Carmichael decided to return to the local CID headquarters and see if Chief Constable Gorringe or Commander Andrews had any advice on the questioning of Mrs. Berowne. They had, after all, known her well. While Carmichael was closeted with Gorringe, Gibbons, feeling as if he would burst from the conflicting emotions roiling inside him, found a quiet corner and rang Bethancourt. This time his friend was at home.
“Jack!” he said. “I’ve been waiting about, hoping you’d ring back. What’s happened?”
Rapidly, Gibbons gave him a precis of the morning’s events. “The vindictive old bitch!” he said, referring to Maddie Wellman. “I’m sure she’s lying about the time, Phillip. Either she never noticed it at all, or she’s changed it to suit herself.”
“That’s possible, certainly,” said Bethancourt slowly.
“And what am I going to do?” continued Gibbons frantically. “Any moment now, Carmichael will come out and we’ll go off to pick her up. She’ll think I betrayed her, Phillip.”
“Nonsense,” said Bethancourt. “She’ll be confused, no doubt, but you can reassure her later. She’ll see there was nothing else you could do—you can hardly be of any help to her if you give yourself away to Carmichael.”
“That’s true,” said Gibbons. “But I’m still dreading it, Phillip. I don’t think I can stand to face her and tell her she’s wanted for questioning.”
“It’ll be all right,” said Bethancourt soothingly. “Worse in the anticipation than in fact, I should say. Does Carmichael expect her to confess?”
“No. Which is just as well, since she’s innocent.”
“Of course,” said Bethancourt, but apparently there was something false in his tone, for Gibbons burst out, “I know you always doubted her, but I tell you she’s innocent. She loves me, Phillip, I know it. I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”
“But, Jack,” said Bethancourt gently, “you’re not thinking clearly. Just because she loves you doesn’t mean she’s innocent. Even murderers can fall in love.”
There was a long pause.
“No,” said Gibbons at last. “You’re wrong. I could never fall in love with a murderer.”
“Not with someone you knew to be one, no.”
“Oh, God,” said Gibbons wildly, “you’re just like everyone else. Why do you assume I think she’s innocent because I’m in love with her? Why can’t you understand that I fell in love with her because my instincts told me she was innocent? I don’t know what to say to convince you.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” said Bethancourt. “I am perfectly willing to entertain the idea that Annette is innocent. I’m just not as certain as you seem to be. Look, do you want me to do anything?”
“I can’t think what to do,” said Gibbons, appeased by this offer of help. “Maybe you can think of something. If you can, by all means do it.”
“All right,” said Bethancourt. “I’ll put my mind to it. Ring me later, will you?”
“Yes, of course. God, I hope she stays out shopping till the evening. Carmichael won’t want to start then.”
“But he will in the morning.”
“Yes, but by then I can ring her and warn her.”
The was a startled silence at the other end of the phone.
“Do you really think you should, Jack?” said Bethancourt cautiously after a moment. “I mean, if she gives away that she’s been warned, it’ll all be up for both of you.”
“I’ll impress upon her that she must seem surprised. She’ll be able to manage that. I’d better go, Phillip. Carmichael won’t be much longer.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll talk to you later.”
Bethancourt replaced the receiver slowly and stood staring at the phone. With this new information, he himself had no doubts that Annette Berowne was guilty, and he was relieved that it was over at last. Or he would have been, if Gibbons had shown the least doubt of her innocence. Once convinced of her guilt, he would get over this painful episode in time. But if he could not be convinced, he would never forget that the woman he loved was languishing in prison and that he had helped to put her there. It would certainly destroy his faith in his chosen calling; very likely he would end by quitting.
It could be even worse if she were acquitted, which was all too likely given the scant evidence against her. No one would ever believe her innocent, of course, and Gibbons would never forgive himself for not having solved the case successfully. Meanwhile, he would be married to a murderer.
Deeply disturbed, Bethancourt picked up the phone again to cancel the appointment he had made that afternoon with his broker. He did not think he could possibly concentrate on his finances.
A bar of sunlight lay across Chief Constable Gorringe’s desk; he frowned thoughtfully at it while Carmichael explained what they’d found.
“So Annette did do it,” said Gorringe solemnly when Carmichael had finished.
“It seems that way,” agreed Carmichael. “At least it does if Miss Wellman’s word is to be trusted.”
Gorringe looked up, surprised. “Oh, I think you can trust whatever Maddie says,” he answered. “Honest as the day is long, that’s Maddie for you.”
“She wasn’t honest about the state of Paul Berowne’s marriage,” said Carmichael dryly. “And I would feel surer about what she told me today if she hadn’t previously displayed such a vindictive attitude toward Mrs. Berowne.”
“I suppose I expressed it poorly,” said Gorringe. “It’s not that she wouldn’t stoop to lying. It’s just that she couldn’t possibly pull it off.”
“She is a bad liar,” admitted Carmichael, but he still harbored doubts. In this case, Maddie Wellman could be telling the truth with only the smallest variant—that of the time. Even the worst liar might be able to manage that. “But that’s neither here nor there. What I really need your help with is Mrs. Berowne. Can you think of anything that might induce her to confess?”
Gorringe ran his fingers along the edge of a file laying open on his desk, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s going to be difficult,” he said. “My wife says she always knew Annette was self-centered—I never noticed that, myself. But if it’s true, and if she murdered her husband for his money, then she must be one of those people whose worldview is completely warped, who believe absolutely nothing matters but themselves. I suppose all you can do is try to confuse her, or frighten her into making a mistake.”
Carmichael was annoyed, though he did not show it. He was an old hand at interviewing suspects, and he rather resented this obvious advice. “Yes,” he said. “What I want to know is what you think might frighten her.”
But Gorringe only shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “She’s a charming woman, and I always liked her very much. But I haven’t any insight into her character, especially not if she’s a murderer. In that case, she’s not the person I thought I knew.”
“It’s remarkable,” said Carmichael, settling into the car, “how virtually no one who supposedly knows her has any insight into Mrs. Berowne’s character.” He glanced back at the church from whence they had just emerged. “The vicar gave us a very clear account of Geoffrey Berowne’s character the other day, but he has nothing to say about Mrs. Berowne. He thought she was charming. Ha!”
“It’s very discouraging, sir,” agreed Gibbons carefully. He was doing his level best to appear normal, and not as if he were particularly panicked about anything, and thus far Carmichael seemed to have noticed nothing.
“What about you, Sergeant?” asked Carmichael suddenly. “You’ve been spending the most time with her over this case. What do you think?”
The panic rose to new heights and Gibbons swallowed before answering while his thoughts raced.
“Well, I don’t know, sir,” he answered. “I have to admit, I’d about made up my mind that she was innocent. The more I saw of her, the more I thought so. Obviously, I didn’t form a very correct opinion of her,” he added, thinking he might have gone too far.
But his words did not appear to have rung any alarms in the chief inspector’s mind. “If you say you thought she was charming, Gibbons,” he growled, “I’m going to demote you on the spot.”
Gibbons grinned. “Well, I did, sir. But aside from that, I thought she seemed very vulnerable, like a person who’s lost their anchor. I never thought she was particularly devious, or even clever in that way. And as for being cold-blooded, frankly I found her just the opposite.”
Carmichael sighed. “If Berowne was her anchor, she’d never have killed him,” he said. “Not unless she had someone else ready to replace him. And there’s no evidence of that at all—even those who think the worst of her don’t seem to think she’d been having an af- fair.” He sat silently for a space while Gibbons’s throbbing pulse counted out the seconds. At last he drew a deep breath and said, “Well, let’s get on, lad.”
“Yes, sir. Where to?”
“Back to London. There’s no one else we can talk to without risking their alerting Mrs. Berowne. It’s a pity she’s not back yet, but we’ll pick her up first thing in the morning. And maybe it’s for the best. I won’t be sorry to have the extra time to think. We’ll take the rest of the day off and come at her fresh in the morning.”
Annette was waiting for him when Gibbons arrived home. It had briefly crossed his mind that her shopping excursion might be an excuse to see him, but since in the normal way of things she could not expect to find him home until long past dinnertime, he had discounted the suspicion.
Gibbons was so preoccupied with how he was going to tell her what had happened that for a moment when he saw her, he did not believe it.
“Annette!” he exclaimed. “You’re here!”
He was torn between exhilaration and the impending doom of the news he had to break, but she seemed to notice nothing, coming forward to take his hands and kiss him lightly. His hand cupped her cheek as she stepped back and he gazed down into her warm eyes, hating himself for what was to come.
“Let’s get inside,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”
Her eyes widened at his tone. “Has something happened?” she asked anxiously.
“I’m afraid it has,” he answered, holding the door for her. “Come up to the flat.”
She followed him silently up the stairs, but all pleasure had disappeared from her expression. Gibbons let them into the flat, shrugging out of his jacket, and moving first to the kitchen to put on the kettle. They would shortly, he felt, be in dire need of a cup of tea.
Annette stood a few feet within the door, her bearing marked by uncertainty.
“Jack?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
Gibbons came back into the room and, taking her hand, led her to a chair. She kept tight hold of his hand as she sat, so he perched on the arm, reaching out to stroke her hair.
“It’s bad news,” he said. “But we’ll get through it together, Annette—never doubt that.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s Maddie,” said Gibbons, and he could not keep the anger out of his voice. “She rang Carmichael today and now claims that she has proof that you left the house after eleven-fifteen that morning.”
Annette appeared altogether bewildered by this statement. “But it’s not possible,” she protested. “It was eleven when I left—both Kitty and I say the same. She had just brought in Geoffrey’s coffee and she would never be late with it. Kitty’s always very prompt about everything.”
“I know,” said Gibbons soothingly. “But McAllister was working in the tulip beds just off the terrace and he saw you leave. He hadn’t any idea of what time it was, but he knows it was shortly af ter Maddie called good morning down to him from her window. Maddie now says that she looked at her clock then and that it was eleven-fifteen.”
Annette was shaking her head. “It’s not true,” she said. Tears sprang into her eyes. “It’s not true. I did leave at eleven. Maddie’s lying.”
“I know that,” said Gibbons, cradling her head against him. “I know she’s lying, but Carmichael’s not so sure. I’ve done my best to plant doubts in his mind, but he’s still going to pull you in for questioning tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Annette,” he said, “it’s going to be bad, the interview. I can’t help that. Carmichael’s going to do his best to pull you apart like a puzzle and reassemble you more to his liking, and he’s very good at what he does. Harrowing doesn’t begin to describe it. But you’ve just got to be strong, no matter how awful it gets, and remember it will be over soon. Carmichael’s got no evidence aside from Maddie’s lie, and he won’t charge you unless he can browbeat a confession out of you. You won’t give him that, because we both know you didn’t do it.”
“Oh God,” said Annette, her voice muffled against Gibbons’s shirt. “I don’t think I can stand it.”
“Yes, you can,” said Gibbons. “You’re stronger than you know and you’ve already been through so much, you can take this little bit more. It’ll be all right in the end, Annette. You’ve got to remember that.”
She looked up at him through her tears. “Will you be there?”
“I can try to be, if you want me,” he replied. “But it won’t do any good. I won’t be able to help you or even smile at you. If Carmichael ever suspects I’m in love with you, I’ll lose any influence I have with him. He’ll never believe another thing I say about you.”
In truth, Gibbons did not want to be present for the interview. He did not want to watch Carmichael use his skills to break down the woman he loved, and he had already invented various excuses to give to his superior.
But Annette was shaking her head. “I don’t care,” she answered. “It’ll be a help if you’re there because I’ll know there’s one person in the room that knows I’m innocent.”
“Then I’ll ask Carmichael if I can sit in,” said Gibbons, albeit reluctantly. “I can’t promise, because if he’s thought of an errand he wants me to run, I’ll have to go, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Her tears were tapering off and Gibbons released her to lean back in the chair.
“There’re two things you have to remember,” he said, holding her eyes. “When we come to pick you up in the morning, you must act surprised. Carmichael mustn’t know I’ve warned you. You can do that, can’t you?”
She nodded, blotting her face with a handkerchief. “Yes, I’ll remember,” she promised. “I’ll be surprised.”
“The other thing is to demand your solicitor,” continued Gibbons. “Carmichael may try to persuade you not to send for him, but don’t give in. Refuse to answer anything until the solicitor arrives, and stick to it. No matter how reasonable Carmichael sounds, just keep asking for your lawyer.”
“All right. I can do that.” She reached up to touch his face. “It’ll come right in the end. You say so and I believe you.”
“You’ll never have cause to doubt me,” Gibbons promised.
CHAPTER 15
The morning dawned, bright and dazzling. Bethancourt did not feel at all in step with it. His first thought upon waking was of Gibbons taking the woman he loved in for questioning and standing by while Carmichael raked her over the coals. He had gone round to Gibbons’s flat last night, after Annette had left, and spent his evening trying to cheer his friend. He had rashly promised to drive down to Hurtwood Hall this morning and do his own poking around, although he couldn’t think what earthly good it would do. Nevertheless, he spent far less time over his coffee and newspaper than was usual, and was on the road an hour after waking.
When he arrived, he drove around to the service entrance, and knocked on the kitchen door with his mind firmly made up to be as objective as possible. If there was a reason to think Annette Berowne innocent, Bethancourt was determined to find it.
“Well, you’re the day after the fair,” said Kitty when she saw him.
“Excuse me?”
She waved impatiently. “They’ve been and gone, and taken Mrs. Berowne with them.”
“Yes, of course.” She stood back to let him in and added, “Luckily it was only sandwiches for lunch.”
“What?”
“I mean, I didn’t have a lot of food waiting that would go to waste.”
Bethancourt eyed her. There were circles under her eyes and her usual spirits appeared to be flagging.
“Sleep badly?” he asked sympathetically.
She pushed her hair back from her face. “I suppose I did. It’s all very unsettling, you know. I mean, first Mr. Paul’s a murderer, then he isn’t and we’re back where we started, and then it’s Mrs. Berowne. I suppose you think you’ve got the right person this time?”
Bethancourt opened his mouth to say yes, and then closed it again as he remembered his resolution. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “It’s a mess of a case.”
Kitty sighed. “It is that. Well, sit down and have some coffee.”
She joined him at the table, tucking one foot up on the chair and cradling her mug in both hands. Always before when Bethancourt had been in her kitchen, she had been a bundle of energy, tackling one job after another without pause, but now she had the air of being too weary to rise.
“You seem almost sorry that it’s turned out to be Mrs. Berowne,” he said.
“It’s not that. It’s the waiting to see if it is really her. I learned my lesson with Mr. Paul. The police took him in and I thought, ‘Well, thank God it’s over.’ Only it wasn’t. And let me tell you, Maddie gloating is no easier to put up with than Maddie furious about her nephew being suspected.”
“She’s been crowing, has she?”
“That’s an understatement. She suggested we could have a bottle of champagne tonight with dinner. I don’t feel like champagne.”
“No, I don’t expect you do. Tell me, Kitty, could she possibly be lying?”
Kitty looked surprised. “Maddie? You mean about the time she saw McAllister?”
The Young Widow Page 25
