Elizabeth George - In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner

He had.

It had been stupid really, Julian told himself now as he watched Hanken work his way back through the Cavaliers that crowded the courtyard, bunched under awnings and umbrellas as they prepared for the next phase of the battle. He'd gone to London because he'd sensed a change in her. Not only because she hadn't come to Derbyshire for Easter-as had been her habit during every holiday while she was at university-but because at each of their meetings from the autumn onwards, he'd felt a greater distance developing between them than had existed at the meeting before. He suspected another man, and he'd wanted to know the worst firsthand.

He gave a bitter brief laugh as he thought of it now: that trip to London. He'd never asked her directly if there was someone else, because at heart he hadn't wanted to know. He'd allowed himself to be satisfied with the fact that his surprise visit hadn't caught her out with someone else, and that a surreptitious look in the bathroom cupboards, the medicine cabinet, and her chest of drawers hadn't turned up anything a man might keep there for mornings after nighttime assignations. On top of that, she'd made love with him. And hopeless numbskull that he'd been at the time, he'd actually thought that her lovemaking meant something.

But it was just part of her line of work, he realised now. Just part of what Nicola did for money.

“All's clear with the coppers, Julie my boy.”

Julian swung round to see that his father had joined him in the manor office, apparently having had enough of the rain, the reenactment, or the company of other spectators. Jeremy had a dripping umbrella hanging over his arm, a camp stool in one hand, and a Thermos in the other. His great-uncle's telescope poked from the breast pocket of his grandfather's jacket.

Jeremy smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Gave you an alibi, son. Concrete as the motorway, it was.”

Julian stared at him. “What did you say?”

“Told the copper I was with you an’ the new pups on Tuesday. Saw them pop out and saw you catch them, I said.”

“But, Dad, I never said you were there! I never told them…” Julian sighed. He began sorting through the account books. He stacked them in order of year. “They're going to wonder why I never mentioned you. You see that, don't you? Don't you, Dad?”

Jeremy tapped a trembling finger to his temple. “Thought that out in advance, my boy. Said I never disturbed you. There you were, acting the part of midwife, and I didn't like to break your concentration. Said I went to talk to you 'bout getting off the drink. Said I went to show you these.” Once more Jeremy produced the brochures. “'Nspired, wasn't it? You already saw them, see? So when he asked you 'bout them, you tol’ him, right?”

“He didn't ask me about Tuesday night. He wanted to know when I'd last been to London. So no doubt he's wondering why you took the trouble to give me a damn alibi, when he wasn't even asking for one.” Past his exasperation, Julian suddenly realised the implication behind what his father had done. He said, “Why did you give me an alibi, Dad? You know I don't need one, don't you? I was with the dogs. Cassie was delivering. And anyway, how did you know to tell them that?”

“Your cousin tol’ me.”

“Sam? Why?”

“She says the police're looking at you funny, and she doesn't like that. ‘As if Julie would raise his hand against anyone,’ she says. All righteous anger, she is, Julie. Quite a woman. Loyalty like that… It's something to behold.”

“I don't need Sam's loyalty. Or your help, for that matter. I didn't kill Nicola.”

Jeremy shifted his glance from his son to the desktop. “No one's saying you did.”

“But if you think you have to lie to the police, that must mean… Dad, do you think I killed her? Do you honestly believe … Jesus.”

“Now, don't get yourself twisted. You're red in the face, and I know what that means. I didn't say I thought anything. I don't think anything. I just want to ease the way a bit. We don't have to take life as it comes so much, Julie. We can do something to shape our destinies, y'know.”

“And that's what you were doing? Shaping my destiny?”

He shook his head. “Selfish bastard. I'm shaping my own.” He lifted the brochures to his heart. “I want to get dry. It's time. I want it. But God knows and I know: I can't do it alone.”

Julian had been round his father long enough to recognise a manipulation when he heard one. The yellow flags of caution went up. “Dad, I know you want to get sober. I admire you for it. But those programmes… the cost…”

“You c'n do this for me. You c'n do it knowing I'd do it for you.”

“It isn't as if I don't want to do it for you. But we haven't the funds. I looked through the books again and again and we just haven't got them. Have you thought about phoning Aunt Sophie? If she knew what you intend to do with the money, I expect she'd lend-”

“Lend? Bah!” Jeremy swept the notion aside with the brochures he held. “Your aunt'll never go for that. ‘He'll stop when he wants to stop’ is what she thinks. She won't lift a finger to help me do it.”

“What if I phoned her?”

“Who're you to her, Julie? Just some relative she's never seen, come begging for a handout from what her own husband worked hard to make. No. You can't be the one to do the asking.”

“If you spoke to Sam, then.”

Jeremy waved the idea off like a gnat. “Can't ask her to do that. She's been giving us too much as it is. Her time. Her effort. Her concern. Her love. I can't ask her for anything more, and I won't.” He heaved a sigh and shoved the brochures back into his pocket. “Never mind, then. I'll soldier on.”

“I could ask Sam to speak to Aunt Sophie. I could explain.”

“No. Forget it. I c'n bite the bullet. I've done it before…”

Too many times, Julian thought. His father's life spanned more than five decades of broken promises and good intentions come to nothing. He'd seen Jeremy give up drink more times than he could remember. And just as many times, he'd seen Jeremy return to the bottle. There was more than a simple grain of truth in what he said. If he was going to beat the beast this time, he was not going to go into battle alone.

“Look, Dad. I'll talk to Sam. I want to do it.”

“Want to?” Jeremy repeated. “Really want to? Not think you have to because of whatever you owe your old man?”

“No. Wantto. I'll ask her.”

Jeremy looked humbled. His eyes actually filled with tears. “She loves you, Julie. Fine woman like that and she loves you, son.”

“I'll speak to her, Dad.”

The rain was still falling when Lynley turned up the drive to Maiden Hall.

Barbara Havers had actually provided him with a few minutes' distraction from the turmoil he felt over what he'd learned about Andy Maiden's presence in London. Indeed, he'd managed to exchange the turmoil for an anger over Barbara's defiance that hadn't been the least palliated by Helen's gentle attempt to wring reason from the constable's behaviour. “Perhaps she misunderstood your orders, Tommy,” she'd said once Havers had taken herself away from Eaton Terrace. “In the heat of the moment, she might have assumed you didn't intend her to be part of the Notting Hill search.”

“Christ,” he'd countered. “Don't defend her, Helen. You heard what she said. She knew what she was supposed to do and she chose not to do it. She went her own way.”

“But you admire initiative. You always have done. You've always told me that Winston's initiative is one of the finest-”

“God damn it, Helen. When Nkata takes matters into his own hands, he does it after he's completed an assignment, not before. He doesn't argue, whinge, or ignore what's in front of him because he thinks he's got a better idea. And when he's been corrected-which is damn seldom, by the way-he doesn't make the same mistake twice. One would think that Barbara would have learned something this summer about the consequence of defying an order. But she hasn't. Her skull is lead.”