Elizabeth George - This Body of Death

“Because…” Her tongue came out and licked her lips, pink with a lipstick that matched one of the colours in the sundress she was wearing. “I already knew, you see.”

“What?” Meredith felt her head was spinning. “Had he been to London? On the day she died? Then why didn’t you tell-”

“Because he didn’t know-he doesn’t know-that I’d found him out. He’s been avoiding certain topics for ages, and whenever I’ve got close to whatever he doesn’t want to talk about, he just avoids. Twice, even, he’s gone a bit wild, and last time he did that, he…he frightened me. And now I’m thinking, what if he’s the one? What if he…? I can’t stand to think he might be but…I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do.” She shoved the envelope into Meredith’s hands. She said, “Look.”

Meredith slid her finger beneath the flap, which didn’t seal the envelope but merely folded inward to contain the contents. There were just three items: two rail tickets to and from London and a hotel receipt for one night’s stay. The hotel bill had been paid by credit card and Meredith reckoned the date of stay was the same as Jemima’s death.

Gina said, “I’d found these already. I was taking out the rubbish-this was the day after his return-and they were tucked into the bottom. I wouldn’t have seen them at all had I not dropped an earring into the wastepaper basket. I reached in to find it and I saw the colour of the ticket and I knew what it was, of course. And when I saw it, I reckoned he’d gone up there because of Jemima. I thought at first that it wasn’t over between them, like he’d told me, or if it was, they had unfinished business of some sort. And I wanted to talk to him about it at once, but I didn’t. I was…You know how it is when you’re afraid to hear the truth?”

“What truth? God, did you know he’d done something to her?”

“No, no! I didn’t know she was dead! I mean I thought it wasn’t over between them. I thought he still loved her and if I confronted him, that’s what he’d have to say. Then it would be over between us and she’d return and I hated the thought of her returning.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes. She could see the trick, if trick it was: For perhaps Jemima and Gordon had mended their fences. Perhaps Jemima had intended to return. And if that was the case, what was to prevent Gina herself from making the trip to London, doing away with Jemima, and keeping the ticket and the hotel receipt to pin the crime on Gordon? What a nice bit of vengeance from a woman scorned.

Yet something wasn’t right in all this. But the various possibilities made Meredith’s head pound.

Gina said, “I’ve been afraid. Something’s very wrong, Meredith.”

Meredith handed the envelope back to her. “Well, you’ve got to turn this over to the police.”

“But then they’ll come to see him again. He’ll know I was the one to turn him in and if he did hurt Jemima-”

“Jemima’s dead. She’s not hurt. She’s murdered. And whoever killed her needs to be found.”

“Yes. Of course. But if it’s Gordon…It can’t be Gordon. I refuse to think…There has to be an explanation somewhere.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask him, won’t you?”

“No! I’m not safe if he…Meredith, don’t you see? Please. If you don’t help me…I can’t do it on my own.”

“You must.”

“Won’t you…?”

“No. You’ve got the story. You know the lies. There’d be only one outcome if I went to the police.”

Gina was silent. Her lips quivered. When her shoulders dropped, Meredith saw that Gina had worked things out for herself. Should Meredith take the rail tickets and the hotel receipt to the local police or to the Scotland Yard cops, she would only be repeating what someone else had told her. That someone else was exactly the person the police would seek next, and Gordon Jossie would likely be right there when the detectives arrived to put questions to Gina.

Gina’s tears fell then, but she brushed them away. She said, “Will you come with me? I’ll go to the police, but I can’t face it alone. It’s such a betrayal and it might mean nothing and if it means nothing, don’t you see what I’m doing?”

“It doesn’t mean nothing,” Meredith said. “We both know that.”

Gina dropped her gaze. “Yes. All right. But what if I get to the station and lose my courage when it comes to going inside and talking and…What will I do when they come for Gordon? Because they will come, won’t they? They’ll see he lied and they’ll come and he’ll know. Oh God. Oh God. How did I do this to myself?”

The door to Gerber & Hudson opened, and out popped Randall Hudson’s head. He didn’t look pleased and he made the reason clear when he said, “Are you coming back to work today, Meredith?”

Meredith felt heat in her cheeks. She’d never been scolded at her work before. She said in a low voice to Gina Dickens, “All right. I’ll go with you. Be here at half past five.” And then to Hudson, “Sorry, sorry, Mr. Hudson. Just a small emergency. It’s taken care of now.”

Not quite true, the taken care of part. But that would be settled in a very few hours.

BARBARA HAVERS HAD made the phone call to Lynley earlier, out of Winston Nkata’s presence. It wasn’t so much because she hadn’t wanted Winston to know she was phoning her erstwhile partner. It was more a matter of timing. She’d wanted to get in touch with the inspector prior to his arrival at the Yard that day. This had necessitated an early morning call, which she’d made from her room in the Sway hotel.

She’d reached Lynley at the breakfast table. He’d brought her up to speed on the goings-on in London, and he’d sounded guarded on the topic of Isabelle Ardery’s performance as superintendent, which made Barbara wonder what it was that he wasn’t telling her. She recognised in his reticence that peculiar form of Lynley loyalty that she herself had long been the recipient of, and she felt a pang that she didn’t want to name.

To her question of, “If she thinks she’s got her man, why d’you think she hasn’t recalled us to London?” he said, “Things have moved quickly. I expect you’ll hear from her today.”

“What do you reckon about what’s going on?”

In the background she heard the clink of cutlery against china. She could picture Lynley in the dining room of his town house, The Times and the Guardian nearby on the table and a silver pot of coffee within reach. He was the sort of bloke who’d pour that coffee without spilling a drop, and when he stirred it within his cup, he’d manage to do so without making a sound. How did people do that? she wondered. “She’s not jumping to a wild conclusion,” he settled on saying. “Matsumoto had what looked like the weapon in his room. It’s gone to forensics. He also had one of the postcards tucked into a book. His brother doesn’t believe he harmed her, but I don’t think anyone else will go along with him on that.”

Barbara noted that he’d avoided her question. “And you, sir?” she persisted.

She heard him sigh. “Barbara, I just don’t know. Simon has the photo of that stone from her pocket, by the way. It’s curious. I want to know what it means.”

“Someone killing her to get it?”

“Again, I don’t know. But there are more questions than answers just now. That makes me uneasy.” Barbara waited for more. Finally, he said, “I can understand the desire to sew the case up quickly. But if it’s mismanaged or botched altogether because of someone rushing to judgement, that’s not going to look good.”

“For her, you mean. For Ardery.” And then she had to add because of what it meant to her and to her own future with the Yard, “You care about that, sir?”