

Alastair Wrexham
Earl of Wrexham, the countess's estranged husband, 39
Alastair Wrexham is 39 and the EarlEarl A British nobleman ranking below a marquess and above a viscount; his wife is a countess. of Wrexham. Born in Oxfordshire, educated at Eton, he served in the Guards and inherited the title at 24, along with a house in BelgraviaBelgravia An elegant and expensive district of central London, known for white stucco mansions and embassies., an estate in Surrey and a great deal of debt. He knows every waiter in Mayfair by name. Polite as an officer, icy when crossed, cynical when cornered, he has never raised his voice in public. Acquaintances say his father taught him never to show fear, and that it cost him his childhood.
He separated from the countess in January 1973 and lost custody of the three children in June. He kept alternate weekends. Since then, he has lived in a large, almost empty apartment in Mayfair, with a leather sofa, a card table, a shelf of whisky bottles and portraits of ancestors he hasn't found a place to hang. The window overlooks a square of plane trees. He says he no longer sleeps in any house.
He is very tall and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair combed back, a trimmed mustache and tired gray eyes. He wears an expensively cut dark suit, rumpled today, a loose tie and a day's stubble. His right hand is bandaged. He speaks slowly, with the politeness of someone who learned that shouting is for the lowborn, and rarely laughs.
About the marriage, he sums it up: in January 1973 it ended, and in June a judge gave the three children to a woman who takes pills to sleep. The rest, the detective reads in the papers. About the house key, he says he has it to pick up the children on his weekends, like half of London, and that old Eileen never returned hers. About the ticket to Dieppe under a false name, he explains that he needed sea and quiet, away from the papers, and that a false name is a gentleman's discretion. When accused of fleeing out of guilt, he says he admits nothing and asks for manners.
It could be the wounded haughtiness of a father robbed of his children and his reputation. It could be the coldness of someone who learned to lie with elegance. The detective will have to decide which.


Cases unlock in order, like levels. This is case 176 of 200.
The case
The other suspects
Kevin DraycottBarman at the pub on the corner and the nanny's boyfriend, 31
Eileen SproatThe family's nanny for nine years, dismissed in March, 58
