‘That sounds perfect. I’m dying to talk it all over with someone!’
She rang off after ascertaining that we had no food allergies or hatreds, and I busied myself with setting the table. Anything to keep busy.
She arrived, several bags in hand. Alan poured drinks and we went out on the deck to enjoy the weather – perfect, as usual.
‘Okay,’ said Amy, ‘I want to know all you know. Pretend John didn’t tell me anything, because he was actually too rushed to make a lot of sense. I’ve gathered that Alexis has a Past, which anyone with any sense could have guessed.’
‘She does, but not quite the sort you might imagine,’ said Alan. ‘The outline is this: she was born in or near Vancouver to a wealthy family; her name was Alice Ingram. After school at Crofton House she was accepted at King’s College, Cambridge.’
Amy whistled soundlessly.
‘There she excelled, both academically and socially, for less than one year. In May of her first year her younger sister, back in Vancouver, was killed in a hit-and-run accident for which, it was finally discovered, Paul Hartford was responsible. He was never prosecuted for the crime.’
Amy picked up her glass of wine and drained it.
‘My assumption is that Hartford Senior paid for the best lawyer available, and perhaps some money was spread in other directions as well. We all know judicial corruption exists.
‘Now, we know at this point nothing of what transpired until, years later, Alexis Ivanov bursts like a Roman candle on the Victoria social and cultural scene. We do know, because you’ve just told us, that the transformation of Alice into Alexis took place at some point, but we’ll have to wait for more information to know why and how and when.’
He lifted the wine bottle to pour Amy a little more, but she put her hand over her glass. ‘No, thank you. Is there iced tea or something?’
He went in to the fridge, and I took up the tale. ‘So Alan’s told you what we know for fact. My department is speculation. I think that Alice – I’m going to call her that, it’s so much easier – that Alice nursed a grudge all those years. Or more than a grudge, really, a burning hatred against Paul Hartford. The sister, incidentally, was severely handicapped, and the two girls were very close. So here she is, bitterly mourning her sister, while he goes merrily on his way, getting richer and richer all the time, and making a name for himself as a thoroughly nice chap. That would have fanned the flames for Alice, of course.’
‘How long ago would this have been?’
‘Seventeen or eighteen years ago. I’m not certain as to the exact year, but of course the records would show.’
‘Then it was just about when Paul and I divorced. I can see him tearing around, just looking for trouble.’
‘Yes, well.’ I cleared my throat. ‘While he was chasing money, Alice, too, increased her wealth. I don’t know how; I suspect she took what money her parents gave her and invested it wisely, and as money will, it bred more money. You’ve told us she was ruthless in pursuing wealth and power – that company she acquired by dubious means, for example. At any rate, she became very wealthy indeed by some means. She also became very beautiful, and I hate to admit it, but I don’t think her beauty owes much to spas or plastic surgeons or even Estée Lauder and her ilk. It’s in the bone. Of course she’s tended it assiduously. It’s her stock in trade.’
Amy made a face. ‘Unwillingly, I agree. She’s a natural Venus.’
‘She’s also intelligent and single-minded. We can’t prove it – yet – but I believe she moved to Victoria and started throwing money at cultural organizations with one purpose in mind: to meet and cultivate Paul Hartford, to ensnare him, and ultimately to destroy him.’
‘You think she killed him, then?’
‘I do. And I’ll have to answer to St Peter for it one day, but I can’t find it in my heart to condemn her, or not very much. He was an evil man from his youth upwards, and he was so rich he was insulated from the usual punishment. Did we tell you what he did to Silas Varner, years ago?’
‘John said you’d heard a remarkable story from Silas, but he didn’t say what.’
‘In a nutshell, Hartford destroyed Silas’s life.’ Alan summed it up, in his admirable fashion using about half the words I’d have needed. ‘And who knows how many other lives he wrecked along the way? Without knowing, without caring? St Peter may not be too hard on you, Dorothy.’
I got up to set out the food Amy had brought, and she and Alan followed me into the kitchen. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I won’t dispute a word of that. He was all that and more, and I’d be far better off if I’d never laid eyes on him. No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have Sue, and she’s the light of my life. But, given all you say about Hartford, and about Alexis – Alice, whoever – I don’t see how she could have killed him, in the midst of all those people. She was right there in the audience, wasn’t she, when Paul’s body was discovered?’
‘No,’ said Alan, ‘in fact she wasn’t. She had left some time before, just when we were all getting ready to converge upon the buffet tables. A young man came up and said something to her, and she left the room.’
‘Rushed out,’ I said. ‘I wondered at the time what was so urgent, and so did Ms Underwood. It was just at the point when people were about to get a bit mellow, ripe for a suggestion that they might like to pony up a little more cash for the Symphony.’
‘Who was the man?’
‘Well, of course I didn’t know – I didn’t know anybody. Ms Underwood thought he was one of Alexis’s staff.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Yes,’ said Alan. ‘I’ll bet the police are trying to track him down even as we speak.’
‘Right. Because it must have been just about that time …’
‘How long was she gone?’ Amy’s voice was tight. This was, after all, the murder of her ex-husband we were talking about. She had loathed him, true, but she had borne him a child, and some fragment of warm feeling must still remain.
I wrenched my thoughts back to the subject under discussion. ‘I didn’t notice. How long do you suppose it was, Alan, before we heard the scream and everything fell apart?’
‘Let’s see. We talked to Ms Underwood for a few minutes, and then had some champagne. Waiters were circulating with trays of glasses. Then just as we were about to go to the buffet, the orchestra director came to talk to us, at Ms Underwood’s suggestion. Then the soloist came up, with her accompanist, I think to speak to the conductor, but they talked to us for a bit. Accepted our compliments and so on. Then we started again to make a move, when we heard the scream.’
‘It seemed ages,’ I said, ‘because I was hungry and my back ached. But I suppose it must have been half an hour, or a little more. And we didn’t see Alexis again. Of course, the way people were milling around, we might not have noticed her.’
‘I would have, I think,’ said Alan. ‘She’s a noticeable person.’
‘And you’re a noticing person.’
He shrugged. ‘Training. I can’t help it. I’m not going to swear to it, but I’m reasonably certain that Alexis did not return to the banquet hall. Half an hour,’ he mused. ‘That’s very little time. If she did kill him, she must have worked in sped motion.’
‘But we could be wrong about the time. Is there any way to check, do you suppose?’
Alan shrugged. ‘The caterers might have made a record of the time they were told to stop serving, which would have been only a few minutes after the body was discovered. I presume many of their employees are paid by the hour. And someone might have noted when Alexis left the party. But none of it’s very satisfactory.’
Amy said, ‘Well, I don’t see what anyone except the police can do about it. They need to find her and her friend.’
‘Friend?’ I frowned.
‘That man who came and fetched her from the party. He would know why she left and where she went – and what she did.’
‘What she did. Exactly.’ Amy sounded grim. ‘And that’s why both
of them may be very hard indeed to find.’
‘You think she did it. Alexis.’
‘As I am no longer in active police work, and never had any authority in this part of the world, I can violate the usual practice of reticence and say yes, I do believe Alexis killed Paul Hartford. Whether the crime can ever be brought home to her is another question.’
Amy sighed. ‘I wish I could figure out whether I want her caught and prosecuted, or not. I keep thinking back to that homily – was it just this morning? Good and evil, light and darkness. He was mostly evil, but he, or his money, did a great deal of good. And she came across, to women anyway, as evil, but she was also a philanthropist.’ She shook her head. ‘Everything is so complicated and confused. And I have to get back to the library; I left my desk in a terrible mess and with tomorrow a holiday, I don’t want to have to come back the next day and find a rat’s nest.’
I’m not a huggy sort of person, usually, but I gave Amy a hug. ‘Well, don’t work any later than you must. And then go home and get some rest. This has been awfully hard for you, and it won’t get any easier.’
‘It hasn’t been a picnic for you, either, has it? Here you come to one of the beauty spots of the world, expecting to figure out a minor problem, and end up neck deep in murder. I hope you were planning to stay for Canada Day.’
‘We weren’t, originally,’ said Alan, ‘but as you say, we hadn’t quite expected to get involved in something so serious. And it’s far too late, now, to get a flight any sooner than the weekend.’
‘Unless … oh, good grief, is Sue planning to come home for the holiday?’
‘Don’t fret, Dorothy. She’s in Brazil, remember? She’d hardly fly home for one day. No, you’re welcome for as long as you care to stay. I must go!’
‘It’s a shame the police are going to miss their holiday,’ I said later when we were sitting around the fire, the evening having become chilly, as usual.
‘Part of the job description, as you’d know, love.’
‘Yes, of course. I hope they won’t keep John’s nose to the grindstone, anyway. He’s retired, for Pete’s sake!’
‘As am I, for some little time, now.’ But he smiled as he said it.
‘And here we are, stuck in the middle of a mess. I wish I thought there was something productive we could do about it. Seems like everything now is up to the police, and we might as well go home, as soon as we can book a flight.’
‘And leave a problem unsolved? That’s not like you, my love. Perhaps it’s time for you to make one of your famous lists.’
‘It’s likely to be a very short one!’ I retorted, but I got my notebook out of my purse. ‘Well. What do we need to know?’
‘The whereabouts of Alice/Alexis and her friend.’
‘But that’s something the police can do so much better. They have the resources.’
‘But we have ideas. At least you often do. Write it down.’
‘I don’t have a single one this time.’ But I wrote it down. ‘And another thing we need to know is who killed Elizabeth George. And we do have some ideas about that: one of Hartford’s goons, an employee of AIntell, most likely. But there again, the police can do that kind of combing out much better than we can.’
‘Write it down.’
I couldn’t see that we were making any progress, but we hammered out one more question: Where did the knife come from, the one that killed Elizabeth? ‘And while we’re at it, what weapon killed Hartford? And where is it? Problems for the forensics people and the detectives, respectively. Alan, there’s nothing here to get hold of!’
‘What would you do if we were at home?’
‘Talk to people. Someone would know something, or have some ideas. But we don’t know anyone here.’
‘Oh, dear heart, you’re tired. Of course we know people here. Not the vast network we have at home, or the Cathedral grapevine, but – write these down: John, Amy, Silas, Laura—’
‘Who?’
‘The old lady at the shop in Duncan. Harold, the wood carver. Teresa – whom, incidentally, we haven’t checked on for a while. We should phone her. Then there’s Ms Underwood, various police officers – we’ve met lots of people. And don’t forget Nigel, back home, who has the entire world at his fingertips and can find out a person’s life history in a few clicks. Illegally, probably, but at the moment that’s not our worry.’
I tapped with my pen at the last name. ‘You know, you might have something there. I’ll bet Nigel could find out a whole lot more about Alice/Alexis. More, maybe, than the police, because they have to follow the rules. I’ll call him.’
‘Not just now, love. It’s the middle of the night in England.’
‘Oh. Right. Nigel probably wouldn’t mind, but Inga wouldn’t be best pleased if we woke the children. Well, first thing in the morning, then. Meanwhile, I suppose we’d better call Teresa and see how she’s doing.’
‘That can wait until morning, too. If she’s cried herself to sleep, we don’t want to wake her. Let’s get some sleep ourselves and tackle the problems tomorrow.’
TWENTY-NINE
We had an early night, and a good thing, too. My phone rang at 6:15 the next morning.
‘Hello,’ I croaked.
‘Mrs Martin?’
The voice at the other end didn’t sound at all certain. At that hour I wasn’t any too certain myself. ‘Yes. Who is this, please?’
‘Varner. Silas Varner.’
That woke me up. ‘Silas! Oh, sorry, I mean Mr Varner.’
‘“Silas” will do. I found something.’
I still wasn’t firing on all cylinders. ‘Found something?’
‘About that man. The city slicker. I think it’s important. You said to call.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did. Hold on a minute, Silas.’ I poked Alan awake and put my phone on speaker. ‘Okay, go ahead. What did you find?’
‘A credit card receipt. I think that’s what it is. Been a while since I’ve seen one, but I’m pretty sure. From a hobby shop. They sell knives.’
Alan sat straight up. ‘Mr Varner, don’t tell anyone else. Where are you?’
‘Duncan. A coffee shop. Came straight here.’
‘Could anyone have heard what you just said?’
‘Nope. Borrowed the man’s mobile and came out to my truck. Got to take it back.’
‘You do that, and go straight home. We’ll be there as soon as we can.’
Alan made some instant coffee, which we both loathe, but there was no time to be fussy. The traffic was already building, but we found an A & W that didn’t have a long line, picked up a couple of breakfast sandwiches, and munched as we headed for the highway.
‘If it has the number on it, we’ve got him!’
‘It probably won’t. They usually have only the last four digits, if that. And there’s no proof at all that the thing is even relevant to the issue at hand. Anyone might have dropped it, at any time, and it might not be for a knife at all. Et cetera.’
‘Yes, of course, your policeman’s mind has to think that way. But we’ll soon know.’
Alan had become confident about driving on the wrong side of the road, so he was at the wheel. We took the most direct route, but it seemed to take a long time, especially the last few minutes when we had to crawl along Silas’s horrible road.
He was waiting for us at the end of his drive. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Bit of a wind out here. Wouldn’t want to lose it.’
As we walked to his door, he explained. ‘Went for a walk. Do that most mornings. Walked up to where the girl was killed. No reason. Just … no reason.’ His voice had become even raspier than usual. He cleared his throat. ‘Saw this paper blowin’ around. Don’t like that sort of thing spoilin’ the woods. Chased it and picked it up. Looked at it, thought it might be important, went to Duncan and called you.’
‘And we are very grateful that you did! Yes, this could be very important indeed.’ Alan scanned it. ‘From a hobby shop in Victoria. No description of wh
at was purchased, only a number, probably a stock number. And four digits of a Visa card number. Where exactly did you find it?’
‘’Bout ten yards from where the girl was killed. Just where the feller was hidin’ that day.’
‘And it hasn’t been there long; it’s reasonably clean. Of course, there’s been no rain.’
‘Get some fog up there now and then, though. Thick one just before it happened. The paper couldn’t’ve been there then.’
‘Mr Varner … Silas. It was so very good of you to leave your … your comfort zone to call and tell us about this. It was a great inconvenience, I know, and we deeply appreciate it. You … you’re quite sure you don’t want to have a phone put in here? Alan and I would be glad to pay to have it installed.’
He barked a single raspy laugh. ‘Don’t need one. Never gonna get mixed up with murder again.’
‘Then please think about getting a dog,’ said Alan. ‘There must be some breed that wouldn’t bother your birds. You’re not getting any younger, Mr Varner—’
‘Silas.’
‘Thank you. Silas. You live alone. If something happened to you, you could lie here a long time before any help came.’
‘Think about it,’ Silas muttered, in the sort of tone that dismissed the subject.
‘I hope you will,’ I said, without much hope. ‘We have to get back to town and give this to John. Sorry to spend so little time with you.’
‘I got to fly my birds. Let me know if you catch the feller.’
The trip back to Victoria took quite a lot longer than the trip out. Holiday traffic jammed the roads. ‘Is it legal in Canada to make a call on your mobile if you’re not driving?’ I asked.
Alan shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Try it and see. A traffic cop would have a hard time getting to us in this mess.’
So I called John. For a wonder, he answered, sounding a little less harried than in recent days. I told him what Silas had found.
‘Good grief! Where are you?’
‘I don’t know. On the road somewhere south of Duncan. Oh, there’s a road sign. Chapman Road is coming up. It’s awfully slow going, I’m afraid.’
Death in the Garden City Page 23
