Murder on the Green. H.V. Coombs

House.’ I didn’t need to guess, I just knew he’d have been horrible to the waiting staff.

      Slattery nodded and made a note. ‘You’ve had him working here, I believe. What was he like?’

      I shook my head in amazement at the village grapevine.

      ‘Well,’ I said, ‘he was rude, a pain in the arse, charmless. Good chef, mind you, no gripes about his actual work.’

      I handed Slattery his coffee.

      ‘You mentioned a sexual assault on Jess?’

      ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘He grabbed Jess from behind, her backside to be precise. And then travelled upwards. So when she apprised me of the situation and I encountered him … well …’ I shrugged. ‘You know the rest.’

      ‘And you didn’t go back to his flat in Acton and kill him?’ Slattery’s tone wasn’t accusing, more wistful, as if he really had been hoping that was the case but was prepared to accept the fact that it wasn’t.

      ‘No, I’d already made my point, hadn’t I?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ said Slattery. We both fell silent for a while. I spoke first.

      ‘Acton! Was that where he was living?’

      I don’t know why I was so surprised but it seemed an odd choice for an Italian chef to live. Well, he had to live somewhere I suppose.

      ‘It was indeed.’ Slattery looked grim. He fell silent and drank his coffee. ‘How was Andrea viewed by his fellow chefs?’ he asked.

      I shrugged. ‘How on earth would I know?’

      ‘You’ve met them. You’ve been working with them. Andrea obviously knew his killer – he invited them in. Whoever it was that killed him had a pretty hefty grudge against him. You don’t stab someone in their own flat on a whim. There were no signs of a struggle or an argument. It was all very clinical.’

      ‘I haven’t started yet – they move in to the Earl’s kitchen tomorrow and I’m joining later in the week, so I really don’t know.’ I looked at him questioningly. ‘So you really do think one of Andrea’s colleagues killed him?’

      Slattery folded his arms and said, ‘Andrea Lombardi worked from ten a.m. until ten p.m. five days a week, usually six. He went to his local pub, the Crown, in Acton and got pissed on his day off. He didn’t have a regular girlfriend that we know of, but he did have a huge amount of porn, mainly in DVD form. His laptop was clean. He didn’t have any friends or family that we can see. We found some drugs, coke, some weed, nothing unusual. He had a healthy bank balance with no signs of unusual activity. So, in the absence of any obvious suspects, work colleagues are the most likely pool of suspects.’

      ‘Well, that’s all very logical, DI Slattery.’

      I wondered why he was including me in his investigation. Slattery didn’t like me at all. To his credit, he made no bones about it.

      ‘So, I’m asking you …’ Slattery’s teeth weren’t gritted but they might as well have been, asking me to help him was a sure sign of desperation. ‘If you were to choose a candidate from the small pool of suspects, who would it be?’