Linwood Barclay - Far From True

“Professor,” Duckworth said, leaning over, resting his arms on the driver’s windowsill. The detective was immediately alarmed by Blackmore’s appearance. His face was bruised and bloody. His knuckles, too. “Professor, what happened to you?”

“Oh,” he said, tentatively touching his face, as though he needed to remind himself that he’d been hurt. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“Who did this to you?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Duckworth stepped back. “Would you please get out of the car, sir?”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Step out of the car, Professor.”

Blackmore nodded, turned off the ignition, got out, closed the door. “I haven’t been drinking or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, not in the last couple of hours, anyway.”

“I want to see how you are. You’ve been in some kind of altercation, Professor. Your hands are bloodied, you’ve got a black eye, and your cheek’s all puffed out. Suppose you tell me about that.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“What have you been doing since I saw you last night?”

“Just... you know. Thinking about Georgina. What happened.”

“You haven’t come in and made an official identification.”

“I... I’ve just been too upset. I’ll come in today.”

“Why did you go to your office?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I was driving around all night, thinking...”

“Driving around where?”

“Just around.”

“Did you drive over to the Chalmers house?”

The professor looked puzzled. “What?”

“Did you drive over to the Chalmerses’?”

“Why would I do that?”

“To see Miriam,” Duckworth suggested. “You were shocked to find out she wasn’t killed in the accident, that it was Georgina in that car with Adam. Maybe you had to prove it to yourself, that Miriam was really alive, before you could face going to identify your wife’s body.”

“I... I can see why you might think that. But the truth is, I couldn’t bear to find out, for sure. I couldn’t face having it confirmed. I didn’t want to see Miriam, and I didn’t want to go identify Georgina. I know... I know I have to face this. I just haven’t been ready.”

“Maybe,” Duckworth said, “it would help if we went out now, together, to see Miriam. Maybe that would be a helpful first step before the identification.”

The professor looked at Duckworth, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why’s that?”

He shook his head slowly. “She’ll... she’ll blame me, won’t she? My wife, with her husband? Maybe she’ll wonder whether I knew about it. Why I didn’t stop Georgina from seeing him.”

“Couldn’t it work just as easily the other way around? Don’t you have reason to be angry with her? Your wife would be alive if she hadn’t been with Adam. If Miriam hadn’t taken off for a couple of days, it could have been her in that car at the drive-in instead of Georgina.”

Blackmore looked confused. “I just don’t know. I don’t know what to think of any of this.” He looked down at the pavement.

“Maybe you were angry with Miriam about that. Maybe you’ve been troubled about this whole arrangement you’ve had with the Chalmerses.” Duckworth waited a beat. “And Clive Duncomb and his wife.”

Blackmore lifted his head to look the detective in the eye. “I’m sorry?”

“Is ‘arrangement’ the right word? I’m not quite up to speed on how all this works. Trading spouses. That kind of thing.”

The professor appeared to wither before Duckworth’s eyes. “I... I don’t know what you’re asking, exactly.”

“Wasn’t it at the Chalmers house where it all took place? In that special room in the basement? If it was me, and I had a spare room downstairs that size, I think I’d put in a pool table. But then again, look at me. I need to lose eighty pounds. There aren’t a lot of women in our social circle who want to have a roll in the hay with a fat bastard like me. I’m not what they call a hunk. Although, I have to say, and don’t take this the wrong way, because you’re good-looking enough, but you’re not exactly Ryan Gosling, either. Clive, he’s got that air of authority, the chiseled jaw, so I can see the women going for him, and I’m guessing Adam Chalmers was quite the ladies’ man, too. Tell me how it worked. When you swapped partners, did you have sex with Clive’s wife one night, and then Adam’s wife another? Or both in the same night? Or did everyone just jump in and go at it together? Or, and forgive me if this is too personal, but would the wives also have sex with the wives and the husbands with the husbands? Are you okay, Professor Blackmore? You don’t look okay.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Maybe you should walk around to the back of the car here.” Duckworth put a hand gently on the man’s shoulder, moved him back to the trunk. “Just in case you get sick, there’s a good spot. Now, I want to be clear. I’m not asking all these questions out of some prurient nature. It just struck me that if these were the kinds of activities you all were engaged in, there might be things on those tapes you made that you’d be worried might fall into the wrong hands. Well, not tapes, exactly. DVDs. Discs.”

Blackmore’s lower lip trembled. “How do you know—”

“It just seemed odd to me, last night, at a time when you might be expected to be looking for your wife, you and Mr. Duncomb appeared to be having a movie fest. I thought, what could be more important than looking for your wife? Why would those videos be your priority at such a time? Then, when I found that little playroom in the Chalmers house, it started to come together for me. Especially when I saw the video equipment under the bed. You were making movies. Filming your sessions. You were going through the discs and—”

Blackmore threw up.

He took a step toward the curb, leaned over, and vomited. “Oh God,” he said. “Oh God.”

Duckworth pressed on.

“Like I was saying, you were going through those discs, looking for something that worried you. Something that worried you so much, it was more important than looking for Georgina. And then, you found out Miriam was actually still alive. That changed things somehow, didn’t it? That’s the part I’m having some trouble with, where I’m wondering if you can help me out.”

Blackmore wiped his mouth on the back of his sport jacket sleeve, came back to a standing position. “No... it wasn’t like that.”

“I figure there’s blackmail involved in here somewhere, but who was blackmailing who?”

“Not like that.”

“Was Miriam holding something over you and Duncomb?” Duckworth asked. He stepped in close to the professor, ignoring the disgusting smells coming off him. “Is that why you went over to her house last night and killed her?”

Blackmore put a hand out, braced himself against the trunk of his car. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Miriam is dead?”

“You act surprised. But look at you. You’re a mess. There’s blood on your hands. You were in a fight. Did Miriam do that to you before you pushed her down the stairs?”

“No, no! This—” He pointed to the wounds on his face. “This was Clive! Clive did this to me!”

“Why? Why would Duncomb do this, Professor?”

“Because... because he doesn’t want me to say anything.”

“Say anything about what? About killing Miriam?”

“No! I didn’t do that! I didn’t know she was dead! When did that happen? Clive was talking to her on the phone! Last night! When you were there!”

“The same time you realized your wife was the one who’d died in the car at the drive-in.”