A Visit with Le Plassiter
Chief Superintendent Innocent took the stand-in pathologist's opinion over the inspector's convictions. And that quickly made things complicated for his sergeant. Because while everyone else was blithely assuming the case was closed, Inspector Lewis was determinedly busy turning it into a murder investigation.
The mysterious phone call from Dr. Edward Le Plassiter, a stonking great cheese according to Lewis, and his less than forthcoming, more than manipulative behavior when they came running at his beck and call did not help.
Hathaway had not been terribly impressed with Le Plassiter from the beginning.
"Why are you here?" the professor had demanded of Hathaway even before they'd been through the door. "Oh, don't tell me," he'd gone on disparagingly, "It's because Lewis is afraid I might use words of more than two syllables." Hathaway had bristled on behalf of his inspector, but Lewis had taken it in stride.
"Aye," he'd agreed easily, "and you've already said 'syllable'. I might have to lie down." And, perhaps, Hathaway had misread a poor sense of humour as something even worse, but there was nothing in the man's disturbing tale or manner to make Hathaway like him any better.
Certainly, not in the short amount of time he was given. Being kicked out of the interview…well, he hadn't denied it when Lewis had asked him if he was sulking. Fuming, more like though. The whole 'blond boy' issue had not gone over well with the blond boy in question.
"You're not telling me you trust him?" Hathaway asked incredulously after Lewis had explained what Le Plassiter wanted from them. They weren't private detectives, and they weren't on Le Plassiter's staff of household servants, and why was he the one ranting and raving? It was Lewis who carried around a certain animosity for Oxford dons of all types. But that for some mysterious reason seemed to have been buried on this occasion.
"Morse really rated Le Plassiter," Lewis explained. "Reckoned he was the real thing." Ah. So that's why they had come running when the man called and why that little farce had been allowed to continue. Hathaway couldn't believe they were going to play games with Le Plassiter on a dead man's say-so. His disbelief must have shown too clearly on his face.
Lewis turned and frowned at him. "Say it," he ordered.
"The psychology of this is all wrong, Sir," Hathaway said. He hadn't been ready to discuss psychology under Rachel Mallory's ringed hand, but he was prepared to do so now.
It wasn't necessary—or at least he didn't get the chance. "I know, but it is all we've got," Lewis cut him short and went off to visit 'Uncle David'. Hathaway frowned after him, and on they went investigating a 'crime' ruled otherwise on the word of a dead chief inspector and a stonking great cheese.