasant lurked behind his eyes.

  “You can take your husband home, Mrs. Doyle,” he said to Mum. “Go straight to your house and ensure he remains there. I’ll pay a call in the morning. I’ll decide at that time if charges are to be laid.”

  “Thank you,” Mum said.

  “Give Constable Jones your address. The rest of you are not yet free to go. Do you understand me?”

  We chorused yes.

  “I’ll assist my mother,” Pippa said.

  “You do that,” Morrison said. The look he gave her was not friendly. It was also, I thought, tinged with fear. He went into the meeting room. Forensics officers had started to arrive.

  Mum and Pippa helped Dad to stand. He gave me a smile that, although it was weak, I was glad to see. I was also glad to see that the bleeding on his head seemed to have stopped.

  They crossed the room slowly, Mum and Pippa supporting Dad. Everyone, police officers and medics included, stopped what they were doing to watch them go.

  When they were out of sight, Ryan whirled around. “What the heck was that about?”

  “Who did Pippa call?” Jayne asked.

  “Did she phone her boss and ask for help?” Grant asked.

  “I don’t entirely know what Pippa does,” I said, “but I suspect she doesn’t actually have a boss. Except for maybe …” I let my voice trail off as I turned to glance at the portrait of Her Imperial Majesty staring out over the room.