Deborah Crombie - Mourn Not Your Dead

“Oddly in what way?” asked Gemma, having finished her scone and rescued her notebook from the depths of her bag. “Was he violent?”

“No… not physically, at least. But he didn’t seem quite rational. One minute he’d be demanding proof and threatening me, then the next he’d be smiling and jocular, and sort of… ingratiating.” Reid gave a slight shudder. “I can’t tell you how creepy it was. He kept talking about his sources”

“Did he mention anything, or anyone, in particular?” Kincaid sat forwards intently.

Shaking his head, Reid said, “No, but he was almost… gloating. As if he were enjoying his secrets. And he kept saying that if I’d just tell him the truth, he wouldn’t take any action against me.”

Kincaid raised an eyebrow at that. “Very magnanimous of him. What did you do?”

“Told him there was nothing to tell and that he could bloody well bugger off. He shook his head, as if he were disappointed in me. Can you imagine that?” Reid’s voice rose incredulously.

“And that’s how he left you?”

“No.” Reid rubbed his hands against his jeans again and smiled a bit crookedly. “It’s too melodramatic-I feel an ass just repeating it. ‘Malcolm, my boy, I promise you’ll regret this,’ he said as he reached the door. Just like some character in a bad film.” One of the spaniels raised its head at the change in Malcolm’s voice and gave him a sleepy, puzzled look. Reassured, it flopped down again with a gusty sigh.

“What did you do then?” asked Gemma. “That must have made you feel a bit odd.”

“Laughed it off, at first. But the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I felt. I tried to ring Claire, but no one answered, and once Alastair had time to get home, I was afraid that my ringing up would only aggravate him further.”

“But you discussed it with her the next day.” Kincaid made it a statement rather than a question.

“I never had the chance. She was out on a consulting job in the morning, and we only met briefly in the shop at lunchtime, when there were customers waiting. When I returned from my afternoon appointment, Claire had left for the day.”

“And since then?”

Reid shrugged. “It seemed pointless to worry her with it. How could it possibly matter now?”

The look Kincaid cast at Gemma conveyed his skepticism, but he merely said, “And on Wednesday evening, Mr. Reid, you said your wife had a cooking class, I believe?”

Valerie responded before Reid could get a word in. “No, no, Superintendent. The classes are all finished until next week. On Wednesday night Malcolm was at home with me. We had vermicelli Abruzzesi and a salad.”

“Do you always remember what you had for dinner on a particular night, Mrs. Reid?” asked Kincaid.

“Of course,” she said, rewarding him with a brilliant smile. “And that was a new recipe I’d been wanting to try, but I’d had a bit of trouble getting the courgette flowers.”

“Flow-” Kincaid shook his head. “Never mind. Is there anyone who can corroborate this?”

“Not unless you count the dogs,” said Malcolm, with a weak attempt at humor.

“Well, I appreciate your frankness.” Kincaid set down his empty cup and rose, nodding at them both. “And your hospitality. We’ll let you know if we have further questions.”

Valerie Reid stood up quickly. “If you must go so soon, I’ll see you out. No, darling,” she added as Malcolm started to get up, “I can manage perfectly well.”

When they reached the front door, she came out with them, pulled the door to, and stopped, hand on the knob. “Superintendent,” she said quietly, “Malcolm… my husband sometimes has a tendency to behave nobly. I admire this in him, but I am not willing to see him sacrifice himself to a code of honor.” She bit her lip. “What I’m trying to say is that if you’re interested in Claire Gilbert’s lover, you’d do better to look a bit closer to home.”

With that she slipped back inside and shut the door firmly, leaving them standing in the dim and dappled shade.

“And what do you make of that?” Kincaid said when they’d buckled into their seats and eased out into the road again. “A well-coordinated cover-up, wife supporting husband despite his erring ways?”

Slowly, Gemma shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe I’m naive as a just-hatched chick, but I can’t see Malcolm Reid as a straying husband. They have a good life, and the affection between them seems genuine.”

“He was embarrassed by Gilbert’s accusations, but he wasn’t a bit nervous. Did you notice?”

“What about the lover Valerie mentioned?” asked Gemma. “Do you suppose she just made it up to stop us harassing Malcolm? Who could it be?”

“Percy Bainbridge?” suggested Kincaid. “Though I’m inclined to think he prefers schoolboys.”

Gemma took it up. “The vicar?”

“Now there’s a thought. She is rather lovely.” He gave her a swift sideways glance, accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

Wondering what the vicar looked like, Gemma felt a twinge of jealousy. “What about Geoff?” she countered. “Maybe she’s cradle robbing? Or maybe it’s-”

“Brian?” They said it in unison on a rising note of incredulity. Kincaid looked at her and they both grinned.

“Great minds,” he said as he shifted down into another curve.

“But I’d never have thought it. Brian doesn’t seem Claire’s type at all, while Malcolm seemed tailor-made to suit her.”

“One should never fail to take proximity into account,” Kincaid said levelly, his eyes on the road. “Or the unpredictable nature of the human heart. What-” His phone trilled, and he paused while he slipped it out of his pocket, flipping it open with a deft one-handed maneuver. “Kincaid.”

After listening for a moment, he said, “Right. Right. I’ll pass it along,” then disconnected.

He gave Gemma a regretful glance. “It looks like I’ll have to manage Brian Genovase without you. Jackie Temple’s been trying to reach you-says she needs to see you urgently.”

Gemma watched Will’s big, square hands lying easily on the steering wheel and wondered if others found him as restful as she did. A call to Guildford Police Station from the mobile phone had brought him to the village, ready to run her into Dorking for the quickest train to London. He’d made no attempt to disturb her preoccupied reflection, yet his silence held no hint of injured feelings.

She looked out the window again as the car swooped round a curve. Tall, silver-trunked trees closed in on either side of the road, and the falling leaves flickered and swirled through the air like swarms of golden bees. The beauty of it pierced her unexpectedly-sharply, sweetly-and for a moment she felt as exposed and transparent as a jellyfish.

She must have made some involuntary sound, because Will glanced at her and said, “You all right, Gemma?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She took a breath, then said the first thing that came into her head. “Will-do you think we ever really know anyone? Or are we so blinded by our own perceptions that we can’t see past them? I’ve been imagining Brian as a loving father who might do anything to protect his son. But that was only one dimension, and it kept me from seeing the possibility that he might be Claire’s lover, a man who could have killed Alastair Gilbert for reasons that had nothing to do with his son. And I didn’t see Claire as-oh, never mind.”

Will chuckled. “You didn’t see Claire as flesh and blood, as a woman with needs so strong she’d be willing to court social condemnation, at the very least, to satisfy them.”

“You never seem surprised,” said Gemma.

“No, I suppose I’m not, but I’m no cynic, either. This job teaches us not to have faith in people. But in the end, what else is there? I’m still willing to give the benefit of the doubt.”