‘What?’ Leah pulled her hands down and sat up straight. ‘He discovered footprints?’
‘Yes, of a woman he thinks. Small prints of soles with little to no profile. He is following up on it as we speak.’
Leah slumped in her chair. ‘That can’t be true.’
Oliver watched her. ‘What’s the matter now?’
Leah sighed. ‘I’ll have to confess. But it’ll be so painful.’
Oliver hitched a brow. ‘What will?’
‘It was me outside the air hole. I was there.’
Chapter Nine
‘What on earth for?’ Oliver stared at her.
Guinevere clutched her orange juice glass.
Leah sighed. ‘I told him it wouldn’t work but he insisted on it. He was like that. He wanted a picture taken of him at the table. It was too dark in the dungeon for a clear photo. He told me to go outside and try again, through the air hole. I told him it wouldn’t work, certainly not with a phone, and I didn’t have a camera on me. He was angry about that, said I should have thought of it myself.’ Leah bit her lip.
Oliver glanced at Guinevere. His annoyance over the way in which Haydock had treated Leah was clear in his features.
Leah said, ‘I went out and I tried to take a picture through the air hole but it didn’t work either. I told him so and then I went back inside. That was it, really. I should have told someone about it last night, but I didn’t think it would matter much. Your father had said my father had replied to his question so we knew for sure anyway that he was still alive when your father locked him in. I just felt silly telling about this failed photo session. There he was, dead, murdered even, and all he had cared for earlier was a good picture of him as Branok.’ Her voice cracked.
She pushed a hand to her face and took a deep breath. ‘But if there are footprints, I have to tell now. The police might make a big deal of them while there’s really an innocent explanation for their presence.’
‘You were wearing trainers,’ Guinevere said. ‘Those don’t have a lot of profile. Still the prints were quite clear, LeFevre said. If you just leaned down to take a picture through the air hole, how can the prints have been so deep?’
‘I have no idea.’ Leah fidgeted with her hands. ‘I had to take several shots. He kept saying: “Try another one, try another one”.’
‘I’m sure a call to the station to inform LeFevre will be fine,’ Oliver said quickly. He cast Guinevere a warning look as if he didn’t want her to ask more questions and risk Leah breaking down completely.
Leah sighed. ‘I should have spoken up last night. But I didn’t want to draw attention to …’ she swallowed hard ‘… how he always made me feel like I could do nothing right. Not even take a picture.’
Oliver reached for her hand. ‘It’s over now, Leah. He won’t ever make you feel like that again. You don’t even have to stay with the company. You can leave now, follow your dreams.’
Leah looked into his eyes, disbelief in her features. Then she checked her gold watch and shot to her feet. ‘I have to be running along. I’ll pay the bill. No please let me – I invited you over. Talk to you later.’ She walked away across the grass, her bag on her shoulder, a tall gracious figure, a successful businesswoman.
Still, some of her statements had sounded so insecure.
Oliver shook his head. ‘Ruined by her father,’ he said slowly. ‘Leah has so many skills and she should have been a singer foremost. And even if Haydock wanted her to be a lawyer, he could have helped her instead of always belittling her talent. He never gave her a compliment; he was always pointing out what he didn’t like.’
‘Maybe he thought he was pushing her that way, to improve. Some people are like that.’
Oliver exhaled in a huff. ‘Whatever. He was a bad father just like he was a bad husband and a cruel businessman.’
‘And in every way like Branok,’ Guinevere said softly. ‘That has to be significant for solving the case.’
Oliver emptied his glass and put it on the table with a determined thud. ‘Are you coming? We’ve had a free meal and now we’re going to take the scenic route back.’
***
Guinevere hadn’t been entirely sure what Oliver meant by the scenic route, as they seemed to drive across the exact same road they had taken to get to The Bull and Crow.
Vivaldi pushed his face against the window to look at everything outside, and Dolly stared through the windscreen as if she was also trying to discern what was different than it had been before.
But once they had put the car back in place, Oliver took her and the dogs to a small house that had a gorgeous sea view. An old man with an impressive beard sat on a bench smoking his pipe. Vivaldi ran for him and sniffed at his shoes. The man reached out a weathered hand to ruffle the doggy’s fur. Vivaldi made satisfied sounds as he snuggled against the affectionate hand.
Dolly, feeling ignored, turned her attention to a nearby hole of dug-up earth and tried to see what was in it. A spade lay beside it, the metal still full of clumps of earth and plant roots.
Guinevere didn’t see anything near that Jago wanted to put inside the hole, no bush or small tree. Why had he been digging? Not overturning earth to prepare the garden bed for planting, but really digging a hole.
Oliver said, ‘Hello, Jago. Could you take us across to the island?’
Jago looked up at them. His eyes were the colour of windswept skies. ‘Why, it’s Oliver Bolingbrooke. Back home, are you? And who’s that? Your new camerawoman? Or your latest conquest?’
‘Neither,’ Oliver said warmly. ‘This is Guinevere Evans. She’s working for my father for the summer. She just came in the other day and landed headlong in this murder business.’
Jago’s friendly features became guarded. ‘Yes, it’s a terrible thing,’ he said slowly.
He took his time to suck at his pipe and study the sea in front of him. There was dirt under his short fingernails and ingrained in his palms. He wore a bracelet of twined leather strips, forming a colourful whole. Sea blue, brick red, forest green.
Vivaldi gnawed at his right shoe, but Jago didn’t seem to notice. He said slowly, ‘All people have to die some day, I suppose, but to have your life cut short by a stab in the ribs …’
‘You know the details?’ Oliver pounced at once.
Jago didn’t stir. ‘Eal stopped by to tell me. And to complain about the fellow he has to work with, some chappy with a French name. Doesn’t know a thing about local sentiments, Eal said, and still believes he can crack the case. Young people! All cocky to the bone.’
‘LeFevre will do a good job,’ Oliver said. ‘In fact, he already has found some tobacco from a pipe near the scene.’
Jago looked at him, his expression blank. ‘And?’
‘Could it be your brand, from your pipe?’ Oliver nodded at the object in Jago’s hand.
Jago looked unperturbed. ‘Possibly. I like to roam the island. I like to look for birds. I sit here or there for a spell and I do clean the old pipe. Your father never told me I couldn’t be there.’
‘And he never will. You’re a part of the island.’
Jago smiled, his feathered face relaxing. ‘So what does this inspector really want?’
‘I have no idea. But I do know I want a boat ride home.’
Jago patted the bench. ‘All in due time, young man.’ He pointed with the back of his pipe at Vivaldi, who had lain down and was closing his eyes. ‘Even he knows I like quiet. Sit down and tell me about your latest adventure. What was it this time? Crocodiles? Kangaroos?’
Guinevere realized there would be no escaping this and settled herself on a log to listen in on Oliver’s excited stories. Dolly wandered off across a tiled path to look at a goat who was grazing behind a wire fence. Twin babies played by their mother’s side.
There was something quite peaceful to this place that got into your blood. Your heart rate slowed, and you just took one breath after another, feeling the day creep past. You didn’t have pressure;
you didn’t need to go anywhere. You were just in the right place, where you could stay.
‘Unbelievable,’ Jago said in response to Oliver’s story. ‘But too wild for me. I love the animals I can see right here. I love the silhouette of Cornisea.’ He pointed with the back of his pipe at the island, basking in the afternoon sunshine. ‘If I should ever wake up and not see that any more, life would have ended for me.’
‘And to think I grew up here figuring out ways to leave,’ Oliver said.
Jago studied him. ‘Your father needs you,’ he said solemnly. ‘You’ve run around and you’ve had good years, but it’s time now to take this seriously. Your heritage, your land, your home.’
Oliver froze. ‘I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’
Jago raised his hand to placate him. ‘You’re running away from your father because you think you can show him he has to accept your choices. Maybe he accepted them a long time ago. He never forced you to come back here. But he doesn’t get any younger either. Just think about it.’
Oliver stood. ‘We should be getting on now. Please get the boat out.’
Jago rose as well. ‘Very well. But you know my opinion.’
He scampered away. Vivaldi wanted to go after him, but the leash kept him back. He whined in protest. Dolly came jogging for him like a worried mother and gave him a lick on his nose.
Oliver hissed to Guinevere, ‘How does he dare tell me what I have to do!’
Guinevere was surprised at his deeply angry tone. ‘He seems concerned rather than trying to tell you off. Just think it over while you’re here.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Don’t you start on me as well. Come on, before that stubborn old man leaves without us.’
Guinevere followed him down a wooden pier to a rowing boat that lay at the very end. It was the same colours as the twined bracelet Jago wore: blue, red, and green. Maybe they were the family colours of the Trevelyans?
Jago was already in the boat, getting ready to cast off. He balanced himself with the experience of a lifelong fisherman.
Oliver jumped in and reached up to help Guinevere step in with Vivaldi in her arms.
Dolly hesitated, then jumped down landing on the bottom of the boat with a thud. Her nails scratched on the wood as she turned to look around her.
Guinevere realized that the dog had never been in a boat before with water all around her. She could only hope Dolly would be her normal audacious self and consider it an adventure.
Jago sat down to row. The muscles in his arms pulled tight as he handled the oars. He might be an old man but he still had a lot of strength in those arms.
Oliver watched him with a frown over his eyes as if he was still angry about the old man’s remarks.
Guinevere enjoyed the slight sway of the water, the breeze on her face. Crossing didn’t take long. If you had a motorboat, it would go even faster. So the island was never really cut off from the mainland. You could get onto it, if you wanted to.
She frowned. ‘Did you see Haydock last night? Leah said your boat was moored at the pier when her father and she arrived there.’
Jago didn’t look her in the eye as he said, ‘No, I didn’t see him.’
‘But he left Leah to go to the castle on her own because he wanted to look for you and talk to you.’
‘He must have missed me.’
Oliver asked, ‘Why didn’t you come to the rehearsal when you were on the island anyway? People usually miss appointments because they have something else to do.’
‘I had something else to do,’ Jago said.
On Cornisea, Guinevere concluded. While everybody else was at the castle. That was rather odd.
Jago said to Oliver, ‘We must go fishing some time in the early morning.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Not if you’re going to lecture me about my duty towards Cornisea.’
‘I’ve said what I think. No need to repeat it. How about it? It’s better than running around along the beach.’
Oliver flushed. ‘I have to stay in shape to travel.’
‘I never did any push-ups in my life and I still row this boat like a young man. You don’t need all that fanciness. You’re an islander. You have strength. And you have cunning. You can save Cornisea.’
‘But I don’t want to save Cornisea,’ Oliver repeated in a slow, emphatic tone. ‘Just leave me be, OK? I’m not judging your life or choices.’
‘Haydock was an evil man,’ Jago said. ‘He wanted to take things away from people who had sacrificed so much for them. He deserved to die.’
Oliver blinked at his decisive tone. ‘Better not say that in front of LeFevre, or he might take it the wrong way.’
‘I don’t see any LeFevre around here. Do you?’ Jago looked around them. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Oliver, and you can do with it whatever you like. Ah, there we are.’
The boat slipped beside a small wooden pier, and Oliver helped Guinevere get out. He lifted Vivaldi and put him into Guinevere’s arms. Then he gathered up Dolly and placed her onto the pier. Dolly shook herself and looked around her, then barked as if she recognized the castle on high. Their new home.
Guinevere studied the keep’s towers. Oliver had said it was only a five-minute walk from this pier to the castle. Less if you ran. Jago was a fit man. He could run.
Oliver himself climbed onto the wood. He looked down on Jago, who sat on his haunches securing the boat. ‘Any more free advice?’
It sounded sarcastic.
Jago wasn’t fazed. ‘Just follow your heart, son. That’s always the best way to go. Oh, and if you talk to that inspector, ask him whether he found my boathook.’
‘Your boathook?’ Guinevere echoed, puzzled.
‘Yes, someone stole it. When my boot was moored here last night.’ Jago gestured around him. ‘Must have been some teens who wanted to play a prank. Ask the inspector whether, if he does find it discarded somewhere, he could return it to me so I needn’t buy a new one. I’ll take this little fellow back to the bookshop now.’
He took Vivaldi’s leash from Guinevere’s hand and started to walk across the sand, the puppy running ahead of him, trying to get to a gull who had landed a few yards ahead of them. The gull was way faster and flew off, cawing at the insolent dog.
Dolly whined as if she was sorry to see her new friend go.
‘We can go get him some other time,’ Guinevere promised her. ‘Then you can have fun together again.’
Oliver watched Jago and the playful puppy with a frown. Then he turned to Guinevere, looking pensive. ‘Do you think Jago followed his heart?’ he asked slowly. ‘Do you think he killed Haydock?’
Chapter Ten
When they came into the castle’s yard, angry voices were echoing off the high walls around them. Bolingbrooke stood on the steps in front of the castle’s entry door, looking down on LeFevre, who hovered at the foot of the steps like a peasant begging for a friendly hearing.
Bolingbrooke bellowed, ‘I gave you my statement last night. I have nothing to add.’
LeFevre countered, ‘Do you really want me to arrest you?’
‘That’s the only way I’m coming.’
Oliver approached quickly and said to his father, ‘Just go with the inspector. You don’t want to be dragged out of your own castle in handcuffs, do you? I’ll call a lawyer to come to the station, to meet you there. It can’t hurt to answer some more questions.’
‘You think so? It seems he’s tightening the net around me without looking at other possibilities.’
‘I did look at other possibilities,’ LeFevre said in an even tone. ‘I’ve examined whether it is possible to stab Haydock through the air hole. But it doesn’t fit. The post-mortem also confirmed that the stab wound was delivered from close proximity, probably while the attacker and the victim were face to face. The stab even had a slight upward slant as if the attacker held the knife beside him or her and then lashed out, pushing it into the victim’s body. Probably even while the victim was sitting on that c
hair. So it can’t have been done through the air hole.’
‘Then somebody managed to get into the cage after I left,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘He might have tampered with the lock.’
‘Someone might be able to open it after you locked it, with some tool, yes, but how did he or she lock it again without access to the key? And you’re certain you had it on your person all of the time. You’re the prime suspect, and I can’t give you preferential treatment.’
‘Preferential treatment?’ Bolingbrooke roared. ‘Did I ask for any?’
‘No, but when I was at Haydock’s office this morning, the secretary asked me when you’d be arrested, suggesting we’re waiting because you own the castle. Because you have a title and are well known around these parts.’
‘The murder happened only the other day,’ Oliver said. ‘People must understand you need time to investigate.’
LeFevre shook his head. ‘If the evidence so clearly points in one direction – means, motive, opportunity all aligned – I have to act now. Besides, even if it’s just one person thinking that we’re waiting with the arrest because of a title or money, I mind. I want your father down at the station for questioning right this instant.’
‘Then he should come,’ Oliver said.
Bolingbrooke glared at him. ‘My own son! Delivering me into the hands of the police like I’m a common criminal.’
‘I want to prove your innocence,’ Oliver said. ‘I just said I’ll call a lawyer and …’
‘I can speak for myself.’
‘No, you’ll just make it worse.’
Bolingbrooke didn’t seem to be listening any more. He turned away. ‘I’ll get dressed. I want to look my best in case some journalist is around to snap a shot of me.’
‘I’ll wait.’ LeFevre folded his hands at his back.
Oliver said to him, ‘My father has strong opinions about everything, but that doesn’t mean he’s capable of killing.’
Death Plays a Part (Cornish Castle Mystery, Book 1) Page 11
