Extract

MURDER…NOW AND THEN

After lunch, the assembly moved back into the foyer, and Lloyd felt a little deserted as Anna moved round, keeping an unobtrusive eye on the young women who came round constantly with jugs of beer, bottles of spirits, wine, soft drinks, even coffee. Good coffee, Lloyd discovered, but too many of his fellow guests would have found that out. Someone should be standing outside with a breathalyser, he thought, as practically everyone present took full advantage of Holyoak's generosity. Every now and then Anna Worthing would smile across at him, and he would feel ridiculously pleased that she had. But mostly, she was involved in what she was doing, and so was he.

He was watching Holyoak. He was watching him as he moved round the room, as he ate and drank, as he chatted to his guests. Lloyd felt like a child, fascinated by some nonconformity, knowing that he shouldn't stare. But he knew that scar. He knew that it ran through a beard, knew that that beard was old-fashioned, formal and clipped, Edwardian style. He frowned. It was that beard, and that scar. And one thing was certain. The absurdity which he hadn't put into words, not even in his own head, now wouldn't be denied. Lloyd had never seen Holyoak before; he would swear to that on a stack of PACE handbooks. But he had seen his beard and scar before.

And they were on the wrong face.

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