Elizabeth George - In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner

“Khushi. Yeah. I know.” Barbara felt a rapid pulse in her fingertips. She stared at the heart like the votary of a saint in the presence of relics.

“So he aimed for the heart instead. It took him three tries to get it. He could've got the elephant, I suppose, because that would've been a lot easier. Or he could've got the elephant first to get it out of the way and given it to me, except I already have an elephant, and I suppose he remembered that, didn't he? But anyway, he wanted the heart. I expect he might've brought it to you himself, but I wanted to and he said that was all right as long as your lights were on and you were still up. Was it all right? You look a bit peculiar. But your lights were on. I saw you in the window. Should I not have given it to you, Barbara?”

Hadiyyah was watching her anxiously. Barbara smiled and put an arm round her shoulders. “It's just so nice that I don't know what to say. Thanks. And thank your dad for me, won't you? Too bad expertise with the crane grab isn't a highly marketable skill.” He's ever so-

“Good. Right. I've seen that firsthand, if you recall.”

Hadiyyah recalled. She rubbed her stuffed frog against her cheek. “It's extra special to have a souvenir of a day at the sea, isn't it? Whenever we do something special together, Dad buys a souvenir for me, did you know? So I'll remember what a fine time we had. He says that's important. The remembering part. He says the remembering is just as important as the doing.”

“I wouldn't disagree.”

“Only, I wish you could'Ve come. What did you do today?”

“Work, I'm afraid.” Barbara gestured at the table where her notebook lay. Next to it sat the mailing list and the catalogues from Quiver Me Timbers. “I'm still at it.”

“Then I mustn't stay.” She retreated towards the door.

“It's okay,” Barbara said hastily. She realised how much she'd been longing for company. “I didn't mean-”

“Dad said I could only visit for five minutes. He wanted me to go straight to bed, but I asked if I could bring you your souvenir and he said, 'Five minutes, khushi! That's what he-”

“Calls you. Right. I know.”

“He was ever so nice to take me to the sea, wasn't he, Barbara?”

“The nicest there is.”

“So I must listen when he says, 'Five minutes, khushi! It's a way of saying thank-you to him.”

“Ah. Okay. Then you'd better scoot.”

“But you do like the heart?”

“Better than anything in the world,” Barbara said.

Once the child had left, Barbara approached the table. She walked carefully, as if the heart were a diffident creature who might be frightened away by sudden movement. With her eyes on the red velvet and the lace, she felt for her shoulder bag, rooted out her cigarettes, and set a match to one. She smoked moodily and she studied the heart.

A frog won't do for our friend, little khushi.

Never had nine words seemed so portentous.

Hanken treated the black leather jacket with something akin to reverence: He donned latex gloves before handling the bag into which Lynley had deposited the garment, and when he laid the jacket onto one of the tables in the empty dining room of the Black Angel Hotel, he did it with the sort of ecclesiolatry that was generally reserved for religious services.

Lynley had phoned his colleague shortly after his futile interview with the Black Angel's employees. Hanken had taken the phone call at dinner and vowed that he'd be in Tideswell within the half hour. He was as good as his word.

Now he bent over the leather jacket and examined the hole in the back of it. Fresh-looking, he noted to Lynley, who stood across the table from him and watched the other DI scrutinise each millimeter of the perforation's circumference. Of course, they wouldn't know for certain until the jacket was placed under a microscope, Hanken continued, but the hole appeared recent because of the condition of the surrounding leather, and wasn't it going to be a treat if forensic came up with even a microscopic amount of cedar right on the edge of that hole?

“Once we have a match on that blood with

Terry Cole's, any more cedar is academic, isn't it?” Lynley pointed out. “We've got the sliver from the wound, after all.”

“We have,” Hanken said. “But I like my cake with icing.” He bagged the jacket after examining its blood-soaked lining. “This'll do to get us a warrant, Thomas. This'll do a flaming treat to get us a warrant.”

“It'll make things easier,” Lynley agreed. “And the fact that he allows the manor to be used for tournaments and the like ought to be enough to allow us to-”

“Hang on. I'm not talking about a warrant to shovel through the Brittons' territory. This”-Hanken lifted the bag-“gives us another nail to pound into Maiden's coffin.”

“I don't see how.” And then, when he saw that Hanken would expatiate on his reasons for seeking a warrant to search Maiden Hall, Lynley said quickly, “Hear me out for a moment. Do you agree that a long bow's probably our third weapon?”

“When I compare that suggestion to the hole in this jacket, I do,” Hanken said. “What're you getting at?”

“I'm getting at the fact that we already know of a location where long bows have probably been used. Broughton Manor's been the site for tournaments, hasn't it? For reenactments and fetes, from what you've told me. That being the case, and Julian being the man who hoped to marry a woman who-as we know-betrayed him in Derbyshire alone with two other men, why would we want to search Maiden Hall?”

“Because the dead girl's dad was the man who threatened her in London,” Hanken countered. “Because he was shouting that he'd see her dead before he'd let her do what she wanted to do. Because he took out a bloody bank loan to bribe her into living the way he wanted her to live, and she pocketed that money, played the game by his rules for three short months, and then said, ‘Right. Well, thanks mounds for the corn. It's been great fun, Dad, but I'm off to London to squeeze blokes' bollocks in a cylinder for a living. Hope you understand.’ And he didn't. Understand, that is. What dad would?”

Lynley said, “Peter, I know it looks bad for Andy…”

“Any way you rotate the roast on the spit, it looks bad for Andy.”

“But when I asked the hotel employees if any of them knew the Brittons, the answer was yes. Frankly, it was more than yes. It was ‘we know the Brittons by sight.’ Now, why would that be?” Lynley didn't wait for Hanken to respond. “Because they come here. Because they drink in the bar. Because they eat in the dining room. And it's easy enough for them to do that because Tideswell's practically on a direct route between Broughton Manor and Calder Moor. And you can't go charging off to search Maiden Hall without stopping to consider what all of that means.”

Hanken kept his gaze fixed on Lynley as he spoke. When Lynley had finished his polemic, he said, “Come with me, lad,” and led his colleague to the reception counter of the hotel, where he asked for a map of the White Peak. He took Lynley through to the bar and opened this map on a table top in the corner.

Lynley wasn't mistaken, he acknowledged. Tideswell sat on the east edge of Calder Moor. A decent hiker with murder in mind could start out from the Black Angel Hotel, climb to the top of the town, and set off across the moor to Nine Sisters Henge. It would take a few hours, considering the size of the moor, and it wouldn't be as efficient as simply following the route the girl herself had taken from the site just beyond the hamlet of Sparrowpit. But it could be done. On the other hand, that same killer could arguably have accomplished everything by car: parking in the same spot where Nicola had left her Saab behind the stone wall and, after the killings, returning home by way not only of the Black Angel Hotel but also by way of the hamlet of Peak Forest near which he got rid of the knife.