As they walked, LeFevre said, ‘My condolences on the death of the victim. I suppose he was well known around these parts?’
‘He was,’ Oliver said, ‘but not exactly well liked.’
LeFevre smiled. ‘A candid assessment.’
‘Coming from a potential suspect?’ Oliver retorted at once. ‘It’s the truth. And I’m sure a good policeman would find out about it soon enough.’
LeFevre hmm-ed. ‘A good policeman just because I can find some footprints in muddy earth? That’s hardly a compliment, Mr Bolingbrooke.’
‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment, just a statement of fact. And you can call me Oliver. I avoid the name Bolingbrooke.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Because people feel uncomfortable when they know you have a title and most likely a big bag of money. They either start sucking up to you or get jealous and try to derail your career out of spite. I have enough experience with both to know that.’
‘I see. What is your career?’
‘I make wildlife documentaries. Not on my own of course, with a whole crew. We travel out to Madagascar or the North Pole and then I sit in a hide for weeks hoping to make a few minutes worth of good footage.’
‘And you can actually make a living that way?’ LeFevre asked.
‘If you’re any good.’
LeFevre nodded. ‘And why are you suddenly back home?’
‘I’m having some time off. I just wanted to look in on my father.’ Oliver glanced at LeFevre. ‘He didn’t like Haydock. Any local can tell you that. They even had an argument this evening, right before the re-enactment started. But my father would never have killed him. I know that for a fact.’
‘And why are you so sure? Apart from family loyalty of course.’
Oliver grimaced. ‘My relationship with my father wasn’t all hearts and flowers. When Guinevere here arrived, he was just throwing me out of the door for even suggesting he could think about putting the castle in a trust. But I know, and so do others who are close to him, that he wouldn’t kill.’
‘You agreed that the castle should be put in a trust? So you supported Haydock?’
‘Of course not. I wanted my father to get professional assistance to keep the castle away from the likes of Haydock.’
‘Yes.’ LeFevre suddenly looked down, at Guinevere’s feet. ‘I suppose the footprints left at the air hole can’t be yours?’
Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat at this unexpected turn of the conversation. ‘Would I draw your attention to them if they were mine? Besides, I can assure you my feet aren’t very small.’
Oliver had to laugh.
LeFevre’s expression was tight though. ‘The air hole theory is yours, right?’
Oliver said quickly, ‘Guinevere comes from the theatre world so she worked it out by suggesting an alternative scenario for the murder. It’s probably the only way we can prove my father’s innocence. I think we should keep her on.’
‘I have to say,’ LeFevre said slowly, ‘that this case is different from what I usually come across. A man stabbed in a centuries-old dungeon while he was locked in and nobody could get to him. Something probably well planned and executed. Too bad I won’t have a lot of time to spend on it.’
Oliver glanced at Guinevere. So their additional inspector was really up to his elbows in cases and wouldn’t be able to dig deep for motives. He’d probably look at the witness statements Eal had taken tonight. But Eal hadn’t bothered to ask any probing questions.
LeFevre looked up at the castle’s imposing form. ‘This is also an unusual place. The whole setup on an island.’
‘There are more like it,’ Oliver said. ‘Not just here in Cornwall but also along the coast of France. Not a castle there, though, but an abbey. I guess it makes sense when you think about it. The water forms a natural protection.’
‘It sure saved them the trouble of digging a moat around it.’ LeFevre gestured. ‘Ah, there we are. Lead on into this dungeon.’
After a few more minutes they were down in the dungeon. The lanterns were still lit as apparently nobody had thought to put them out. LeFevre looked at the cage that had a rope with a red flag on it woven through the bars. ‘That’s our crime scene?’
‘Yes.’ Oliver nodded at the rope. ‘The constable didn’t have any official police tape on him so we had to improvise.’
‘Fine. Now we can use this one here to do our little re-enactment of the murder.’
LeFevre opened the door into the next cage and went in, crouching as his height didn’t allow him to stand up without brushing the top of his head on the ceiling. ‘Eal!’ he called out of the air hole. ‘Are you there?’
There was a silence, and LeFevre had to call again before Eal responded. ‘I’m here.’ It sounded begrudging.
‘All right,’ LeFevre said. ‘I’m Haydock standing at the air hole. I’m leaning forward because I’m trying to see something outside. Passing time, whatever. Maybe I’ve heard a suspicious sound that the killer created to draw the victim to the air hole. You’re that killer. Can you get your fist through the air hole?’
In a flash a fist appeared, and LeFevre could just duck away, instinctively, or the fist would have hit him full on the nose.
‘Is that correct?’ Eal’s voice asked sweetly from the outside.
Oliver poked Guinevere with his elbow, a grin on his face.
‘Perfect,’ LeFevre said to Eal. ‘However, this would have stabbed the victim right in the face. Let me see. Are you sitting on your haunches?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you crouch lower? A woman might have been shorter and more agile.’
Oliver suppressed a guffaw at this subtle sting.
Eal’s fist came a little lower now. So apparently he was trying to follow the instructions.
‘Let’s try it this way.’ LeFevre took a hold of Eal’s wrist and tried to yank Eal’s arm further down to reach his chest.
Outside Eal cried out in pain. LeFevre let go of his arm and said, ‘Doesn’t seem to be working. I don’t see how the knife could have been pushed into the victim’s chest with enough strength to kill him. The stab would then also have been downward. We’ll have to wait and see what the post-mortem report says about the stab wound’s angle.’
Eal had pulled his fist back. Guinevere bet he was raving mad at the inspector’s antics.
But LeFevre didn’t seem to notice or care. He was studying the air hole with an expression of utter concentration. ‘If Eal’s fist fits through, a woman’s fist certainly would. Her arm would be thinner so she would be able to push it in further. Still the angle wouldn’t be right.’
Oliver leaned over to Guinevere. ‘Maybe he’ll ask you to go out and repeat the experiment? Your arm must be thinner than Eal’s.’ He lowered his voice even further to add, ‘A younger person might have an even thinner arm.’
Guinevere knew he was thinking of Tegen.
LeFevre was done with the air hole and turned to study the cage construction. ‘The only way in is through the door? No secret passageways?’
‘No.’
‘And your father had the only key?’
‘Yes, the doors are normally never locked.’ Oliver gestured around him. ‘Haydock went down here and could get in by himself.