A Fatal Affair Faith Martin (read dune .TXT) 📖

that Clement loomed over him, and both of them could almost hear the Welshman wracking his brains as he tried to recall if they’d ever met before.

‘Yes, that would be me, Mr … er …?’

‘Dr Clement Ryder. I’m a city coroner.’

For some reason, Rhys Owen seemed to find this funny and burst into laughter. Perhaps he had been expecting a debt collector, or a man trying to sell him a set of encyclopaedias. Whatever had amused him, he obviously regretted it, for he changed the laughter to a groan and winced. ‘Ow, I shouldn’t do that when I’m feeling a little delicate,’ he admitted with a wide grin that showed a lot of white and well-kept teeth.

There was something almost theatrical about him, Trudy realised, and wondered if he was a stage actor, or someone in the entertainment business. ‘Won’t you both come in then? I can offer you coffee, at least, since my housekeeper always keeps me supplied with a constant stream of the stuff,’ he said, with yet another engaging grin.

Clement had to smile back, not at all surprised to hear this. Obviously any woman tasked with ‘doing’ for this man would have quickly learned that coffee, and plenty of it, was a necessity.

Their host led them through to a very nice, but extremely untidy, study-cum-library, with a large bay window overlooking a rather beautiful garden. Books lined the walls, but didn’t have that much-thumbed look of a true bibliophile. Probably inherited the house from someone who liked to read, was Clement’s first thought.

‘Take a seat, won’t you?’ Rhys said, slumping into a comfortable armchair and leaning back against it. The scent of wine seemed to seep from his pores in a rather pleasant way as he regarded them amiably through heavy-lidded eyes.

He’d clearly forgotten his offer of coffee and for a moment Clement was worried he was going to fall asleep on them. His trousers and shirt had a crumpled look, and Trudy wondered if he’d just collapsed onto his bed last night fully clothed, and then had simply got up and carried on wearing them this morning.

‘Mr Owen, we were hoping you could tell us something about Iris Carmody?’ Clement said, deciding the man needed a nice brisk shock to wake him up a bit.

‘Hmmmm?’ Rhys opened one eye, then another and forced himself to sit up straight. ‘Iris? Oh, Iris,’ he said, grinning widely. ‘I’ll say I can tell you things about Iris! What a sport that girl was.’

Clement leaned forward amiably in his chair. ‘Ah, like that, is it? And we gentlemen have good reason to be grateful for sporting girls, don’t we?’ he said, letting his voice become warm and suggestive. The quick glance he shot at Trudy told her that he wanted to lead this interview, since he was sure that he could get more out of their sybaritic host. Whereas Rhys would waste time merely flirting with Trudy.

Trudy, coming to the same conclusions, didn’t object in the least, but settled back in her chair, content to watch and listen.

Rhys Owen gave another sudden snort of laughter as the coroner’s words finally penetrated the fog in his brain. ‘I’ll say we do. And you can always trust good old Morty to find ’em for you.’

‘Mortimer Crowley?’ Clement said, just for the sake of clarification. ‘Yes, he’s a great friend of mine too.’

‘Really. Don’t remember seeing you at any of the special parties.’ Rhys frowned, then shrugged and gave a sly smile. ‘Bit shy, are you?’ he taunted archly.

Clement felt himself tense a little, realising that here he had a great potential source of information only so long as he didn’t scare him off. In his experience, men of this type could become very sober and very reticent very fast if they sensed they were treading on dangerous ground. And since he wasn’t sure exactly what was ‘special’ about Mortimer’s parties, he knew he was going to have to play this very carefully. Should the Welshman ever suspect that his visitor didn’t share his particular set of peccadilloes, then things could sour very quickly. As it was, Clement needed to keep him talking before his befuddled brain had a chance to start wondering exactly why he should be answering Clement’s questions at all.

‘Well, a man in my position …’ The coroner tailed off suggestively and shrugged.

‘Quite right, say no more, say no more,’ Rhys said happily. ‘Lucky for me, I never had to earn my own crust, so don’t have a job or any position to lose!’ He almost laughed again, but remembered just in time the pain that usually followed, and contented himself with a chuckle instead. ‘And I was too wily to ever tie the knot. No little woman waiting for me at home, to go all sour as vinegar and disapproving of my shenanigans,’ he boasted proudly.

‘Ah, a sensible man,’ Clement said approvingly. ‘As it happens, I have been to one or two of Morty’s little shindigs, but I’m not sure who was there and who wasn’t. I’m very discreet.’ He added to the lie with a knowing wink. ‘I can be blind as a bat sometimes. It’s shocking!’

‘That’s the ticket!’ Rhys said approvingly. ‘Not that I give a fig what people say about me, mind. Give an old dog a bad name and … er …’ His brow puckered as his befuddled brain groped for something witty to say, and then gave up the effort. ‘Oh, something or other.’ He waved a hand airily in the air. ‘No, I don’t mind being thought of as a bit of rogue. Ladies like that, don’t they, my dear?’ He startled Trudy somewhat by suddenly leering across at her.

Trudy, thinking of Duncan Gillingham for some reason, felt herself blush a little.

Delighted with the response, the Welshman again roared with laughter, then winced.

‘I take it that Iris liked the rogues too? And the excitement of it all?’ Clement said, forcing the lecherous old reprobate’s attention back to himself.

‘Oh yes, Iris liked it well