‘He, or she.’ I swallowed a little more bourbon. ‘And I saw nothing that a woman couldn’t have done. A woman on a rampage. Alan, do you think Jemima has that kind of rage inside her?’
Alan sighed. ‘Almost anyone is capable of blind, senseless fury, given the right, or I suppose the wrong, stimulus. I haven’t seen that sort of temperament in Jemima, but consider what she’s been through recently.’
‘And at just the wrong time, too, when she thought her life was beginning to get better. Alan, I don’t want it to be her! But if she thought Robert killed Melissa . . . oh, I wish they could find her.’
For Jemima was still missing, and so was Robert.
‘There’s one bit of silver lining, love,’ said Alan, putting his glass down. ‘Jonathan couldn’t possibly be involved, and that casts even more doubt on his guilt in the murder. He just might be off the hook entirely. I’ll make some phone calls in the morning. And on that note, let’s go to bed. I could sleep for a week.’
I got up early the next day, little as I wanted to, to look after Jonathan. He seemed to have slept well, and he ate the large breakfast I put in front of him, which was a good sign. Then I was able to keep him talking, until his counselling session, about his trip to Stonehenge.
‘It really is the most amazing place, isn’t it? One has seen pictures, but the reality still astonishes.’
‘Exactly like the Grand Canyon,’ I agreed. ‘You think you know what to expect, and then you stand on the edge and say, “But I didn’t know it was like that!”’
‘I’ve not been to the Grand Canyon. Nor to any part of America, come to that. I’d like to go sometime, spend a week or two and see the sights.’
‘My dear young man! How big do you think the country is? You couldn’t “see the sights” in Indiana in a week or two, and it’s one of the smaller states. A lifetime or two wouldn’t suffice! I lived there for over sixty years and only skimmed the surface.’ We went on bickering happily until Alan came down. I wanted badly to ask if he’d had any luck with his phone calls, but I couldn’t, not in front of Jonathan.
‘Beautiful day, you two,’ he said, pouring himself some coffee. ‘Dorothy, I thought you might care to come with me when I take Jonathan to see Dr Miller. There are some skirts in the M and S window that I think would look rather fetching on you.’
Had Jonathan known us better, he would have spotted the utter inanity of that remark. If Alan had noticed women’s clothing in a shop window, it was certainly for the first time in our marriage. He notices my hats, because they tend to be noticeable, but as long as I’m clean and dressed neatly, he thinks I’m beautiful. Which is quite endearing, actually. I managed to turn my flabbergasted giggle into a cough, agreed that a little shopping would be lovely, and got out of the room before Jonathan could notice my reaction.
‘So what did you find out?’ I asked, the moment we had dropped Jonathan at the doctor’s office.
‘Let me find a place to park first, love.’ The High Street was, as usual, packed with cars, so Alan had to find a car park.
‘We might almost as well have gone back home,’ I said as I extricated myself from the car.
‘Sorry we’re so close to the other chap. It’s the only space I could see. And if Jonathan had seen us going in the direction of home, he might have wondered about my shopping story.’
‘Just out of curiosity, are there skirts in the Marks and Sparks window?’
‘I hope so. If not, they’ll have changed them since yesterday. Right?’
I was free to giggle as much as I wanted as we walked back towards the High Street shops.
On this beautiful day, Sherebury presented as near to an ideal English scene as any tourist brochure could desire. Hanging baskets of flowers graced the fronts of pubs and cafés and the occasional lamp post. Shop windows sparkled in the sun. The half-timbering of the Town Hall shopping arcade contrasted beautifully with its slate roof, and over all the great grey spire of the Cathedral towered benignly.
True, many of the store fronts were jarringly modern, but there were so many people on the streets it was possible to ignore the acres of plate glass. I was doing that when Alan took my arm and pulled me to a halt. ‘Marks and Spencer,’ he said, and added, triumphantly, ‘Skirts.’
‘Mmm. They’d look good on almost anyone age eighteen and size zero. But let’s stand here and look at them while you tell me. I’m dying by inches.’
‘The first thing,’ he began, ticking off points on his fingers, ‘is that Jonathan is no longer under serious suspicion. Yesterday’s incident at Bert’s shop, and the continued absence of Bert and Jemima, have put a different complexion on the case.’
‘Oh, Alan! I’m so glad!’
He held up a warning hand. ‘I haven’t told him yet, because he might want to go home, and his little respite here seems to be doing him good. I think he ought to continue seeing this bloke. Depending on how you feel about his staying on.’
‘You know I’d love to have him stay, but it should be his choice, Alan. Now that he has a choice.’
‘Yes. But I intend to urge him a bit, because he’s not totally exonerated yet, and so long as he’s here with us, he can’t get into more trouble.’
‘All right, I’ll apply a little gentle pressure, too. But Alan, it’s getting harder and harder to talk to him without referring to the case.’
‘That’s another thing I wanted to tell you. Yesterday he brought it up himself.’
‘How on earth did you get all the way to Stonehenge?’ I interrupted.
‘The traffic wasn’t bad until near Salisbury. So we stopped at a pub for a bite to eat, negotiated the crush in Salisbury, and headed north. We had a good deal of time to talk, and after a bit had pretty well exhausted the changing landscape and the weather. As he seemed to be in reasonably good spirits, I decided to let him choose the next topic, and he wanted to talk about you.’
‘Me!’
‘He thinks you’re marvellous, you know. He went on and on about it. I was getting quite jealous.’
‘And rightly so. But what did he say about the case?’
‘Wanted to know if you’d made any progress in solving it. So I told him what you’d learned about Mr Welles/Jarvis.’
‘And how did he react?’
‘As one might expect. Interest mixed with mild excitement mixed with sorrow. We were discussing the death of his cousin, after all. Well, his adopted cousin, I suppose one might say.’
‘And the daughter of the woman he’s in love with. But Alan, did you say Jemima is still missing?’
‘She was, first thing this morning. No answer on her mobile, and it isn’t taking messages any more. “Mailbox full.” Apparently, the people at the palace are quite annoyed, because there’s some sort of diplomatic reception or state visit or something of the kind this evening, and they’re short-handed without her.’
‘They’ve tried Letty?’
‘They’ve tried everything. Carstairs was rather more forthcoming than I expected. He told me they’ve put a watch on the ports, ship and air and the Eurostar.’
‘Goodness! That’s the treatment they give the really high-profile stuff, serial killers and bank robbers and terrorists.’
‘Carstairs is taking this very seriously indeed. The profile is rising with every moment that a palace staffer is missing, and he’s under a lot of pressure.’
‘Yes, well, every time royalty is even tangentially involved, there’s pressure. Not nearly as bad as that incident when they found the body at Sandringham, but bad enough.’
‘And not just from the royal end. There’s the chance, you see, that Jemima is responsible for all the trouble, after all, or that Bert is, or that they’re both innocent but in danger from the real killer, who might be Welles/Jarvis or someone else they haven’t even spotted yet. Incidentally, Jarvis also seems to be among the missing.’
‘Stop!’ I raised my hands to my head, hatless in the fine weather. One or two passers-by glanced at me, a
nd I lowered my voice. ‘Alan, this just keeps on getting worse. The more we find out, the less we know, and now everyone we could talk to has vanished.’
‘Not quite everyone.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Dr Miller’s office.
‘Jonathan? Do you think we should? Dr Miller said . . .’
‘Yes, but things have changed, meanwhile. I’m going to speak to the doctor for a moment when we go to fetch Jonathan. I’d like his opinion about Jonathan staying here, and about discussing the case, since he’s now nearly above suspicion.’ He turned his attention to the shop window. ‘I do actually think those skirts are attractive.’
‘Which only proves you still have all the proper male impulses. I’m not getting into mutton dressed as lamb, thank you. Let’s go have a coffee.’
Jonathan was looking quite cheerful when we picked him up, better, really, than at any time since the Investiture. Alan stayed behind to chat with Dr Miller, and Jonathan cocked his head as we walked out of the office together, Jonathan spurning my arm and using his cane as little as possible. ‘Checking up on the baby’s progress?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Something like that. Judging strictly by appearances, I’d say you’re feeling something like a thousand per cent better.’
‘He’s very good, this chap. He’s got me to see a lot of things in a different light. Though,’ he added, his tone changing, ‘being a murder suspect darkens the outlook a bit.’
I bit my lip. I was aching to tell him, but thought it better to wait until Alan got back. ‘Well, not as far as we’re concerned, you’re not. So you can just put that bright face back on and decide where you’d like to go for lunch.’
‘I say,’ said Alan, coming to join us, ‘we stop at the market and pick up some cheese and salads and so on, and have a picnic at home. There are things we need to talk about, in some privacy.’
And not another word would he say until we were seated around the kitchen table, a small feast in front of us. Alan had poured a glass of beer for each of us, and now he raised it in a toast. ‘Jonathan, this is to you. First, because you’ve made such progress with Dr Miller, and second because you’ve dropped to the bottom of the list of suspects.’
‘I’ve . . . what did you say?’ He was suddenly pale, and I was afraid Alan had broken the news too suddenly. Even good news can be unsettling.
‘Steady, there! It’s true. I talked to Carstairs this morning. There have been some startling developments, and though you’re not quite out of the tunnel, the light at the end is growing brighter all the time.’
So we told him what had been going on in the past couple of days. He was listening so intently he forgot to eat.
‘So,’ I concluded, ‘you’re the only one who can help us at all. Everyone else has flown the coop! Now eat something, and then we’ll do some serious planning.’
He looked at his almost untouched plate. ‘Oh. Sorry. Everything’s delicious. It’s just . . . all this is a little overwhelming.’
‘Of course it is. And you have no idea if any of the food is even edible; you haven’t tasted it. Finish your beer . . . that is, does Dr Miller say you can have it?’
‘He does,’ said Alan firmly. ‘I checked.’
There was Alan-the-chief-constable coming out again, dotting and crossing all the appropriate letters. I exchanged a grin with Jonathan.
‘Now, then, if you two have finished flirting with each other, shall we get down to it?’ Alan reached for three pads of paper by the telephone and handed one to each of us, along with pens.
‘First of all, what do we know?’
Well, I would have started with what we didn’t know, but I wasn’t a trained policeman. And certainly the list of known facts was a good deal shorter. ‘Shall we do it by name? What we know about each of the principals?’
‘As good as any method,’ said Alan, nodding. ‘Let’s start with Jemima. First, her character as we know it.’
‘Prickly,’ said Jonathan, with a small frown. ‘Impulsive. Passionate.’ He flushed a little. ‘About art, I mean.’
‘But passion for one thing can translate into passion for another,’ I pointed out.
‘No speculating at this point,’ said Alan. ‘No analysis. That comes later.’
‘Just the facts, ma’am,’ I said drily, creating a puzzled look on both their faces. ‘Never mind. Old American TV show. Onward. Jemima’s headstrong, and she has a temper, but she’s hard-working.’
Alan waited a moment for more comments, then drew a line on his pad. ‘Very well. Now. Background.’
Jonathan could do most of that. Born and raised in Brighton, daughter of his honorary ‘aunt’, Letty Higgins. Father pretty much a nonentity. Jemima wild as a child and teen, bearing illegitimate child at age seventeen. Already obsessed by art. Worked hard to support Melissa. Eventually landed job at the palace, sending Melissa to Letty.
I watched Jonathan covertly through this recitation. Though it was obviously hard for him, he bore up very well for someone who’d been a basket case a few days before. I made a note or two of my own, trying to make connections, but there wasn’t much to work with.
‘Now are we going to get to actions? A timetable?’ I was getting restive.
‘Not yet. The rest of the characters first.’
So we went through them all. First Letty, who wasn’t suspected of anything but was clearly important to Jemima, Melissa and Jonathan, and to a lesser degree to Bert. That led us to Bert.
We split on Bert’s character, at least at first. ‘Charming,’ I pronounced instantly.
‘Ye-es,’ said Jonathan. ‘But . . . unreliable, I suppose is the word.’
I thought about that for a moment. ‘Well – vacillating, perhaps.’
‘A liar,’ said Alan flatly. ‘And dissolute.’
‘But he runs a successful business,’ I protested. ‘And he helped support Melissa when Letty asked him. He can’t be all that unreliable or “dissolute”. What a Victorian sort of word, Alan!’
‘It stands. Don’t forget, he was responsible for Melissa in the first place.’
‘Well, there is that,’ I admitted. ‘But he’s still charming. At least most of the time.’
‘I thought you mistrusted charm.’
‘Some kinds of charm, I do, but in Bert’s case . . . oh, you know me too well! Is there any more beer, speaking of dissolute?’
We noted Bert’s background, so similar to Jemima’s until the unfortunate circumstance of Melissa’s birth led the two young parents down such different paths.
Then, at last, we came to Anthony Jarvis/Andrew Welles. ‘Which name do you want to use?’ asked Alan.
‘Jarvis. I don’t like that name as much as Welles, and I definitely do not like Mr Jarvis.’
Jonathan knew nothing except what we had told him of the art teacher with the nasty reputation, so Alan and I made quick work of his character and background. ‘And for my money,’ I finished, ‘he’s the one. He’s likely to be the father of Melissa’s baby, which gives him a whale of a motive for killing her. Her accusation would have put him in prison as a sex offender. He could have had the means; everyone has scarves and that sort of thing. Even a plastic bag could have done for her. And Carstairs and Co can certainly find out whether he had the opportunity.’
Alan and Jonathan exchanged a glance. ‘Yes, but you see, Dorothy . . .’ Jonathan began, and Alan guffawed.
‘He’s trying to be delicate, love, and tell you that what you’ve spun is thinner and much weaker than a cobweb. I don’t like the chap, either, but you have nothing whatever that even comes within shouting distance of evidence. He’s likely to be the baby’s father; he could have had a scarf or whatever; the police will find out if he had the opportunity.’
‘All right, all right! I know I’m not the professional here. I still think he’s the one. But maybe it’s time to go into actions and movements? Then maybe we can spin something a little sturdier. I’m going to make some coffee.’
THIRTY-
ONE
Coffee and more coffee. Discussion and more discussion. When at last I threw down my pencil, we had a timeline of sorts, with huge holes in it; times when we knew nothing about where various characters were or what they were doing.
I sat back, exhausted. ‘All right, you two professionals, tell me. Was that worth the time and effort?’
They looked at each other. They were developing an irritating habit of silent communication, shop talk without words. Alan sighed, finally. ‘It cleared the decks, I think. It’s perfectly obvious that these three people are caught up together in a web, whether of their own making or the work of another, we don’t know.’
‘We do know, though,’ I said, ‘that all three of them are missing. Isn’t it reasonable to suppose – all right, to hypothesize – that they’re together?’
‘That’s one possibility, certainly. And given the whole situation, it’s rather an ominous one.’
I stood, with some difficulty. I’d been sitting for a long time. ‘Alan, this inactivity is killing me. Isn’t there something we could do? If Jemima is in danger . . .’
‘Carstairs is doing everything he can, Dorothy. I know exactly how you feel. I feel the same way. But we’d just be getting in the way of the police, and we haven’t anything like their resources.’
‘With respect, sir.’ Jonathan coughed.
‘I thought we’d got over the “sir” routine,’ Alan growled.
‘Very well, then, Alan. I think Dorothy has a point, and with res – that is, I believe there is something we can contribute.’ He gestured at the table. It looked rather as if a minor tornado had struck a paper mill, and I must have looked as baffled as Alan.
‘We know these people,’ Jonathan explained. ‘At least, we don’t really know Jarvis, but even about him, we know things that the police may not. We have inside information. I think if we were to institute a search for one or another of them, we might be more successful than the Met. If I may say so, s— Alan.’
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