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‘Go away!’ he shouts.
‘The police are here.’ Kitty’s voice.
‘Tell them to leave. I’m working.’
‘They’re here, with me, outside the door. Can we come in? They’d like to speak with you.’ She sounds anxious, her voice wavering.
Olly’s jaw clenches. Not now, he wants to scream, you stupid woman, but he knows better. He opens the door. Two detectives stand behind Kitty, the same pair who came here on the day Tom’s body was found.
‘Good morning. Do you mind if we talk elsewhere?’ he says. He can’t bear the idea of them in his study, his sanctum. Their presence will pollute it. He finds it impossible to write unless he can keep the outside world out.
‘This will do fine,’ Detective Steen says. He pushes the door open, and Olly is forced to step out of the way as Steen walks into the room and sits down on Olly’s couch. ‘I hope you don’t mind us dropping in,’ he says. ‘We won’t keep you long.’
Olly hesitates. He wants to tell the man to get out of his study and to get lost altogether, but it’s important he doesn’t rile him. Olly’s a little rusty at being polite and acquiescing, though. It’s a long time since he had to kowtow to anyone, not since he moved into the Manor, and he’s got used to it.
He settles on the couch opposite the detectives, straightens some research papers that are on the low table between them and tries to adopt a relaxed posture, though a little twitch in his eye develops. ‘How can I help you, detectives?’ he asks and smiles at the female, who presents as plain but could be very much more attractive if she made more effort. Her figure isn’t bad. She looks at Steen, who starts the questioning.
‘Firstly, we’d like to confirm what you were doing on the morning of Tom Booth’s death.’
‘As I told you before, I was here, in this room, writing my novel. My partner, Sasha, can confirm it.’
‘Didn’t she teach a class that morning between ten and eleven?’
‘She did.’
‘Where did she teach?’
‘In the Great Hall.’
‘Where does it overlook?’
‘Nowhere. The windows are set too high in the walls.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Steen says. ‘So, she didn’t see you for that hour? And she couldn’t have seen if you or your housekeeper left the house?’
He feels irritated. ‘I didn’t leave the house. Novels don’t write themselves. I can’t speak for Kitty.’
Steen nods and makes a note.
‘When we spoke to you before, you said you first met Tom and Nicole Booth approximately six months ago,’ he says.
‘Correct.’
‘But you weren’t neighbours in the ordinary sense, were you? The Booths bought the land they developed from you, is that right?’
‘That’s correct, yes, but how is this relevant to Tom’s death?’
Olly’s being disingenuous. He knows the detectives will be looking at this case from every angle, especially now they consider it a likely murder. He and Sasha paid attention when Nicole took the call from the police while they were delivering the cake. They loitered and overheard every word of that conversation until Nicole moved out of earshot, so they know the police think it likely that Tom’s head injury was inflicted on purpose.
‘We believe that Tom’s death might not have been an accident,’ Steen says.
Olly is careful to feign surprise. ‘You mean murder?’
‘It’s one of a number of enquiries.’
‘That’s horrific. Well, obviously, I’m at your service if there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘That’s why we’re here, Mr Palmer.’
