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After the shooting and her reconciliation with Roxanne, Alexia had finally capitulated and agreed to take an extended leave of absence. The prime minister was delighted, as was Kevin Lomax, Alexia’s archrival over at Trade and Industry, whom Henry Whitman had named acting home secretary in her absence.
Henry’s statement made it sound like a temporary arrangement, a break in which the home secretary would recover physically and mentally from the attempt on her life. But Alexia knew that the party would never take her back now, not with a dead body unearthed on her private grounds. Mrs. Marjorie Pilcher’s gruesome discovery was one scandal too many, even for a fighter like Alexia De Vere. Politically, she was finished, and she knew it.
“Mum, Dad. Thank God.”
Roxie’s relief was palpable. She’d returned to Oxfordshire alone a couple of days earlier, after Alexia was discharged from hospital, and was the only family member actually at Kingsmere when the severed hand was found.
“The police keep asking me questions but I don’t know anything. I’m sure they think I’m hiding something.”
“If anyone’s been pressuring or bullying you, I want their names,” Alexia said forcefully. In the last week, all her protective, motherly instincts toward Roxie had come surging back. She was in full lioness mode now, defending her cub.
A short, fat plain-clothed policeman with closely cropped gray hair walked confidently up to Alexia and Teddy and extended a hand.
“Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott, Oxford CID. We’ve been asking Miss De Vere a few routine questions, that’s all. No one’s been bullying anyone.”
“You’ve clearly frightened her.” Teddy looked at the forensic teams and tracking dogs invading his home with distaste. “Is this circus really necessary?”
Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott stiffened. “A man’s been found dead in your garden, Mr. De Vere. We tend to take murder fairly seriously.”
“That’s over-egging the pudding a bit, isn’t it? How do you know he was murdered?”
“Well, he was a bloody clever suicide if he managed to shoot himself in the chest and then bury himself afterward.”
One of the forensic team giggled, earning herself an icy glare from her boss.
The fat detective looked from Teddy to Alexia. “Where can we talk, privately?”
“In my study. This way.” Turning to Roxie, Alexia added, “You go and get some rest, my darling. Daddy and I will help the chief inspector with his inquiries.”
“Thanks, Mummy.”
“Actually, I’m afraid I’ll need all three of you.”
“What the hell for?” Teddy bristled. “Roxie’s told you what she knows.”
Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott was beginning to lose his temper. Bloody aristos. Think the rules don’t apply to them. Don’t they care that a young man’s been shot and left to rot in their garden?
“Because you all live here, Mr. De Vere. It isn’t rocket science.”
Once in the study, Alexia took charge.
“Naturally we’ll help you in any way we can, Chief Inspector,” she said, wincing and clutching her side as she sat down. “But I wonder if I might also ask a few questions of you. You say it was a man’s body that was found?”
“That’s right. We don’t know much at this stage. As you can see, my men are still excavating the site. Not easy, what with all the newly poured concrete.”
Roxie said defensively, “I already told you, Chief Inspector. Daddy was throwing a party. My brother, Michael, was in charge of constructing a pagoda, but he . . . he never got a chance to finish it.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of what happened, Chief Inspector,” said Alexia. “My son was in a motorcycle accident.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand it’s been a difficult time for your family. Can I get you anything? A glass of water perhaps?”
Alexia shook her head. “I’m fine. What my daughter says is correct. The concrete was supposed to form the base of a pagoda that we were building as part of the tricentenary celebrations. Michael was managing the project. After his crash, it got forgotten about. None of us were in the mood to build follies.”
“So it was your son who dug the hole out there?”
“My son and his workmen, yes.”
“And your son who filled it with concrete?”
