Bring Forth Your Dead by J. M. Gregson

from one to the other of his interlocutors. Hook suspected that he knew that it was irregular to ask him as directly as this about his fellow-suspects. But he showed no sign of resentment as he said, ‘I’ve known David and Angela since they were children, so it’s difficult for me to be objective. As you put me on the spot, I have to say that I can’t see either of them as a murderer of any sort, let alone of their own father.’
    Lambert, sensing that he was about to move on through the list of those around Craven, said, ‘As you’ve known them for so long, you are perhaps in a better position than anyone to tell us about their relationships with their father in his last few months.’ It was not true of course: Margaret Lewis was better qualified to observe the daily evolution of feelings in those fateful weeks because she was constantly in the house, observing all. But it rarely did any harm to stress to a witness his importance to the case, the necessity for him to recall with circumspection anything which might have bearing upon it.
    And Miller did give his response much thought. He stood up, smiling a little at Bert Hook’s earnest yeoman features and his ball-pen poised above the page. Then he walked across to the mullioned stone window and looked down the garden for a moment before he spoke. His face was grave with the responsibility of his evidence when he turned back to them, ‘Both the children were affectionate towards their father before they were married. Angela resented the way Ed treated her mother when she was a teenager, but I’ve no doubt she got over that years ago. She was kindness itself to her Dad in his last months.
    ‘I’m not quite as sure about Ed’s son. David was married and divorced years ago. Nice girl; no children.’ He sounded as though he were enunciating the priorities of his generation. ‘I’ve no doubt Edmund was difficult at times in the last few years. But so was David—and how! Sometimes it seems children are just sent to try us.’ He looked into the fire with a sad smile, so that they wondered for a moment what crosses his own children had heaped upon him.
    Lambert, anxious to encourage this revelatory vein in their subject, said gently, ‘We heard something of David’s financial problems from his own lips. I believe his father was planning to revise his will.’
    ‘So I understood from Edmund in those last days. I think it was more a matter of cutting someone out than making small amendments.’
    ‘David?’
    ‘So I assumed. You will understand that I didn’t wish to get involved between father and children. I told him so. I said he should discuss his intentions with them.’
    ‘And did he?’
    Miller paused. ‘I’m trying to recollect things from over a year ago: things that at the time I tried to dismiss as not being my concern. I think Edmund indicated without putting it in so many words that he had discussed it with the people affected.’
    Lambert said, ‘As you probably know, no new will was ever made, although we know that one was intended. We obviously have to investigate whether the person who murdered Edmund Craven was trying to forestall a new will. David has already admitted that his father found out about his plans for Tall Timbers and was distressed by them. It would be logical to reflect that in a new will.’
    Miller looked troubled. ‘David isn’t my favourite man, by any means. But I don’t want to see him locked up for life.’
    Lambert said sternly, ‘If he isn’t guilty, he won’t be. You must realise that it’s your duty to reveal to us anything else that you know.’
    Miller nodded miserably. ‘All I know is that he was in trouble financially. He had been, on and off, for years: perhaps Ed indulged him too much when he was younger. The will came as a Godsend to him.’
    ‘And you think a new will would have cut him out?’
    ‘I don’t know that.’ His face set stubbornly on the sentiment.
    ‘Neither do we, Mr Miller. We