Death Knocks Twice. Robert Thorogood

identify the victim?’

      ‘Oh yes,’ Rosie said, straightening in her chair as she spoke. ‘I know I’m old, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be useful.’

      Richard could see a sparkling intelligence behind Rosie’s eyes, and he realised that she might have looked frail, but her mind was still perfectly sharp.

      ‘Of course,’ Camille said, and then instructed Fidel to choose the least distressing crime scene photos that would nonetheless allow their witness to identify the victim.

      ‘Can I ask,’ Richard said, while Fidel gathered the photos together, ‘how you came to be working for the Beaumonts? They referred to you as Nanny Rosie.’

      ‘That’s right. I first started as a nanny for the family just after Matthew was born. And he was such a kissable little thing. All fat arms, chubby legs and a round belly, you just wanted to scoop him up and squeeze him. Not that I didn’t adore the other two of course. But there was such an age gap. Tom was already four when I joined the family, and even then, he was a young man who always knew his mind. When he wanted his tea. What clothes he wanted to wear. You couldn’t fight him, he had to get his own way. As for Lucy, well she was at that tricky age, you know? Twelve I suppose she was. Not quite a child, but not quite a teenager either. As tall as a beanpole, and clumsy as you like. Always forgetting things. That’s Lucy.’ Rosie sighed in pleasure as she considered her life with the Beaumonts. ‘I love those children as if they were my own.’

      ‘How lucky for you,’ Camille said.

      ‘I know. I’ve had a good life.’

      Fidel came over with three photos of the victim’s face that they’d taken at the scene of crime.

      ‘Just so you know,’ Fidel said to Rosie. ‘You may find these photos distressing. They were taken after the man had been shot.’

      Rosie nodded her head.

      ‘I understand.’

      Fidel handed over the three black and white photos and Rosie looked at the top photo in silence. However, Richard could see that she didn’t recognise the victim’s face. Rosie then very carefully moved on to the second photo – again without any apparent recognition – and then she studied the third. After this, she made sure the stack of photos was squared off neatly before returning them to Fidel and turning to speak to Richard.

      ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t recognise his face.’

      ‘You don’t?’

      ‘No. How frustrating.’

      Richard was bitterly disappointed. After all, if the family didn’t recognise the victim – and now Rosie didn’t, either – then who would?

      ‘But while we have you,’ Camille said perching on the edge of Richard’s desk – somewhat proprietorially he found himself thinking – ‘it’s clear you know the Beaumont family well.’

      Rosie smiled. ‘Oh yes.’

      ‘You like them?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘You’ve told us something of what the family were like in the past, but can you tell us something about what they’re like now?’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘How do they get on? Are they a happy family?’

      ‘Well, yes. I mean, they have their ups and downs. We all do.’

      ‘For example?’

      Rosie’s brow furrowed as she tried to work out what she should say.

      ‘Anything you tell us will be treated in the strictest of confidence.’

      ‘I understand. Of course. Well, since you’re asking, they are a happy family. It’s just…well, I’m not sure that Sylvie has ever been – what’s the word? – well, maternal, really.’

      ‘She’s not?’

      ‘Not that it matters. The children have always had me. But she thinks too much about herself if you ask me.’

      ‘Even though she does so much charity work?’ Richard asked.

      ‘Her charity work always seems to be about her more than it is about the people she’s trying to help,’ Rosie said.

      ‘Do you think she’s capable of murder?’ Richard asked, and Rosie was shocked.

      ‘No, of course not!’

      ‘Only, it’s possible that one of the Beaumont family is the person who did this.’

      Rosie was shocked.

      ‘Is that a joke?’

      ‘I’m sorry, it isn’t. Which is why we’d like to know if you think any of the family might be capable of murder.’

      ‘Of course not. None of them could do anything so horrible. It’s simply impossible to imagine.’

      Richard saw Rosie frown as a thought occurred to her.

      ‘What’s that?’ Richard asked.

      ‘What’s what?’ Rosie said, but Richard and Camille could see that Rosie was now flustered.

      ‘What were you thinking?’

      ‘Oh, it was nothing.’

      ‘It really would help us a lot,’ Camille said, ‘if you told us whatever is on your mind. Even if you think it’s got nothing to do with the case.’

      Rosie took a moment to compose herself. Richard once again noticed the intelligence in the old woman’s eyes, and he got a sudden insight that Rosie was one of those older people who could remember everything from her life.

      ‘Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised it occurred to me. Considering what we’re talking about. Not that it has anything to do with the case. Just like you said.’

      ‘We’d still like to hear it,’ Richard said.

      ‘Well, it was just a memory that popped into my head. You know how that can happen? You just remember something suddenly?’

      ‘Of course,’ Camille said.

      ‘And it was from when the children were much younger. Matthew had just had his fifth birthday, so Tom must have been nine and Lucy was seventeen I think. Anyway. I came across Tom in the garden. As I say, he must have been about nine years old. He was crouching on the ground and looking at something on the grass. As I got nearer, he tried to hide what he was looking at.’

      ‘And what was it?’

      ‘Well, I’m sorry to say that it was a dead bird. I don’t know how it got there. Maybe it had died from natural causes. But Tom was holding a knife in his hand. A pocket knife, I think. But he’d used it to cut the bird open. And I know young boys can be a little wild, but he hadn’t just cut into the poor creature, he’d spread all its… organs… out to the bird’s side. It was like some kind of ritual thing.’ Rosie took a sip of water, and Richard could see that the memory still upset her. ‘Of course, he denied that he’d had anything to do with the dead bird. He said he’d found it on the grass like that. But I sent him to his room at once. I was so angry with what he’d done. It took me a long time to get over that. But then, perhaps the children were more damaged by their past than we gave them credit—’

      Rosie stopped talking mid-sentence as she was struck by a sudden realisation.

      ‘What do you mean, “their past”?’ Richard asked.

      ‘My word, is it possible?’ Rosie said, more to herself than to anyone else, and Richard and Camille could see that her mind was awhirl as she tried to marshal her thoughts. After a moment longer of indecision, she looked at Richard.

      ‘You’re saying the man who was murdered this morning couldn’t be identified?’