Chapter Sixteen
RAFFERTY HAD JUST GOT back from Harcombe police station when Llewellyn gave him the latest news: Anthony Melville-Briggs was dead.
It took him a few minutes to take it in. Apparently, the doctor had wrapped his car around a tree at Wivenhoe, taking with him any faint remaining chances of charging him with murder.
Llewellyn had been right when he'd quoted that old bod's words. How had it gone? Something about every guilty person being his own hangman? Well, Rafferty concluded sombrely, it certainly looked as if Sir Anthony had been his own executioner, whether or not his sins had included murder.
He supposed it fell to him to break the news to Lady Evelyn—he checked with Llewellyn that uniformed hadn’t already done so—they hadn’t, and he told Llewellyn to give them a bel
