Enter Pale Death Read Online Free Page A

around with exaggerated appreciation at the large top floor room with its windows open to the river and the Victoria Embankment below. The impressive desk across whose polished surface they were exchanging delighted grins carried only a severely stylish pewterpen tray and inkpot. Scottish by the look of it and Joe’s own choice, she guessed. The absence of files, notes and memos at this hour told of a team of secretaries and a pool of typists at work early somewhere about the building. The empty wastepaper basket and freshly polished floor were further indication of others unseen ministering to the needs of the top police brass.
    He was looking the part, she thought, in his well-tailored suit and quiet tie. Far too young for the job, but then he always had been ahead of his time. She remembered that, at her first interview with him, the freshly appointed Commander Sandilands, dishevelled and disorganised, had greeted her with papers spilling off his desk and a face haggard with exhaustion and despair. Alarmingly, his hands and clothes had been damp and still stained with the fresh blood of four gunshot victims. His reputation, his handsome looks and his battle scars had combined to render her practically speechless in his presence. Now, the sleek surroundings and the equally sleek appearance were reassuring. Surely, at last, she could let go and ignore the urge she had always felt to rally round and protect him.
    “I’m listening. Tell me what you’re really up to, Joe.” He’d never liked to waste time, and his pace was her pace. They worked well in harness.
    “Getting to the bottom of a mysterious death in high places. So high, people dare not even gossip about it. Nothing ever reached my desk until last week and, unless I’ve been remarkably slow on the uptake, I don’t believe I’ve ever been passed a hint over a whisky in some concerned gent’s club, which is the way these things often start.”
    “Has it been reported in the press?”
    “No. Apart, that is, from an unremarkable mention in the obituary column of the Times .” Joe fell silent, sunk in thought. “She merited four lines, Lily. Just four lines. The problem, you might say, has been buried six feet under and left to rot away. Unnoticed. Unmourned. To all appearances.”
    “No police involvement, you say?” Lily asked, eager to hear more. She’d learned to pay attention and give weight to Joe’s suspicions over the years.
    “Initially, yes, there was. A token enquiry. The county police force involved—efficient fellows, I’m told—have pronounced themselves satisfied there’s been no dirty work at the crossroads. ‘Death by misadventure,’ the coroner announced. I can’t imagine why I’m letting myself be drawn into all this. The nearest anyone comes to suggesting that all may not be well is an occasional hissing intake of breath, a quiet shaking of the head and—of all ploys!—an attempt to squeeze a comment from me ! I who know less than anyone! What really cuts me to the quick is—I fear people actually suspect me of involvement in the cover-up. I won’t have that, Lily.”
    “Gawd! It’s the Prince! He’s in trouble again? I thought he was safely off in Africa shooting things.”
    “If only it were so simple! That would be much more easily settled. His every move is recorded, preventive measures in place. At home or away, he’s only a danger to the beasts. This enquiry, if my worst fears are well-founded, could involve stepping into unknown territory strewn with man-traps and mines.”
    “And you want me to tiptoe through the tulips ahead of you?”
    “Not quite as bad as that! In fact, it might be just what you’d enjoy. Two nights of luxury, staying at a very discreet, expensive and well-regarded hotel ‘in the heart of clubland,’ as they advertise themselves—the Castlemaine. Just off St. James’s—do you know it? Invent your own cover story—single woman up in town for the shows, the museums, that sort of