Gilded Edge, The Read Online Free Page B

Because there’s some reefer butts in the ashtray.’
    Mac gave a concessionary nod to this point and said: ‘His name was John Charles Samuel Beresford, but known to everyone as Johnny. And an Honourable, too. Thirty-four years old, ex-army man, officer class of course. His occupation now was City investments. He comes from a big-money family, landed gentry, so was mainly managing the family estate and its financial interests. And you’re right, he wasn’t married.’
    Clayton Merryman came over and joined them, looking as if he had big news to impart. ‘I think Philly Jacket cheats at cards,’ he said.
    ‘That’s a hell of an accusation, Doc,’ said Mac, as dry as you like.
    ‘And it’s wrong, anyway,’ said Vince. ‘It’s Kenny Block that cheats at cards.’
    Doc Clayton shook his head at this, as though a game of cards in the Inferno, for chump change, actually mattered. He was still shaking his nebbishy little head with its thinning crinkly red hair, a liberal sprinkling of freckles, and round wire glasses, when Vince prompted him for information about something that actually did matter.
    ‘Where’s the body, Doc?’
    ‘Downstairs,’ said the good doctor, leading the way with the sweep of a gossamer-gloved hand. On the way he filled in the two detectives, checking his just compiled notes during their progress. ‘The maids found the body at seven thirty this morning. I won’t know the exact time of death until I get to the lab and open him up but, by the freshness of the wound and the blood clotting, I’d say he was shot around midnight.’
    ‘Does he employ live-in servants?’ asked Mac.
    ‘No, but he does have a team of three cleaners who come in twice a day to tidy up.’
    ‘Is he that messy or just that much of a cleanliness freak?’ asked Vince.
    ‘He’s just that rich,’ said the doc, chuckling. ‘But he does also like everything just so, apparently. He has fresh flowers delivered every day and everything has to be precisely in its place.’
    Mac sighed and shook his head in amused disapproval.
    ‘Don’t worry, Mac,’ said Vince. ‘When I get to marry into money, you won’t have to lift a finger on that score.’

CHAPTER 4
    Downstairs in the basement were to be found a surprisingly small kitchen, a utilities room, a single bedroom, and a very large private study-cum-den containing the very dead body of Johnny Beresford.
    ‘What’s this?’ said Vince, peering down at a nasty two-inch gash on Johnny Beresford’s forehead.
    ‘It’s fresh,’ said Doc Clayton. ‘Not caused by a fall, though. It looks like he’s been hit with something. There was blood on the base of one of the champagne bottles upstairs. When you’re done here, we’ll measure that up against the wound.’ The pathologist looked at the two detectives with lively eyes and then offered, ‘I bet it fits.’
    There were no takers for this bet. But, nasty as the head wound was, it was clear to the three men standing over Beresford that the blow wasn’t responsible for his death.
    ‘As you can see, gentlemen, one shot to the right temple. It looks like the work of a 32 mil.’
    Vince enquired, ‘No exit wound from a 32, right, Doc?’
    ‘Depends on the angle, Vince. In this case, it looks like the bullet was aimed upwards, sending it into the top of the cranium. Toughest part of the skull, so no exit wound.’
    Vince considered the weapon, which was perfect for up-close work, but not powerful enough to blow the victim’s brains out or make a mess on the walls. The bullet would just ricochet around inside and bounce off the walls of his skull, making its own internal mess by tearing through tissue and turning the grey matter into mush. Did he feel it , Vince wondered. Did he feel his life being torn up behind his eyes?
    ‘Looks like a straight execution to me,’ observed Doc Clayton, with an assured nodding of his head. ‘Judging by how relaxed he was, sitting in the chair watching TV, he probably knew the