by Susan Finlay
Dave tried to set out what he was thinking now. There was a house they needed to search. Despite Dave’s desperation, Nigel was dismissive.
“We don’t have enough evidence for a search warrant,” Nigel said. “It’s total supposition. There’s far more evidence against Maura Barrington than anyone else. She had an affair with a student and she had a powerful motive. And she also ran.”
“But—”
“Dave, I am sorry, but I think your time’s up on this. Stay put. I’m on my way over to see you now.”
“Now what?” Kate eyed Dave’s look of frustration as he ended the call. He told her most of what Nigel had said. “You know, the worst part is, from Nigel’s perspective, he’s right. It could well have been Maura.”
Kate didn’t help his dour mood by saying, “We just don’t have enough yet to go on.”
Dave drank his beer and didn’t answer. Nigel made it sound like the case was closed. If he was on his way over to see him and wanted him to stay put, he probably intended to question him—maybe even arrest him for harboring a criminal.
“I know,” he said finally, “All we can do at this point is keep asking questions. Let’s go back to Willoughby Crescent. If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
They quickly finished their breakfast in silence.
On the long drive in Kate’s car, something else continued to lurk at the back of Dave’s mind. It was something Maurelle had said. What was it? All of a sudden he had it. It was back when they were in the cave on the night she’d told him she was wanted for murder. Someone had suggested to her that she run. Of course, she could have made that up as an excuse for her bad decision, but it seemed unlikely to him.
They parked in front of Ian Waitley’s house.
Dave saw the curtains move inside the house as Ian peeked out a window, watching them as they walked up the steps.
Greeting them at the door, Ian said, “You’re back again. Did you talk to the Headmaster like I told you?”
“We did. Thank you, we’ve learned a great deal. Could we speak with you again?”
Ian’s face lit up and he sprang toward the living room like a little boy who was about to get a treat. Dave thought about the isolated residents of Reynier, who thrived on gossip, and it struck him suddenly that someone who made a habit of watching people would probably be eager for gossip, too. He could use that to their advantage.
“Hey, it’s such a nice afternoon. Can we sit in your lovely garden again? Kate hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Ah, yes, of course! A pleasure!” Ian led them out on to the small terrace and waved them towards the wooden garden chairs.
Dave gazed out again into the lovely yard, newly mowed. The apple tree was freshly trimmed, the bird bath filled, the flowers in bloom. A wooden bench completed the picture.
“Make yourselves comfortable while I make some tea.”
A few minutes later Ian returned with refreshments and set them on a round glass-topped table.
“Now, what would you like to talk about?”
IN THE LATE morning, Fabienne and Jeannette began preparing for the festival that would start at eleven o’clock.
“I’m still not sure about you going to the festival,” Maurelle said.
“We’re going, and that’s that,” Fabienne huffed, folding her arms together. “You should come, too. We know that you miss Dave, but you shouldn’t sit around the house waiting and brooding.”
“I suppose you’re right, and it does sound like fun.” Besides I need to keep an eye on both of you older women, she thought.
When it came time to go, Fabienne packed a couple of last minute items into their picnic basket and Jeannette carried it. Maurelle grabbed three folding chairs, and they set out along the ancient cobbled lane through town. As townspeople took to the street, they smiled and waved to relatives, friends, and neighbors.
Children ran ahead of their parents and grandparents, laughing and clowning around. Now and then, a mother would grab a child and reign them in to allow cars, some with boat trailers, to pass.
As they strolled along, Maurelle breathed in the fragrant air, filled with the scent of the many flowering bougainvillea, and allowed herself to enjoy the sun’s rays bathing her face and her bare arms. The Romanesque architecture, especially notable in the centuries-old church with intricately appointed square belfry reachable only by an outside staircase, once again enchanted her.
She had heard Fabienne and Jeannette rave about the spectacular view from the other side of the river, and she was delighted that she would finally get the chance to cross the bridge to see the view for herself. She suggested they go across the bridge first, but the older women insisted they set up their picnic spot before the beach became too crowded. That made sense. They found a lovely spot near Jeannette and Fabienne’s friends on the village side of the river, and set up their chairs. They chatted for an hour and then ate their lunch. Afterwards, more people arrived, and friends dropped by to introduce the three women to other friends and neighbors.
By late-afternoon, seeing that the women were in capable hands, Maurelle excused herself and walked across the bridge. She then followed a walking path toward the river, stopping at the top of the staircase that led down to the riverbank. She stood and gazed back at the village. Everything she’d heard about the view was true. Small cascades erupted out of the cliff’s face and plummeted into small streams that meandered through the town square, finally merging and rushing through a stone archway, only to tumble again over another small cliff into the green river. People in colorful kayaks floated along the peaceful river, causing her to smile in appreciation of the canvas.
She descended the steep staircase and stood watching the kayakers, enjoying a refreshing mist from the nearby waterfall. After an hour, she went for a long walk along the river and enjoyed the peacefulness.
As evening approached, it started sprinkling and people began packing up. She climbed back up the stairs and gazed across to the beach and picnic area, looking for Fabienne and Jeannette. The crowd had grown considerably, and surprised Maurelle, who hadn’t realized the village was that populated. Then she remembered the nearby villages, and she supposed people had come from all around the general region for the outing. She finally spotted Fabienne and Jeannette, scrambling to pick up chairs and picnic items to escape the rain, and yet they were laughing and looked completely contented, reminding her again of friendships she’d never expected.
With the rain increasing in intensity and pelting her now in earnest, Maurelle dashed back across the bridge. On the other side, swerving to avoid a dog chasing a Frisbee, she narrowly avoided a collision with a middle-aged man standing in the grass. She stumbled and landed hard on her hands and knees. She wasn’t hurt, didn’t feel pain from the fall, but she felt her face burn with embarrassment, until she recalled the day outside the bakery when Dave had crashed into her and called himself an oaf.
That fond thought turned suddenly sour and she almost started to cry. Why did she have to think of Dave right now? She was going to miss him and Jeannette and Fabienne. She hated the thought. She would miss Saint-Julien and Reynier and friendship and laughter. But her time was up. After everyone went to bed, she would have to do what she needed to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dave said, “You were right about the graffiti, Mr. Waitley. The Headmaster confirmed that Jared was responsible for it. We saw the paint. An awful mess.”
Ian set down the tea pot and shook his finger at Dave. “I told you that boy was a problem.”
“You were also right about the fighting between Elizabeth and Robin. I’ll bet Peter has his hands full with those two women.”
Ian chuckled and poured the tea. Kate was scribbling something in her notebook, and gave Dave a confused look, not knowing exactly what he was planning.
“You know, something else you told us was that you saw Robin Sutcliffe at the Raybournes’ house on the night of the murder. But she and Pe
ter Raybourne were in Cambridge, so it couldn’t have been her.” Ian shrugged and sipped his tea. “Did you really see someone?”
“I’m old. My memory might be a bit spotty.”
Kate said, “Could it have been Maura Barrington that you saw?”
“Well, I guess, maybe.”
Dave raised an eyebrow. Up until now, Ian had defended Maura. “Ian, did you actually see someone or not?”
Looking flustered, Ian said, “The streetlamps were lit, but there were lots of shadows. I saw a woman. She looked like Robin. I guess they do both have long dark hair now that I think about it.”
Dave grimaced and bit the inside of his mouth.
Ian, apparently trying to regain his composure, held out a plate of biscuits and Dave shook his head. Kate politely took one. Ian set the tray down and took another sip of tea.
“I was thinking about something on the way over here. Did you call Maura Barrington on the morning Jared’s body was discovered and suggest she should run?”
Ian coughed and spurted out his tea.
“Are you all right?” Kate asked.
He nodded, cleared his throat, and said “Now why would I tell her to do that?”
“Why indeed?” Ian fidgeted with the plate of biscuits, avoiding Dave’s eyes. It might not mean anything, but Dave decided to push him further. “You were defending her the other day, and now you say it could have been her you saw on the night of the murder.”
“I’m an old man. I get mixed up. That’s why them coppers didn’t want to listen to me, you got it?” He set down the plate.
“Tell me, you said you saw the cans of paint Jared used—is that right?”
“Yes, clear as day, I—”
“In their shed. In their back garden.” Dave leaned forward. “What were you doing there?”
“Yes, well, I was over there to borrow something. Wait, I forgot the biscuits!”
He stood and hurried it back into the house.
Kate leaned in and whispered, “I think you hit a nerve.”
Ian returned moments later empty-handed with a tight expression on his face. The anticipation and brightness he’d shown upon their arrival was gone. He remained standing, but began involuntarily twitching. He looked more than ever like a nervous bird.
Dave said, “You told us that Jared killed your cats—Abby and Josephine. I’m really sorry about your loss.”
Ian sank back into his chair and moaned, “They were my life.”
“I can understand that. My dog, Howie, was hit and killed by a car three years ago. It took me a long time to get over it.” Ian nodded. “Where are they buried, Mr. Waitley?” They might have been cremated. Or thrown away with the trash; Dave had seen that before. But he remembered Maurelle and her dead mouse. If she had wanted to see that small creature properly buried, Ian would most certainly have done the same for his beloved pets.
Ian turned and glared at Dave. “Why would you want to know that?”
“If you think Jared killed them, don’t you want a post-mortem done?”
“What difference does it make now? The boy is dead.”
“I would still want it on record what he’d done if I were in your place.” Dave kept a close eye on Ian, who seemed to be getting more and more agitated by the moment.
“Nobody cares. They’re just possessions to most people.”
“Where did you bury your moggies, Ian? Show them to us.”
Ian stood up, his face knotted with anger. “You should leave now.”
“Show me where they’re buried, Mr. Waitley. They are there, aren’t they, under the tree?” Dave pointed. “Those new patches.”
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“Or what? Will you call the police?”
He didn’t answer.
“You have two patches over there that look as if they were dug about the same time. You have a smaller one that looks even fresher. What’s buried there, Ian?”
Dave picked up a shovel that was resting against the wall of the house, and started towards the apple tree. Ian rushed forward and tried to grab it away from Dave, but he was no match for the younger man. Dave shrugged him off and began digging in the first patch.
“No! Stop!” Ian threw himself on the ground, moaning incoherently.
Five minutes later, Dave squatted, reached into the hole, and pulled out a clear plastic bag. He opened it and held his breath. Inside was the remains of one cat, its head severed from its body. He laid it down and began digging in the newer, smaller patch. Soon he lifted out another bag. This time, inside was a large kitchen knife, still stained with blood. Dave carefully left the bag sealed.
Kate was standing nearby talking on her mobile phone. Moments later she stated “The police are on their way”.
Dave picked up both bags and went to the last patch. He dug up another cat. When he looked up, Nigel was standing at the gate, watching.
“No! You can’t take my moggies,” Ian wailed.
Dave grabbed Ian’s shoulders, glaring into his face, and he found he actually felt sorry for the old man.
“I couldn’t protect my babies,” Ian cried, “but I saw to it that that boy would never harm anyone again.”
“Why did you bury the knife there?” Dave asked quietly.
“I figured it belonged to them,” he whispered. “It was for them that I killed that hateful boy.”
“Why did Jared butcher your cats?”
“He was jealous. He didn’t want me looking at his mother, at Maura, at any of the women in the neighborhood.”
“He caught you doing that?”
Ian’s face flushed. “I snuck into the house one night and when Elizabeth came out of the shower, I watched her. She didn’t see me and I never touched her. But Jared caught me sneaking out of the house.”
Dave glanced at Kate. They both turned and saw two uniformed police officers appear behind Nigel at the gate. Nigel strode over to where Dave was standing.
“I came here half-expecting I would have to arrest you,” Nigel said, shaking his head. “Even when I heard Waitley yelling, I thought you were trying some rough stuff to get him to talk. You’ve still got a few things to answer for. What made you think it was him?”
“Little things, really. As soon as Maura ran, the focus was on her. It was almost like a confession. He pushed her to go.”
“He used her,” Kate said. “I thought he liked her.”
“Maybe he did, maybe he even convinced himself he was somehow helping her. But he was still prepared to see her convicted rather than go to prison himself. But there were other things, like the paint, which told me he snooped around, and his readiness to suggest other suspects. No one really noticed him. They thought of him as someone who watched, not as someone who did anything. Then his record in Ireland suggested a bit more than that. Lastly, there were his cats. That was the only time we really saw something of him, of what was underneath that rage.” Dave looked at the flowers and the apple tree. “You know, when I first came here I saw these recently dug patches, and when I heard about his cats I immediately connected them with here, it was the way he glanced over here. But it didn’t fit; there were two cats and three patches. That kept nagging at me, and finally I connected it with the murder weapon.”
Kate nodded. “After all those tangles, it was the person least involved in their lives—none of the affairs and attractions and enmities really meant anything much, just typical small community stuff. Ian was always the extra man, the outsider.”
Dave said, “Yes. I think he was always snooping, looking in through windows. And when you come down to it, he was the only one apart from Maura who didn’t have any kind of alibi, he wasn’t even at the pub. He didn’t see anyone that night, no one but Jared.”
By nightfall the media was blasting news of the arrest all over the television. Dave sat in his hotel room, watching a few of the reports. Tiring of it, he switched off the television. He sat with his eyes closed, and let the satisfaction of solving the
case flow through his body. It was then that it dawned on him: he’d not only redeemed Maurelle, but also himself. He’d messed up the Diana Lewis and Johnny Kincaid case because he’d believed in the wrong person and let it cloud his judgment. This time, he’d believed in someone, but he hadn’t let his personal feelings keep him from conducting a logical and thorough investigation. And his judgment had been right.
He smiled, opened his eyes, and took out his address book from his pocket. He looked up the phone number he had listed for Greg, and dialed.
When Greg came on the phone and heard Dave’s voice, he said, “Hi, buddy. What’s going on?”
“We made an arrest.”
“You did? That’s great! Okay, I’m dying to know, who did it? Come on, are you going to make me pry it out of you?”
“I’ll tell you after I get to France.”
When DAVe arrived in Orleans, Greg, Simone, and Coralie met him at the airport, and immediately bombarded him with questions about the case. After he briefed them, he said, “Where are they?”
Greg said, “You’re not going to like this. Right after you called, Jeannette called. She said they don’t know where Maurelle is. She left a note for them saying ‘she was going to do the right thing’ whatever that means.
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Afraid so, chum. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Are you up to it after your day of traveling?”
“Yeah. Where are we going?”
“Saint-Julien.”
“That sounds familiar.”
Coralie said, “Your great-grandparents used to live there. Fabienne owns their house. That’s where they’ve been hiding.”
“We’re taking my car,” Simone said. “It’s going to be cramped.”
“That’s okay. I’m just eager to get there.”
It was a long drive and by the time they arrived in Saint-Julien, Dave was worn out. He felt much better, though, when he saw Fabienne and Jeannette sitting in rocking chairs on the porch and waving at the car.
Fabienne got up, rushed over, and hugged him as he stepped out of the car, nearly knocking him over in the process.
