CHAPTER 9
CHARCOAL
“Somebody burned something in that plate-warmer very recently.”
Anika Bose’s conclusion stayed with Romy long after the brass object disappeared into an evidence container.
By half past twelve, the Blue Study had been sealed again and Asterleigh had become a search operation.
Not a dramatic one.
No officers tore through cupboards or overturned designer furniture. Everything happened with photographs, labels, gloves, evidence bags, and the patience required when almost every object belonged to somebody else.
Ellis stood on the landing with a list.
“Catering stores first. Then exterior service areas. Any decorative fuel, fire bowls, grills, charcoal drawing materials, warming equipment, portable heaters.”
Adrian Holt folded his arms.
“We had no grills.”
“Good. That shortens the list.”
“No live fires either.”
“We know.”
“No charcoal.”
“We’ll verify it.”
Adrian exhaled.
Two days ago, his insistence would have sounded defensive.
Now it sounded exhausted.
Evidence did that when it worked properly. It changed the weight of people instead of rewarding whichever theory arrived first.
Adrian’s lie about the service corridor remained ugly.
His building systems were looking increasingly innocent.
Marcus Fenn’s objects were not.
Leo stood beside Romy with his laptop balanced against his forearm.
“So charcoal can produce carbon monoxide?”
Romy looked at Ellis.
He said, “General science is permitted.”
“Yes,” Romy said. “Especially with incomplete combustion and poor ventilation.”
“And if the vent was blocked?”
“It could allow dangerous gases to build more effectively.”
Ellis raised one finger.
“Could.”
“I said could.”
“You were about to turn it into did.”
“I wasn’t.”
Anika passed them with her sample case.
“You both need a hobby.”
“I have one.”
“Conservation does not count.”
“It absolutely does.”
“Not when you invoice for it.”
Leo said, “I collect old railway posters.”
All three adults turned toward him.
“What?” Leo asked.
Romy stared.
“That is unexpectedly specific.”
“I like them.”
Ellis looked almost pleased.
“Healthy.”
“Thank you.”
Romy frowned at him.
“You approve of railway posters?”
“I approve of hobbies that don’t involve inserting yourself into active investigations.”
Anika continued downstairs.
“Very healthy.”
Leo smiled.
Romy did not.
Much.
The first charcoal was found twenty-six minutes later.
Not in a service cupboard.
Not with catering.
Not in any historic display.
In the boot of Celeste Arden’s car.
Romy learned because the change in Ellis’s face was visible across the entrance hall. One moment he was speaking to an officer near the front door. The next, his attention sharpened.
He crossed to the drive.
Romy followed.
Leo started after her.
She stopped him.
“Stay.”
“Why?”
“Because ten minutes ago Ellis accused me of dragging you into active police work.”
“He accused you.”
“Exactly. You should be grateful.”
Celeste’s silver estate car stood in the side gravel area where designers and contractors had unloaded before the preview.
The boot was open.
An officer had placed a bag on the ground beside it.
Charcoal briquettes.
Commercial.
Ordinary.
Black bag.
White lettering.
Not antique. Not mysterious.
That somehow made it worse.
Celeste came out of the house at speed.
“What are you doing?”
Ellis turned.
“Checking vehicles connected to the event with owners’ consent.”
“I did not consent to my belongings being laid across the gravel.”
“You signed the vehicle search form.”
“I expected you to look for weapons.”
Romy almost said police searches did not come with menus.
Celeste saw her.
“You.”
“I’m not searching your car.”
“Why is she here?”
“Because the material question involves the Blue Study installation,” Ellis said.
Celeste pointed at the charcoal.
“That has nothing to do with the Blue Study.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I bought it.”
Romy stopped.
Ellis did too.
Celeste realized the problem.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“Why did you buy charcoal?” Ellis asked.
“For a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“An exterior styling shot.”
“At Asterleigh?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“It was supposed to happen Wednesday.”
“With what?”
Celeste closed her eyes briefly.
“A brazier.”
Romy frowned.
“There was no brazier on the approved installation list.”
“It wasn’t for inside.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“Not every prop passed through you.”
“If it involved live fuel on a heritage property, it should have.”
“There was never going to be live fuel.”
Ellis indicated the bag.
“Then why buy charcoal?”
Celeste’s irritation faltered.
“The photographer wanted smoke.”
“That requires combustion.”
“He suggested charcoal in an exterior bowl. I said no. Then the shot was cancelled because it rained.”
“You had already bought the fuel.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Receipt?”
“I don’t know.”
“Card payment?”
“Probably.”
Ellis crouched beside the bag without touching it.
“Open?”
“Yes.”
“How much used?”
“I have no idea.”
That landed badly.
“I bought it for a photograph,” Celeste said. “I opened it to see what the briquettes looked like.”
Romy stared.
Celeste snapped, “They are not attractive.”
“No argument.”
“I wanted to know whether they could be visible in the shot.”
“So you opened the bag.”
“Yes.”
“Removed any?”
“Possibly two or three.”
“What happened to them?”
Celeste hesitated.
“I don’t remember.”
Ellis stood.
“You don’t remember what happened to charcoal removed from this bag.”
“I may have put them back.”
“May.”
“Yes.”
“May have disposed of them.”
“Possibly.”
“May have carried them into Asterleigh.”
“No.”
That answer came fast.
Ellis noticed.
“So you remember that.”
“Yes. I did not carry charcoal inside that house.”
Romy thought of the Blue Study.
The plate-warmer.
Fresh particulate.
Blocked ventilation.
Celeste had motive.
Celeste knew the spacer mattered.
Celeste had privately entered the room at 6:44.
Now Celeste had charcoal.
Too much.
Too neatly.
Romy distrusted it on principle.
Ellis distrusted Celeste.
“Tell me again what you were doing in the Blue Study at six forty-four.”
Celeste froze.
There it was.
The lie she had not technically told.
Only avoided.
“I checked the room.”
“For two minutes.”
“Yes.”
“What did you check?”
“The styling.”
“Did you touch the panel?”
“No.”
“The grille?”
“No.”
“The spacer?”
“No.”
“Did you bring charcoal in?”
“No.”
“Did you bring anything out?”
Silence.
Ellis waited.
Celeste’s eyes moved toward Romy.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A lamp.”
Romy frowned.
“What lamp?”
“The small blue Murano lamp that was on the writing desk.”
Romy pictured the room. There had been a lamp earlier in installation week, outside the frame of her 6:31 photograph.
“I removed it before the preview,” Celeste said.
“Why?” Ellis asked.
“Because it didn’t belong to me.”
“That sounds like a reason not to take it in the first place.”
Celeste flushed.
“I borrowed it.”
“From?”
“Emilia Crane.”
“Did Emilia know?”
Celeste said nothing.
Ellis stared at her.
“You stole a lamp.”
“I borrowed it.”
“Without permission.”
“I was going to return it.”
“Was it part of your official room inventory?”
“No.”
“Had the Show House team approved it?”
“No.”
“Why hide that?”
“Because Emilia and I are not speaking.”
Somehow a stolen lamp felt perfectly at home in Asterleigh.
“Why are you not speaking?” Ellis asked.
“Because she accused me of lifting a lighting scheme.”
Of course she had.
Celeste closed her eyes.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Very consistent,” Romy said.
Celeste glared.
“I removed the lamp because Sebastian had started asking where everything in the room came from. If he photographed it and Emilia saw it, I would have had another ridiculous accusation to deal with.”
“Ridiculous?” Romy asked.
“I borrowed one object.”
“Without telling the owner.”
“Do not become moral about lamps.”
“I conserve objects for a living. It was always a risk.”
Ellis cut in.
“Where is the lamp now?”
“In my hotel room.”
“You’ll provide access.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else removed from the Blue Study?”
“No.”
“Anything added?”
“No.”
“Did you alter the decorative panel?”
“No.”
“Close the ventilation gap?”
“No.”
“Put felt behind it?”
“No.”
“Put charcoal in the plate-warmer?”
“No.”
Celeste’s answers were angry now.
But consistent.
Ellis looked at the bag.
“You understand why this is a problem.”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Celeste’s composure cracked.
“What do you want me to say? That I killed Sebastian because he was about to accuse me of stealing ideas, then hid the murder weapon in the boot of my own car?”
“Charcoal is not a murder weapon by itself,” Romy said.
Celeste swung toward her.
“Wonderful. Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a defense.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
Barely.
Enough that Romy’s irritation loosened.
Celeste looked at the house.
“I hated him.”
Nobody interrupted.
“He could destroy years of work in six hundred words and call it criticism. He wanted people frightened because frightened people answered him.”
She swallowed.
“But I did not kill him.”
“We’ll determine that,” Ellis said.
The charcoal was bagged.
Celeste was escorted inside for another formal interview.
Romy returned to Leo.
He had obeyed her instruction so literally he stood in exactly the same place.
“Well?”
“Charcoal in Celeste’s car.”
His eyes widened.
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
“Really bad?”
“Almost too bad.”
“What does that mean?”
“Never fall in love with evidence simply because it matches your theory.”
“You think it was planted?”
“No.”
“You think she’s innocent?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You think the charcoal is irrelevant?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Leo looked pained.
“Working with you is difficult.”
“That is the fourth lesson.”
“You’re making the lessons up afterward.”
“Efficient teaching.”
At two o’clock, Adrian’s operations team completed their materials audit.
No charcoal.
No solid-fuel heating equipment.
No charcoal grills.
No catering brazier.
No decorative coal scuttles containing actual fuel.
The kitchen used induction equipment. Exterior catering had been electrical. The original fireplaces displayed logs, but none had been lit.