All Quiet on Arrival Read Online Free Page B

your wife,’ I said quietly.
    â€˜It couldn’t have been anyone else. We live there alone.’
    â€˜So I understand, sir,’ I said. ‘However, before we can be certain that the body is that of your wife, I’m going to have to ask you to identify it.’
    â€˜Was it the fire that killed my wife, Chief Inspector?’ Despite not having seen the body, he seemed convinced that the victim
was
his wife.
    â€˜No, sir, it wasn’t the fire. The brigade put it out before it reached the upper floors.’
    â€˜Was it smoke inhalation, then?’ Barton asked the question in an absent manner, as though he was having great trouble in taking in this news.
    â€˜She had been stabbed several times, Mr Barton.’
    â€˜You mean murdered?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m afraid so.’
    â€˜But who could have done such a thing?’
    â€˜That’s what I’m trying to discover, sir.’
    â€˜It couldn’t be anyone else but my wife, surely?’ Although Barton looked at me with a piercing, questioning stare, he was really expressing his thoughts aloud.
    â€˜As I emphasized just now, Mr Barton, we shan’t know until the body’s identified. What’s more, our enquiries are being hampered to a certain extent because there had been a party at your house,’ I said, and went on to tell him about the call to a disturbance that Holmes and Watson had attended.
    â€˜A party? But why on earth should there have been a party at my house? We’ve always lived a sober existence. Perhaps this isn’t Diana that was found. I mean she might have gone away for the weekend. Is it possible that someone could have broken in and held a party? You hear all sorts of things these days about people just turning up somewhere, and holding one of these … what do they call them, a rave party?’
    â€˜Perhaps you’re free to go to the mortuary now, sir?’ I suggested. I felt sorry for Barton. He was obviously hoping against hope that the dead body was not his wife. But it was time to remove his doubt, and put his mind at rest. Not that learning it
was
Diana would do that.
    â€˜Yes, I suppose so. How do I get there?’
    â€˜We’ll take you, Mr Barton,’ said Dave.
    â€˜All right, then.’ Barton stood up, and glanced at his watch. He now appeared more stooped than when we had entered the interview room, but that was hardly surprising.
    â€˜Had you been abroad on business, Mr Barton?’ I asked, as we escorted him out to the police station yard where Dave had parked the car.
    â€˜Yes. I’m a director of a hotel chain, and I visit our hotels abroad from time to time.’
    I was surprised at that. Given Barton’s apparent age, and having seen the house in which he had lived, he was obviously not short of money. Had I been in his position, I think I’d’ve called it a day years ago, and enjoyed myself doing nothing.
    The identification at the mortuary took only a few seconds. The attendant flicked back the sheet – just enough to uncover the victim’s head – and stood back.
    For a few moments, James Barton stared impassively at the woman’s face, and then turned away. ‘Yes, that’s my wife, Chief Inspector,’ he said softly.
    â€˜I’m afraid we’ll need to ask you some more questions, Mr Barton,’ said Dave, as the three of us walked out into the sunshine of Horseferry Road. ‘Might I ask where you’re staying?’
    â€˜Staying?’ Barton stopped and stared vacantly at Dave.
    â€˜Yes, sir. Your house is obviously uninhabitable. Are you perhaps staying with friends? We’ll need your current address, you see.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. No, I’m staying at one of the company’s hotels in Bayswater.’ Barton took a business card from his pocket and scribbled the name of the hotel on the back of it. ‘Incidentally, I’ve arranged to have any calls made to my