Elizabeth George - This Body of Death

“And if all that’s been found is a single coin?”

“Oh, he can keep that. Which bring us to…Over here. We’ve got the aureus you were looking for.”

It was inside one of the smaller cases, one in which various coins were displayed and identified. The aureus in question looked no different from the one he’d seen on the screen of James Dugué’s computer at Sheldon Pockworth Numismatics a short time earlier. Lynley gazed at it, willing the coin to tell him something about Jemima Hastings, who’d supposedly had it in her possession at some point. If, as Honor Robayo had so colourfully indicated, one coin did not a treasure make, then there was every chance that Jemima had possessed it merely as a memento or a good luck charm that she was considering selling, perhaps to help her with her finances in London once she came to live in town. She would have needed to know what it was worth first. There was nothing unreasonable about that. But part of what she’d told the coin dealer had been a lie: Her father hadn’t died recently. From Havers’ report on the matter, as he recalled, Jemima’s father had been dead for years. Did that lie matter? Lynley didn’t know. But he did need to talk to Havers.

He moved away from the case containing the aureus, thanking Honor Robayo for her time. She seemed to think she’d disappointed him in some way because she apologised and said, “Well. Anyway. I do wish there was something…Have I helped at all?”

Again, he didn’t really know. It was certain that he had more information than he’d had earlier in the day. But as to how it reflected a motive for killing Jemima Hastings-

He frowned. The Thetford treasure caught his attention. They’d not looked so closely at that one because it comprised not coins but rather tableware and jewellery. The former was mostly done in silver. The latter was gold. He went for a look.

It was the jewellery that interested him: rings, buckles, pendants, bracelets, and necklaces. The Romans had known how to adorn themselves. They’d done so with precious and semiprecious stones, for the larger pieces along with some of the rings contained garnets, amethysts, and emeralds. Among these nestled one stone in particular, reddish in colour. It was, he could see at once, a carnelian. But what caught his eye was not so much the stone’s presence among the others but what had been done with it: Venus, Cupid, and the armour of Mars were engraved upon it, according to the description given. And it was, in short, nearly identical to the stone that had been found on Jemima’s body.

Lynley swung round to look at Honor Robayo. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, What is it?

He said, “Not two coins but a coin and a gemstone together. Do we have a treasure? Something that has to be reported to that local coroner you were mentioning a moment ago?”

“Something governed by the law?” She considered this, scratching her head. “I s’pose that could be argued. But you could equally argue that someone who happens to find two superficially unrelated objects might merely clean them up, set them aside, and not think about them in relation to the law. I mean, how many people out there actually know this law? Find a treasure like the Hoxne Hoard and you’re highly likely to make a few enquiries as to what you’re supposed to do next, right? Find a single coin and a stone-both of which probably needed massive cleaning, mind you-and why would you jump to the phone over that? I mean, it’s not like newsreaders are announcing on the telly once a week that their viewers must ring up the coroner on the off chance that they’ve unearthed a treasure chest while they’re planting their tulips. Besides, people think of coroners and death, don’t they, not coroners and treasure hoards.”

“Yet according to law, two items constitute treasure, don’t they?”

“Well…Right. They do. Yes.”

It was little enough, Lynley thought, and Honor Robayo could certainly have sounded more robust in her agreement. But at least it was something. If not a torch then at least a match, and as he knew, a match was better than nothing when one was wandering in the dark.

BARBARA HAVERS HAD stopped for both petrol and sustenance when her mobile rang. Otherwise, she would have religiously ignored it. As it was, she’d just pulled into the vast car park of a services area and she was striding towards the Little Chef-first things first, she’d told herself, and first things meant a decent fry-up to see her through the rest of the day-when she heard “Peggy Sue” emanating from her shoulder bag. She rooted out the mobile to see that DI Lynley was ringing her. She took the call as she marched towards the promise of food and air-conditioning.

“Where are you, Sergeant?” Lynley asked without preamble.

His tone told her that someone had sneaked on her, and it could only have been Winston Nkata since no one else knew what she was up to and Winnie was nothing if not scrupulous about obeying orders, no matter how maddening they were. Winnie, in fact, even obeyed non-orders. He anticipated orders, damn the man.

She said, “About to sink my teeth into a major food group that’s been dipped into batter and thoroughly fried, and let me tell you I don’t much care which food group it is at this point. Peckish doesn’t begin to describe, if you know what I mean. Where are you?”

“Havers,” Lynley said, “you didn’t answer my question. Please do so.”

She sighed. “I’m at a Little Chef, sir.”

“Ah. Centre for all that’s nutritious. And where might this particular branch of that fine eating establishment be?”

“Well, let me see…” She considered how to dress up the information but she knew it was useless to make it sound like anything other than what it was. So she finally said, “Along the M3.”

“Where along the M3, Sergeant?”

Reluctantly she gave him the nearest exit number.

“And does Superintendent Ardery know where you happen to be going?”

She didn’t reply. This was, she knew, a rhetorical question. She waited for what was coming next.

“Barbara, is professional suicide really your intention?” Lynley enquired politely.

“I rang her, sir.”

“Did you.”

“It went to her voice mail. I told her I was on to something. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Perhaps what you were meant to be doing? In London?”

“That’s hardly the point. Look, sir, did Winnie tell you about the crook? It’s a thatching tool and-”

“He did indeed tell me. And your intention in heading off to Hampshire is what, exactly?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Jossie’s got thatching tools. Ringo Heath’s got thatching tools. Rob Hastings likely once made thatching tools, which’re probably lying round his barn. Then there’s the bloke that works with Jossie-Cliff Coward-who could put his mitts on a thatching tool, and there’s that cop Whiting as well because something’s not right with him, in case you’re about to tell me I should’ve rung up the Lyndhurst station and given him the news about the crook. I’ve got a snout at the Home Office, by the way, looking into Whiting.” Which is more than you were able to do, she wanted to say but did not.

If she thought Lynley would be impressed with the leaps and bounds she was making while he’d been swanning round London doing whatever Isabelle Ardery had asked him to do, she was proven wrong almost at once. He said, “Barbara, I want you to stay where you are.”

She said, “What? Sir, listen to me-”

“You can’t take matters-”

“…into my own hands? That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it? Well, I wouldn’t have to if the superintendent-the acting superintendent, mind you-had something other than tunnel vision. She’s dead wrong about that Japanese bloke and you know it.”