The Punishment She Deserves

by Elizabeth George

  “There’s a counsellor in Ludlow who wants to speak with her, Justin. I talked to her earlier today. She told me that her job is to get to the bottom of things when a student decides to leave the college, but Missa—this woman told me—bypassed that step altogether. She’d like to guide her through it, and if at the end she’s satisfied that Missa has taken a decision in her own best interests, then that’s that.”

  He looked up then. Not for the first time, she thought what a shame it was that he was so slow, as if good looks and intelligence ought naturally to go together. He said, “You want me to talk her into speaking with this counsellor person, eh?”

  “I do, Justin. I want you to take her to see the counsellor as well. I want you to be in the meeting with them. I believe with all my heart that Missa is meant for more than keeping your books and having babies and making candles on the side. And Justin . . . my dear . . . I think you believe that as well.”

  Slowly, he rolled the sketch back up into the loose tube it had formed. He placed it carefully where it had been along with some others. He said, “She won’t want to go to Ludlow.”

  “I agree. She won’t. But I believe you can talk to her about it, and she’ll listen to you if you use the right approach.”

  “What’s that, then?” He turned from the workbench and leaned against it, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans.

  Yasmina had already thought this through. “Tell her that I’ve come to you. Tell her that I’ve asked you to do this. Tell her that nothing is ever going to sway me from my belief in her future as a professional woman like myself.”

  “How’s that meant to get her on board?”

  “Because you’ll also tell her that the only way she’ll be able to get me to let this subject die is for her to speak to Greta Yates, the counsellor at the college. You’re to tell her that she’s to insist—to me, I mean—that you’re going to take her to Ludlow, and that she’s to insist that you attend the meeting with her when she speaks with Ms. Yates. You’re to tell her that you agree with every decision she’s made in her life including her decision to leave West Mercia College, but after having me browbeat you for an hour, you’ve decided that the only way to get me away from both of you is to meet with the counsellor so that she—Missa—can tell her personally why she left the college and why she doesn’t wish to return.”

  He drew his eyebrows together. Yasmina was forced to wonder whether he would be capable of carrying this off. She reckoned he might need a crib to refer to. She told herself, however, that she had to have faith in him since she was about to offer him the world.

  She said, “And when you’re in this meeting, Justin, I want you to be persuaded that Missa’s returning to the college in preparation for university is actually a very sensible plan. Indeed, it’s what you want her to do so that she’ll always have a way to take care of herself and your children should anything happen to you. And once you’ve done this and once she’s agreed to return to the college, I want you to set a date.”

  “For what?”

  “For your marriage, my dear,” she said gently. “It can’t happen at once, of course. But the moment she completes her education, the very week she receives her final degree, there’ll be a wedding. A lovely one with all the trimmings, after which you may take her off on a honeymoon somewhere quite wonderful. And after that, you may invest in a house suitable for raising the children you intend to have together.”

  He shook his head. He scuffed one of his boot-shod feet against the rough floor of the building. He said, “I’m saving my money. But all that . . . it’s not something . . . not for a while at least.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “You misunderstand, my dear. The house and honeymoon are our wedding gifts to you. Her father’s and mine.”

  His head lifted quickly and his expression, she saw, was quite apprehensive as he said, “Oh, I couldn’t ever, Dr. Lomax. It wouldn’t be right. I’m the man and the man is expected . . . and it would lower me in her eyes. I wouldn’t ever want that.”

  She squeezed his arm and smiled at him with great affection because she did feel real affection for him. She said, “I don’t believe anything would ever lower you in Missa’s eyes. But you and I don’t need to work out every detail just now. What I want to know at the moment is . . . may I ring Greta Yates and make an appointment with her? For Missa and you and what we’ve discussed?”

  “Missa’s not going to want to do this,” he said reluctantly, but far less decisively than before.

  “That remains to be seen. It will all depend on your approach. Will you think about doing this for me? And for her and for your future?”

  He seemed to consider all this. He might, she thought, be working out in his head exactly what he was going to say to Missa. Finally, he said to her, “When, then?”

  “Your conversation with Missa? Going to Ludlow?”

  “Both,” he said.

  “As soon as is ever possible.”

  QUALITY SQUARE

  LUDLOW

  SHROPSHIRE

  There was always a chance that Dena Donaldson wasn’t going to turn up at the Hart and Hind that evening, but barring waiting outside the house in Temeside with Harry Rochester in the hope that she would eventually present herself, the pub seemed to Barbara Havers the best option. As they approached Castle Square, Lynley said, “If there’s bad blood between Harry Rochester and the PCSO, this could be a futile activity, Barbara. You do know that.”

  “Do,” she said. “But no matter which direction we head, I end up going back to the fact that right from the start Gaz Ruddock either massaged the truth when he had no reason to or he left out details that he knew were important. And the more we’ve looked at the bloke, the more he’s left out details we’ve eventually come up with. Some woman he’s involved with, some girl he’s bonking, a college boy he’s meant to watch over, Finnegan Freeman, his mum, his dad, his housemate. Way I see it, we need something to lay before this bloke that’s going to cause him to start talking frankly. I’m willing to try anything to get us there, including involving Ludlow’s number one dosser in the project.”

  Harry Rochester had not yet arrived when they reached the Hart and Hind, dodging a boisterous Frisbee event in Quality Square itself. As the evening was pleasant, a fair number of drinkers were outside on the terrace in front of the place. There was plenty going on, but the serious action appeared to be at a table where a curious form of chess was being played. Two teams were battling, young men against young women, with fifteen seconds allowed between changing players and making moves as well. The match seemed to include a form of stripping off one’s kit. If a chess piece was taken, the player who caused its loss had to remove an article of clothing. Five players to the team and the girls were beating the trousers off the boys, literally.

  Barbara ducked inside the pub. There weren’t as many drinkers inside as out, so it took less than twenty seconds for her to see they’d won a packet with her plan. Dena Donaldson was tossing back something in a pint glass along with one of her mates. Perfect. All that was required was sending Harry Rochester inside for a quick recce. If he recognised Dena as a girl he’d seen with Gaz Ruddock, they were in the clover, one step closer to getting to the truth of what had gone on the night Druitt died.

  Unfortunately, she did not take into account Harry’s advanced claustrophobia. What were thirty seconds inside a pub? More than he could handle, as things developed.

  When she returned to Lynley, it was to see that Harry had arrived, Sweet Pea at his side. He’d brought along his gear for dossing as well, and he explained that since they’d required his presence in the centre of town this late in the evening, he’d fetched his clobber from the other side of the river and would use Ludlow’s outdoor accommodations—as he fashioned the term—somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

  “Let’s go inside,” Barbara told both Lynley and Harry simult
aneously. “This’ll take less than a minute. Have a look round and if you see any girl who’s been with Ruddock. Just memorise what she’s wearing and—”

  “Inside?” Harry’s entire throat jumped with the gulp he took. “I couldn’t possibly . . .”

  “We’ll be just out here. Or, if you want, I can go inside with you and hang onto your hand.”

  “No, no,” Harry said. “You don’t understand. I simply can’t.”

  “You go in the bank to have a word with your banker, right? This can’t be much different from that.”

  “He comes out.”

  “He . . . what?”

  “He comes out. I ring him with my mobile and he comes out onto the pavement. I haven’t actually been inside a building . . . well, it’s been years. Aside from the Spar and, as I said earlier, they know what I want so they have it ready for me at the till.”

  “What about if you get sick? Don’t you go to a doctor’s surgery?”

  “I’m blessed with remarkable health.”

  “But we need you to—”

  Here Lynley intervened. “We’ll wait for girls to come out.” He looked at his pocket watch. Harry, Barbara noted, appeared damned impressed that Lynley actually sported a pocket watch, another of his anachronistic quirks. “The pub closes soon enough,” Lynley added. “This can’t take any more than an hour.”

  Harry looked relieved. They found places somewhat out of the main area of the terrace so that when Dena Donaldson emerged, they would be able to see her without her noticing them. In the meantime, they watched the progression of the chess game. The boys, Barbara thought, had obviously come to the event unprepared. They wore far too few items of clothing. Two of them were down to their smalls, while none of the girls were showing any flesh at all. Barbara wondered what happened at checkmate. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a witness.

  It looked as if that wasn’t going to be a worry because as she shifted her gaze from chess to the pub’s door, Dena Donaldson emerged. Barbara shot Lynley a look. Dena was alone so there shouldn’t be the slightest problem that Harry would not see her or would confuse her with a companion. She waited. Dena walked into the light shed by one of the overhanging bulbs that crisscrossed the terrace. Someone called her name, and she swung round, which placed her fully into view. She was joined by yet another girl. They set off together in the direction of Quality Square, earnestly in conversation.

  “Ah,” Harry said. “Yes. I’ve seen that one.”

  Perfect, Barbara thought.

  On Harry’s other side, though, Lynley said, “Which one?”

  “The blonde.”

  “They’re both blonde, Harry,” Barbara noted.

  “Oh sorry. Of course. The taller one,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Are you certain?” Lynley asked the man.

  “As much as I can be, given that it was night when I saw them.”

  Barbara wanted to shake the bloke. This wasn’t the result she wanted. This wasn’t the result she’d expected. This wasn’t the bloody result they needed. Not with Harry Rochester overlooking Dena Donaldson in favour of someone else.

  “The other girl?” she said. It was worth a try. “The other blonde? The shorter one? What about her? You got a good look at her face, didn’t you?”

  “I did indeed. I’ve seen her about. That’s not much, though, is it? I’ve seen most people about.”

  “But not with Gary Ruddock?”

  He shook his head. “With some boys from the college and with other girls, but not with Ruddock, as I recall.” He looked sorrowfully at her. “Was she the one you were hoping I’d point out to you? I’m terribly sorry. I do want to help.”

  “You have.” Lynley’s tone was a model of reassurance, although Barbara wanted to strangle the dosser. Lynley said with meaning, “Sergeant? Shall we be on our way? Shall we leave Mr. Rochester to find his spot for the night?”

  She knew what Lynley’s objective was. They needed to follow the taller girl and they needed to do it now.

  LUDLOW

  SHROPSHIRE

  Lynley’s intention to follow the girl proved to be entirely unnecessary. Whatever she and Dena Donaldson had needed to discuss had evidently been discussed, for less than a minute after she’d disappeared round the corner into Quality Square proper with Dena, the other girl returned and went back inside the pub.

  Seeing her, Harry Rochester said, “Shall I stay, then?” although he didn’t sound happy with the prospect.

  Lynley said it wasn’t necessary. But what was necessary, he said, would be for Sergeant Havers to wait outside for him. He could tell she wasn’t pleased with this, but she would know the reason. The publican understood that she was a cop. He didn’t know that about Lynley.

  Once inside, Lynley saw that the girl was at the bar. She appeared to be trying to get a free drink out of the publican. He waited for her to buy or beg whatever she intended to imbibe. He waited for her to carry it to a table. Neither happened. He approached the bar.

  “May I have a word?” he said to the girl and he added, “What are you drinking?” as lubrication.

  She turned halfway and seemed to size him up. “Aren’t you gorgeous,” she said. “I was drinking lager, but I’d actually prefer gin and tonic.”

  Lynley nodded to the publican who managed a blustering guffaw, as if he’d seen this kind of operation on the girl’s part before, as he probably had.

  “Aren’t you drinking as well?” the girl said to Lynley. She lowered her gaze briefly, either to take in his trousers or to show off her eyelashes, which were quite long and seemed to be real, but who really knew? “I don’t much like drinking alone. I’m Francie. What’s your name?”

  “Thomas Lynley,” he said. And in a lower voice, “New Scotland Yard. I need a word with you.”

  She looked up. Her blue eyes widened, but it seemed more mockery than surprise. She said, “I don’t think I’ve broken any laws recently. But if I have, can I depend that you’ll be the arresting officer?” She held out her wrists and added coyly, “Or can I do something else for you?” And then to the publican, “Jack, d’you think I’ll look good in handcuffs? This Scotland Yard gentleman wants to take me away. Are you jealous?”

  Jack put his gaze squarely on Lynley and said, “Again with you lot? First we have Scotland Yard round one, and now we have Scotland Yard round two. You with that woman ‘studying up on the Plantagenets,’ are you?”

  “D’you already have a partner for tonight, then?” Francie asked Lynley. “What a shame.”

  She had her gin, two ice cubes, a slice of lime, and a small can of tonic. She opened this last, poured in a dollop, took a drink and said with a smile, “I’m . . . let’s call it ready, officer.”

  Glass in hand, she sauntered towards the door. She waited for Lynley to follow, which he did. Then outside, Barbara Havers joined them. Francie looked her over, looked back at Lynley, offered a half smile that was probably meant to be knowing, and said, “Now where shall we chat?”

  Lynley didn’t want to chance being seen by Gary Ruddock should the PCSO stop by the pub, and he cast a look at Havers. She said, “St. Laurence’s not far, sir. It has that churchyard . . . ?” Lynley nodded at her and she led the way.

  Francie said, “You plan to question me in a graveyard? What sort of police work happens in a graveyard?”

  “Digging up corpses, generally,” Havers said over her shoulder. “But I reckon we’ll let that one go tonight as there aren’t any graves. Anyway, we’d like to have a word and not be seen having a word. We can do it somewhere else. Live at home, do you? On your own? With a flatmate? What?”

  “The graveyard’s fine,” Francie said shortly, which was answer enough as to where she lived. The girl’s parents would ask questions that she probably didn’t want asked should she show up at home with two detectives from New S
cotland Yard.

  The churchyard wasn’t dark, but it was private. One of the larger yews provided deep shadows, but otherwise the location was lit by streetlamps along two of its sides. Havers made for the tree, and Francie tripped along in her wake. Lynley brought up the rear.

  “All right.” Francie took a position that offered her the most darkness and also the tree trunk to lean against, in a position that thrust her chest outwards. “What d’you want?”

  What they wanted, first, was to understand the nature of her relationship with Dena Donaldson.

  “Is she in trouble?” The girl sounded far more interested than worried. She took a sip of her drink and watched Lynley over the rim of the glass. Havers she ignored.

  “Interesting that you would make that leap,” Lynley said to her.

  “What other leap am I supposed to make when the police want me to talk about someone? You’re checking her out for some reason and it can’t be that she’s applied for a job with you lot.”

  “Perceptive,” Lynley said.

  Havers added, “We’ve had a word with her. We’d like to confirm what she had to say.”

  “We just now saw you with her,” Lynley added. “You appear to be acquainted so you seemed a good place to start.”

  “What do you mean ‘confirm what she had to say’?” Francie took a moment to mull this over when they didn’t reply. She shifted her weight, putting her hand on her hip. “Hey, is she making up some randomly weird story about me? Because if she is, let me tell you, everything started with her catching me blowing Brutus. Before that, we were super good friends, her and me. When she caught us, I explained to her that no way would I have been with Brutus if I’d known she was even minorly serious about him. And why would I have ever thought that anyway, because the entire world knows how much he sleeps around, and she is part of the world last time I looked. So it didn’t mean anything that I was in his room and . . . Look, like I said, I explained it all to her. I keep explaining. How it all happened that I ended up with him, which will not ever be repeated. Which I also told her till I was blue in the face. So if she’s trying to get me into trouble, which I wouldn’t put past her because she’s so . . . I don’t know . . . it’s like she’s twitchy about everything these days.”