‘Fine. Then we know where we stand.’ Max held her gaze a moment longer. ‘It’s reallyCornisea? It’s the promise you made? It’s not … being afraid of what you feel? Of what you might discover if you accept my offer?’
Guinevere had a feeling the beach around her was fading – the sea, the skies – and it was just her and Max, with his intoxicating eyes, his inviting voice, his outstretched hand: come with me, let me take you away, it can all be different.
But no, it couldn’t all be different.
Because of what he had already done.
She blinked a moment, willing herself to snap out of the illusion. ‘I can’t, Max.’
‘OK.’ He backed up. ‘Fine with me.’ The disappointment was thick in his voice.
Suddenly she felt that the breeze had turned colder. The sun had died on the horizon, leaving sad purple dashes across the skies.
Max said, ‘I’d better go back to the castle before a downpour ruins my camera.’
‘And what’s in it,’ Guinevere said.
His eyes flashed a moment. His nostrils flared. Then he said, ‘The battery is sensitive to wetness, yes, and the memory card doesn’t like rain either.’
‘Show me how it works,’ Guinevere said. ‘I have always wanted to see inside, where you attach the lens to the body. The mirror and all.’
Max swallowed. ‘Some other time, OK?’
Guinevere shook her head. ‘No, now. If you want me to go with you on that journey you proposed, you will show me now.’
Max held her gaze. ‘You already decided you didn’t want to come. But I do want to go. You understand?’
An image flashed through Guinevere’s mind of how he had written the word FREEDOM in the sand. Max loved his freedom. And if what she suspected was true, then he should be …
Locked up. For a long time.
She said slowly, ‘Do you really hate Wadencourt so much that you want him to go to prison for a murder he didn’t commit?’
‘Nobody murdered anybody.’ Max’s voice was tense. ‘Don’t you understand? Jago fell. He hurt his head.’
‘And how did he end up in the water? What about the goblet? Whoever was there with him took the goblet and left Jago. What kind of thing is that to do?’
‘Look …’ Max wet his lips. ‘I don’t know what happened to Jago. It happened after I left, OK? Somebody else did it.’
Guinevere held his gaze. Her legs were turning to jelly but she tried to keep her voice level as she said, ‘I don’t understand. How do you mean, after I left?’
Max sighed. ‘I was there on the pier with him. He had the goblet. He had found it. Do you grasp that? He, a simple fisherman, had found it. Not Wadencourt. With all of his historic pretensions. No. Jago had found it. And you know what he wanted to do with it? Throw it into the sea.’
Guinevere held his gaze. ‘What?’
‘He was already holding it over his head, ready to swing his arm and cast it away. I ran up to him on impulse and asked him what on earth he was doing. He turned to me and … he was drunk.’
Max’s voice sounded disgusted. ‘He told me he had sat there and thought about it and the goblet was better off buried under the waters. That no good could come of it. He mumbled something about greed having caused trouble before. Can you understand that? He finds the goblet and then he wants to get rid of it. Stupid drunk.’
‘Jago was drinking because of what happened here earlier this year. Greed indeed leading to … a murder. I can totally understand he wanted to prevent something like that ever happening again.’
‘He had no right. That goblet was –’
‘Your father’s?’ she challenged him.
Max scoffed. ‘In any case it wasn’t Jago’s to decide about. I told him. I argued with him. But I couldn’t stand his drunk jabbering. He even started to cry and said he was sorry. He was exactly like my stepfather. He was always sorry too, but he never changed.’
Max’s eyes were full of anger and disgust. ‘I didn’t want to listen to him any more. I … I gave him a little shove. He fell. He hurt his head. I saw the blood and I panicked. I pulled out his handkerchief to dress the wound. I even touched that rotten flask thinking I could use the whisky in it to bring him round. I wanted to save him. Honestly.’
Guinevere listened with bated breath to his tale. ‘And then?’
‘Like I said, I panicked. He didn’t stir any more, so I ran away. Look, I’ve been in trouble before. I hit someone, and they made a big fuss of it.’
‘You were drunk then while you pretend to despise drinking.’
‘I had a cocktail or two in a bar with friends. That’s not drinking; that’s socializing. And how do you know about that anyway? Did Oliver tell you? To smear me before you even had a chance to get to know me?’
Max reached out to her. ‘I want to get to know you, Gwen. Give me that chance.’
She held up her hand. ‘You ran away from the pier and you left Jago there?’
‘Yes. I was worried I’d get into trouble with the police because he was injured. I simply ran. But Jago was still alive then. That head wound didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill him.’
That was true. Water in his lungs had killed him. Whoever had pushed him into the water had killed him. ‘What about the goblet?’ she asked.
‘I took it. I wanted to return it to the niche where Jago had found it.’
Guinevere kept her eyes on him. ‘But you didn’t. You defaced it. You took the gemstones.’
‘Yes, I was carrying it back and then the idea struck me. Look, Wadencourt was not going to let me share in his glory. I only wanted something for my trouble. A few gemstones. I didn’t even think he knew the real hiding place. He’d look for it in all the wrong places, be a fool, and go home again.’
‘Then why go through so much trouble? To deface the goblet, make it look older? You had the liquid to do it on you. It was planned.’
‘Of course not. It’s a chemical I always carry, for photography.’
‘And air-drying clay? You always carry that too?’ Anger welled up inside of her that he was lying to her, playing her for a fool. He told half of the story, keeping the other half back. ‘You planned it. So you knew where the goblet was even before you set foot on Cornisea.’
‘And then?’ Max sounded angry too. ‘It’s buta few stones. An old man looking a fool. Nothing that hasn’t happened to him before. He never turned any one of his quests into a success.’
Of course. The moment Wadencourt had seen the stones were gone, his dejection, his disbelief. Max’s elation. That had been his crowning moment. He had never wanted to get to know his father. He had wanted to humiliate his father. Publicly.
‘You planned it all,’ she said with difficulty. ‘But Jago wasn’t part of your plan.’
‘I already told you all that. Yes, I pushed him and he fell, but I tried to help him and I left him alive. He must have stumbled into the water because he was drunk. I can assure you he was very drunk, Guinevere. I know the signs.’
‘LeFevre confirmed he had been drinking. But I doubt he ended up in the water by himself. What about the bruising on his body?’
Max shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about that. Somebody must have come when I was already gone.’
Oh, she wanted to believe that with all of her heart. But it didn’t fit with the facts. ‘And that other person conveniently wiped your fingerprints off the flask? And put that flask carefully in place to cover up the dent made when the goblet fell. Something that happened when that other person wasn’t even around? I don’t believe that for one moment.’
‘Gwen …’ Max held her gaze. ‘I had nothing to do with Jago’s death. Yes, I have a temper, but I wouldn’t kill anybody. I only took the stones to get even with my supposed father. The man who was never there for me when I needed him most. Believe me, the worth of those gems is small payment for what he did to me and my mother. I did it for her too. For family. That’s
the most important thing in the world. I think you understand that.’
The first drops of rain rushed from the overcast skies, splattering into the sand around them.
Max shook himself. ‘I have to save the camera. See you later.’
And he ran off, with long strides like an expert runner. He clutched the camera to his chest with both hands.
Guinevere watched him as he became smaller.
The rain thickened, spattering on her cold face. Her feet seemed to sink deeper into the sand, keeping her rooted to the spot. But her mind was crystal clear. There was but one thing she could do. One thing she had to do.
Max’s story had holes all over. The liquid he brought, the air-drying clay betrayed preparation. When he had seen Jago with the goblet, he had known he had to take it back or his chance would be gone for ever. His chance not to own a fortune in stones, but to get even with his father and watch him squirm.
Max had taken the goblet away from the pier. And that was the proof of his guilt. Not just in the theft but also in killing Jago.
If Max had left Jago alive, he would have known that the fisherman would come to again and could tell what he had done.
His plan for revenge on the father who abandoned him could only have worked if Jago would never talk.
Guinevere lowered her head a moment. The raindrops didn’t seem to be like light touches, but heavy strokes on her. Her mind whirled with images of Max running about, carefree.
Free.
If she was right, he would be locked up. For a long time, maybe for the rest of his life.
Had he realized that when he had confronted Jago as the old fisherman was about to toss the precious goblet into the sea?
Had he realized it when he had shoved him, disgusted with the drunk excuses he only knew too well from his stepfather?
Max was a victim of his upbringing, his childhood, the hatred fed inside him against his stepfather and his real father, both irresponsible men. One who had promised to better himself and never had, the other who had never even made an effort.
She could understand all that. She could understand the theft of the stones. She might have not told LeFevre about the whereabouts of the stones now. If it hadn’t been for Jago.
Max had been lying when he had said he had left Jago alive. He couldn’t have if he wanted his scheme to succeed.
Besides, who else but him had placed the flask, wiped clean of prints, to cover the dent in the wood made by the goblet? And the handkerchief thrown into the sea … Used to dress Jago’s wound? Or to wipe away the incriminating prints?
Was Max capable of shoving an unconscious man into the sea?
He was in any case capable of framing an innocent man for what he had done. Placing the evidence on Wadencourt. Cold, merciless.
And what about the police’s belief that Jago had not fallen and hit his head but had been struck down?
With a blunt object …
Guinevere began to walk, fast, pulling out her phone. As soon as she had a signal, she called LeFevre. He answered at the third ring.
‘Guinevere here. I have a question. Has anybody looked at the goblet to detect if it was used to hit Jago over the head with?’
LeFevre said, ‘Funny you should mention that. I just heard back from the lab who wanted to report the goblet was washed clean in sea water but they did detect minute traces of blood on it. They are still testing if it’s Jago’s blood.’
Guinevere stood motionless. This sealed the deal. If Jago had really been struck down with the goblet, Max had done it. No shove in anger and a fall that he had never wanted, a head wound that he had been sorry for. A deliberate blow to the head.
He had washed the goblet clean of Jago’s blood before he had set to the task of removing the gemstones. He had gone on with his plan, even after he had killed someone.
Because in the bigger scheme of things Jago hadn’t mattered?
She said, ‘Come to the island as fast as you can.’ Her hand clutching the phone was shaking. ‘I recovered the missing Legends of Love and Loss. It’s in my room, in plastic to preserve traces of DNA and fingerprints.’
She had to take a deep breath before adding, ‘Investigate Max DeBurgh’s camera. The gemstones are in there.’
‘Inside a camera? There’s no room for them there, is there?’
‘Max has professional gear, with loose lenses. If you take the lens off, there’s a space inside the camera where the mirror is. The mirror has to be able to move freely. It moves when the picture is taken and the sound can be heard. It’s like a click. The first day Max was here and he snapped shots with me present I heard that sound all the time. Later it wasn’t there any more. I think he put the stones inside the camera. The camera isn’t working right now. He only pretends it is. He has probably taken out the battery pack so it can’t be turned on.’
LeFevre said, ‘Putting the stones inside might damage the camera. It must be worth a lot of money.’
‘It can be repaired, I suppose. The stones are worth much more. But Max never cared for the actual stones. He wanted to take revenge on Wadencourt.’
The increasing rain pasted locks of hair to her face. She wiped at them with her free hand. ‘Come over and have a look. Before he vanishes.’
‘Why would he vanish?’
‘He knows that I know.’
‘What?’ It sounded as if LeFevre had jumped out of his desk chair. ‘Where are you? Can he get to you? Can he hurt you?’
‘He won’t hurt me. Besides, I can take care of myself. Just come over.’ Guinevere disconnected. She held the phone in her hand as the rain poured down on her, soaking her clothes. She was fairly certain Max was grabbing his things as they spoke to make a run for it. He wouldn’t hurt her because she knew; he’d only care for saving his neck.
Her phone rang, but she didn’t answer it. She wanted LeFevre to come out here, now, and his fear for her safety would speed him on his way. But she wouldn’t be at the castle when he arrived. She would stay out here until it was all over. She didn’t want to be there to see how LeFevre took the camera, removed the lens and would find the stones inside. How he would cuff Max and take him away.
Tears rolled down her cheeks mingling with the rain. It wasn’t the stones. She could understand that. Taking them off the goblet so Wadencourt wouldn’t find what he had wanted, so his moment of glory was ruined for him. She could understand that, knowing how Max had been treated by his father. How his mother had been treated earlier.
But Jago.
The killing.
And the conscious attempt to frame Wadencourt for it. The belief it was right he went to prison for murder, while Max was the murderer himself.
That was too much.
Chapter Sixteen
She went to the castle after she had seen LeFevre and his men leave with Max. Her heart had ached as she had seen his figure between them. As she had seen the living proof that her theory had been correct. That he’d had the stones on him, inside the camera.
It still didn’t prove a thing as to Jago’s death.
But in her mind there was no doubt. And as LeFevre already had so much physical evidence, she had no doubt he would prove both that Jago had been struck down with the goblet and then shoved into the water and that it had been Max who did it.
She walked up to the entry door and knocked.
Cador opened it. He looked her over. ‘The police were asking where you were. They wanted to talk to you about the book they took from your room, I suppose. Oliver is turning the castle inside out calling for you.’
‘I’m here now.’ Guinevere rubbed drops of rain off her face. She felt incredibly tired. ‘The downpour gave me a terrible headache. I’m going up to my room at once.’
‘Your dog is in the library. Shall I bring her to you?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Guinevere rushed up the stairs, hoping she would see no one.
But Bolingbrooke was in the corrido
r. He spread his arms when he saw her and came over as if he wanted to catch her. ‘There she is. Our little runaway. You’re washed out. Caught in the rain, right? It can be terrible when it starts like that. LeFevre had us all scared. He mentioned something of you being in danger. But we didn’t really understand why.’
Guinevere passed him. ‘I feel terribly cold. I want to go to my room and change out of these soaked clothes.’
‘Of course. Can I get you anything hot to drink? Or maybe a stiff brandy?’
She didn’t reply; she simply walked on.
As she reached the tower already, Oliver’s voice called out to her. ‘Guinevere! Wait up.’ He appeared with Dolly in his arms. ‘Cador told me you wanted her. You look awful. What happened?’
‘I got caught in the rain.’ Guinevere opened the door to her room. ‘Put Dolly down, please, and let me get changed.’
Oliver came up behind her. He put Dolly down. The dachshund didn’t go into the room, but pushed herself against Guinevere’s leg.
Oliver said, ‘Have you heard that … the police were here?’
‘Yes. Cador mentioned it.’ Guinevere shivered. ‘I want to change out of these clothes right away.’
‘You weren’t caught in the rain.’ Oliver’s voice was low. ‘You walked about in the rain. You let yourself be soaked on purpose. You didn’t want to come back here while the arrest was being made. But I don’t understand how you knew that the book would give away what happened to the gemstones. Who had the book anyway?’
‘Just go, OK?’ Guinevere’s nerves were strung so tightly she wanted to scream at him. She knew she had done the right thing alerting LeFevre, but still she felt bad about it, as if it was her fault Max would now be locked up. She wished with all of her heart everything had been different.
But Oliver would never understand that. He hadn’t liked Max to begin with.
Oliver said, ‘Whatever,’ and pulled the door shut.
Guinevere stood and stared at her room, at the window against which the rain still beat in angry gusts of wind. She put her hands to her face and inhaled hard. Max was gone. Taken away by the police. Never to return. That was a given.
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