Elizabeth George - For the Sake of Elena

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I’m sure I saw her last night at St. Stephen’s College. And I can’t account for it.”

Havers lowered her fork. She sipped some tonic water and scraped a paper napkin across her mouth. “Now that’s an interesting bit. Where was she?”

Lynley told her about the woman who had emerged from the shadows of the graveyard while he watched from his window. “I couldn’t get a clear look at her,” he admitted. “But the hair’s the same. So’s the profile. I’d swear to it.”

“What would she have been doing there? You’re nowhere near Elena Weaver’s room, are you?”

“No. Ivy Court’s used by the senior fellows. It’s mostly studies where professors do their work and hold supervisions.”

“So what would she-”

“My guess is that Anthony Weaver’s rooms are there, Havers.”

“And?”

“If that’s the case-and I’ll check it out after lunch-I should imagine that she went to see him.”

Havers forked up a generous portion of chips and peas, chewed on them thoughtfully before replying. “Are we doing some serious quantum leaping here, Inspector? Going from A to Z with twenty-four letters unaccounted for?”

“Who else would she have gone to see?”

“How about practically anyone in the college? Better yet, how about the possibility that it wasn’t Sarah Gordon? Just someone with dark hair. It could have been Lennart Thorsson if he didn’t get in the light. The colour’s not right but he’s got hair enough for two women.”

“But this was clearly someone who didn’t want to be seen. Even if it was Thorsson, why would he have been hiding?”

“Why would she, for that matter?” Havers returned to her fish. She took a bite, chewed, and pointed her fork in his direction. “Okay, I’m easy. Let’s play it your way. Let’s say Anthony Weaver’s study is there. Let’s say Sarah Gordon went to see him. She said he’d been her student, so we know she knew him. She was calling him Tony, so let’s say she knew him well. She admitted as much. What have we got, then? Sarah Gordon going to offer her former student-a friend-some words of comfort upon the death of his daughter.” She lowered her fork, rested it on the edge of her plate, and offered the counterpoint to her own argument. “Except that she didn’t know his daughter was dead. She didn’t know the body she’d found was Elena Weaver’s until we told her this morning.”

“And even if she did know who it was and lied to us about it for some reason, if she wanted to offer Weaver condolences, why didn’t she go to his house?”

Havers speared up a soaking chip. “All right. Let’s change the story. Perhaps Sarah Gordon and Anthony- Tony -Weaver have been boffing each other on an ongoing basis. You know the sort of thing. Mutual passion for art leading to mutual passion for each other. Monday night was one of their previously arranged assignations. There’s your reason for her stealth. She didn’t know it was Elena Weaver she’d found, and she was showing up for a bit of the regular go. All things considered, Weaver wouldn’t have had the presence of mind to phone her up and cancel their session, so she got to his rooms-if they are his rooms-only to find he wasn’t there.”

“If they had an assignation, wouldn’t she have waited for at least a few minutes? More importantly, wouldn’t she have a key to his rooms to let herself in?”

“How do you know she doesn’t have a key?”

“Because she was in and out in less than five minutes, Sergeant. I’d say two minutes at the very most. Does that suggest unlocking a door and having a bit of a wait for your lover? And why on earth would they meet in his rooms in the first place? On his own admission, he has a graduate student working there. Beyond that, he’s been short-listed for a prestigious chair in history which I don’t imagine he’d care to jeopardise by having at a woman who’s not his wife right there in the college.

Selection committees tend to be peculiar about that sort of thing. If a love affair’s at the heart of this, why wouldn’t Weaver just go to see her in Grantchester?”

“What are we saying here, Inspector?”

Lynley pushed his plate to one side. “How often does it happen that the finder of the body turns out to be the killer just trying to cover his tracks?”

“About as often as the killer turns out to be a member of the immediate family.” Havers forked up more fi sh, piled two chips on top of it. She regarded him shrewdly. “Perhaps you might tell me exactly where you’re heading. Because her neighbours have just got through clearing her no matter what you say, and I’m getting that Westerbrae feeling of discomfort with where you’re leading us. If you know what I mean.”

He did. Havers had ample reason to question his ability to remain objective. He sought to justify his leery feelings about the artist. “Sarah Gordon finds the body. She appears at Weaver’s rooms that night. I don’t like the coincidence.”

“What coincidence? Why does it even have to be coincidence? She didn’t recognise the body. She went to see Weaver for other reasons. Maybe she wanted to woo him back to art. That’s a big deal to her. Maybe she wanted it to be a big deal to him.”

“But she was trying not to be seen.”

“According to your appraisal, Inspector. On a foggy night when she might only have been trying to stay warm.” Havers crumpled up her crisp bag and rolled it in her palm. She looked concerned and, at the same time, intent upon not showing the extent of that concern. “I think you’ve made a hasty decision here,” she said carefully. “I’m wondering why. You know, I had a fair good look at Sarah Gordon myself today. She’s dark, she’s thin, she’s attractive. She reminded me of someone. I wonder if she reminded you of someone as well.”

“Havers-”

“Inspector, listen to me. Look at the facts. We know Elena started running at a quarter past six. Her stepmother told you that. The porter confirmed it. From her own report- now verified by her neighbours-Sarah left her own house just round seven. And the police report has her popping into the station to report finding the body at twenty past. So please take a look at what you’re suggesting, all right? First, that for some reason, although she left St. Stephen’s at a quarter past six, it took Elena Weaver forty-five minutes to run from her college to Fen Causeway-what is it, less than a mile? Second, that when she got there, for reasons unknown, Sarah Gordon beat her in the face with something which she managed to get rid of, then strangled her, then covered her body with leaves, then got sick, and then dashed to the police station to divert suspicion. All in just over fifteen minutes. And we haven’t even addressed the question of why . Why would she kill her? What on earth was her motive? You’re always lecturing me on motive, means, and opportunity, Inspector. So tell me how Sarah Gordon fi ts in.”

Lynley couldn’t do so. Nor could he argue that any part of what they knew had occurred was a wildly improbable coincidence illustrating undeniable culpability. For everything Sarah Gordon told them about her reasons for going to the island in the first place had the ring of veracity. And that she was committed to her art seemed easily understandable when one considered the quality of her work. This being the case, he forced himself to evaluate Sergeant Havers’ pointed questions.

He wanted to argue that Sarah Gordon’s resemblance to Helen Clyde was purely superficial, a combination of dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin, a slender frame. But he couldn’t lie about the fact that he was drawn to her because of other similarities-a straightforward manner of speaking, a willingness to examine the self, a commitment to personal growth, the ability to be alone. And yet beneath it all, something frightened and vulnerable. He didn’t want to believe that his diffi culties with Helen would once again result in a form of professional myopia in which he forged obdurately ahead, not to pin guilt upon a man with whom Helen was sleeping this time, but to concentrate on a suspect to whom he was drawn for reasons having nothing to do with the case, all the time ignoring signposts leading him elsewhere. Yet he had to admit that Sergeant Havers’ points about the time frame in which the crime was carried out obviated Sarah Gordon’s guilt immediately.