Murder Most Royal — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

He was surprisingly well informed for a man of his—’ He caught the Queen’s eye and coughed again. ‘Ahem . . . his generation. He let us use Abbottswood for meetings and events. It was obviously his home, not just some bolthole he used at weekends.’

‘I see.’ She wondered suddenly if the chief constable thought that one saw Sandringham as a bolthole. But surely not? So much of her family’s life was bound up in it.

‘Anyway, we’ll know a lot more when forensics make their report,’ he went on.

‘I expect they’ll give us an idea about what happened to him first and where the bag went in the water, too. It’s amazing how much they can deduce from temperature and tides. The cold weather helps, of course. If the hand had been in that plastic bag under a hot sun it would have been quite a different story.’ He saw the Queen’s bleak response to that last statement and sought to reassure her. ‘I’ve got fifty people working on this night and day. Whatever happened, ma’am, we’ll find it soon enough. I guarantee we’ll have it wrapped up for you as quickly as any force in the country.’

The Queen sensed a note of competition in his voice. Norfolk was not, on the whole, known for its speed and efficiency. No doubt its major investigation unit could compete with the best in Manchester, say, or Edinburgh or Belfast, but as a county in general it had a reputation as slow and steady. Which was exactly how she liked it.

Still, Bloomfield’s intention was a good one, if slightly misplaced.

‘Not for me. For his family,’ she said. ‘And for the sake of justice. Thank you, Chief Constable.’

She arranged for him to be looked after by the kitchen staff before heading off to his wife’s carol concert. The investigation sounded as if it was in good hands, which was where she wanted it to stay. Finally, she could focus on her own family, who would be wondering what on earth had happened to her.

In the festive drawing room, the recent arrival of Charles and Camilla meant that the family, such as it was this year, was complete. Those who were there soon fell into familiar patterns, built up over many years and generations. Outside, the traditional football match was already underway against the local village of Castle Rising, the Sandringham team of staff and groundsmen captained by Harry in William’s absence.