Abruptly the music stopped, though the ringing in my ears continued. The door opened to reveal the twinkling blue eyes of the neighbour I'd encountered before. He frowned at me, in spite of my smile.
'Hi,' I said. 'It's Gavin, isn't it?' I amaze myself sometimes.
He nodded, and the frown deepened into a scowl. 'You're the private eye,' he said. It wasn't a question. Obviously the jungle drums had been busy after my first visit.
There didn't seem a lot of point in getting into a debate about it. 'That's right. I'm looking for Maggie. I just wondered if you happened to know when she'll be back.'
'You're too late,' he said.
'I'm sorry?'
'The cops took her off about two hours ago. They let her come round and tell me, so I could feed the cat if she's not back. But the policewoman who was with her didn't make any reassuring noises about her getting home in a hurry. Looks like your friends in the cops have gone for the easy option,' Gavin said angrily.
There were things I wanted to say. Like the cops aren't my friends. Like did she know a good criminal lawyer. Instead, I gambled that Maggie would have picked on a nice, reliable chap like Gavin as the concerned person who would be informed of her whereabouts. So I simply asked, 'Do you know where she's being held?'
He nodded grudgingly. 'They rang me about half an hour ago. They've got her at Macclesfield cop shop. I asked about lawyers, but they said they would be arranging that with Maggie.'
'Thanks. I'll make sure she's got a good one.'
'Don't you think you've done enough?' he said bitterly. There didn't seem much I could say to that, so I turned and walked back down the path.
I made good time back over the motorway. I'd rung Macclesfield police station from the motorway services. I regretted the impulse as soon as I was connected to Cliff Jackson.
'I'm glad you rang,' he growled. He didn't sound it. 'I want a word with you.'
'How can I help, Inspector?' I said. It's a lot easier to sound sweet and helpful when there's forty miles of road between you.
'There's nothing gets on my threepennies more than people like you who think there's something clever about obstructing the police. One more stroke like this, Ms Brannigan, and you're going to be in a cell. And if you remember your law, under PACE I can keep you there for thirty-six hours before I have to get round to charging you with obstructing my investigation.' Now he'd got that off his chest, I hoped he felt better. I sure as hell didn't.
'If I knew what you were referring to, Inspector, I might be able to offer you some reassurance as to my future conduct.' He really brought out the lawyer in me.
'The way you conveniently forgot to mention that Maggie Rossi-ter was not only in the vicinity of Colcutt Manor at the time of Moira Pollock's death but was also out and about in the highways and by-ways of Cheshire at the relevant time,' he snarled.
'Well, for one thing, Inspector, I wasn't even sure what the relevant time was. The fact that she was in the lane a good hour after Jett and I discovered the body didn't seem especially relevant to me, I have to admit.'
'Don't try to be clever with me, Ms Brannigan. I'm not making idle threats here. If you interfere with the course of my investigation again, or if I find you've been withholding evidence, I'm going to come down on you so hard it'll make your eyes water. Do I make myself plain?'
'As the proverbial pikestaff, Inspector.'
'Right. And I think I'll be wanting another word with you about your version of events around the time of the murder. You seem rather more hazy than I'd expect from someone who thinks she's as sharp as you do. I'd appreciate it if you could come into my office tomorrow morning at nine.'
Before I could refuse, the line went dead. Going back to Colcutt could only be an improvement on the day.
'Kate!' Neil exclaimed as I stuck my head round the door of his office. 'Come in!' I'd caught a glimpse of his retreating back as I'd entered the manor and followed him.
He was standing by his desk pouring a mug of coffee from a Thermos jug. His face had the bleary, unfocused look of a hangover. 'Fancy a cuppa? I've no milk here, I'm afraid.'
'Black's fine,' I replied. He opened his desk drawer and took out a second mug, which he filled and handed to me.
'Fancy a little something to keep the cold out?' he asked. I shook my head with a mental shudder, and watched in revulsion as he pulled a bottle of Grouse from his desk drawer and poured a generous slug into his mug. He took a long swallow of the brew, and as it went down, his face seemed to regain definition. 'Aah,' he sighed comfortably. 'That's better.'
Neil slouched across the room and collapsed into a leather armchair in a corner. 'So,' he said with a crooked smile, 'how's Hawkshaw the Detective getting on? Ready to finger the culprit yet?'
'Hardly,' I replied, sitting down on the typist's chair in front of the desk. I was in two minds whether or not to tell him about Maggie's arrest. On the one hand, I didn't want to help him earn a shilling out of selling the story. But on the other, I was convinced Jackson was so far off-beam that I wanted him to end up looking like the fool he was. In the end, I decided I wanted to get my own back on Neil more than I did on Jackson, so I kept the news to myself.
'I've only just started my inquiries,' I said. 'And if Gloria's anything to go by, I'd have more joy panning for gold in the Mersey than extracting information out of you lot.'
Neil pulled a face. 'I don't envy you the lovely Gloria. But if it's good gossip you're after, you've come to the right place. My encyclopaedic knowledge of the occupants of Colcutt Manor is entirely at your disposal. Fire away.' My relief must have shown in my face, for Neil chuckled. 'Bit of a shock to the system, eh, finding someone who actually wants to talk.'
'Just a bit,' I said. 'Before we get down to the serious gossip, though, I have to do the proper detective bit. You know, where were you on the night of, etc'
He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke with an appreciative smile. 'Eat your heart out, Miss Marple. Well, I'd been nattering to Kevin earlier, then about ten I went down the local pub for a few sherbets before closing time. I must have got back about half-past eleven, then I came through here and did a couple of hours' work, transcribing tapes and knocking them into shape. I went up to bed around half-past one. Didn't see a soul, before you ask.' It was hard to gauge his truthfulness from his hooded eyes. Like most journalists I know, he'd carefully cultivated the appearance of total sincerity to encourage the public to fly in the face of all the evidence and trust him.
I asked a few more questions, and soon elicited the fact that he hadn't seen Moira in the pub. Presumably she and Maggie had gone up to her room before he'd arrived. I decided to change to a more profitable line of questioning. 'So, if you were a gambling man, who would you be putting money on?'
His eyes crinkled up in concentration for a moment, then he rattled off the odds: '2-1 Tamar, 3-1 Gloria and Kevin, 7-2 Jett, 4-1 Micky and 10-1 the girlfriend.'
I couldn't help smiling. I hadn't expected such a literal answer. 'And what about you?'
Neil stroked his moustache. 'Me? I'm the dark horse. An outsider in more ways than one. You'd have to put me down at 100-1. After all, I was the only one who had nothing to gain and everything to lose from her death.'
I was intrigued. On the face of it, what he said was plausible. But since my only experience of murder is in the pages of Agatha Christie, that made him number one suspect in my book. I said as much.
He roared with laughter, and got up to refill his mug. This time, the tot of whisky was noticeably smaller. 'Sorry to disappoint you, Kate,' he remarked, 'but I meant what I said. Moira was the best possible source for early material on Jett. I mean, we all know how showbiz biogs steer well clear of scandal. And Jett's life has been well-documented. The only genuinely new angle I could hope for was finally lifting the lid on what happened between Jett and Moira all those years ago. I couldn't get an on-the-record word out of anybody about the reasons for the partnership splitting up. Her arrival on the scene was a godsend. She was willing to talk, and we'd only just begun to get into it. So I had a vested interest in her being around to talk to me. Forget the doctrine of the "least likely person".'