A Proposal to Die For (23 page)

Alkmene saw the beautiful actress, sharing her sad life story with Walker, playing him with her smile, a tear here and there, like she had tried to play Jake at the Metropolitan hotel. Perhaps not even on purpose, to deceive, but just because that was her talent: playing a part, appearing a certain way, beguiling people.

Fitzroy Walker said, ‘She deserved better than that. Norwhich ached for an heir. And she needed someone to take care of her. It was a perfect arrangement. It would have done nobody any harm. I had made sure beforehand the real heir was dead. I had made sure nobody would suffer from this.'

‘Or nobody could turn up to spoil things for you?' Jake asked in a cynical tone. ‘You knew how substantial Norwhich's fortune was. You may have even been to his house for business, have seen part of his art collection. You coveted it and for it you killed him.'

Walker shook his head. ‘I never wanted him to die. I wanted to marry Evelyn and we'd all be happy. Happy! But that man came and ruined it all, with his talk of Cunningham. Norwhich began to doubt the story, Evelyn's integrity. It was not right that she was accused, defiled. She was perfect for the part. It all fit. It should have worked out. But he ruined it all. And for what? Revenge over some alleged slight? A thing decades in the past? What right did he have to spoil it all for us?'

‘The right of a son to defend his mother?' Jake asked sharply.

Walker strained against his bonds. ‘I only wanted to convince Norwhich that Evelyn was the heir he had always wanted. I only wanted to convince him the past should be over and done with. How was I to know that man had just been with him and had shown him the birth certificate? He was out of his mind, shouting at me that I had betrayed him and had drowned her in the marshes all over again. He must have been delirious to say such insane things. He was so red in the face, almost purple, I was afraid he'd suffer a stroke. I grabbed his shoulders to steady him. I shook him a little maybe, to bring him to reason. I didn't mean him to fall and die. That accursed hearth rim… If he had fallen just a few inches away from it, he would have lived!'

Jake said softly, ‘It is for the jury to decide whether you are guilty of murder or not.'

The constable led him away, Walker's head down as he went. Mary Sullivan's sister was still on her knees sobbing her heart out in her hands. Her husband stood bent over her, patting her back with clumsy large hands.

Jake watched them with a deep frown, then turned to focus on Alkmene. ‘This whole scene does not mean that I don't intend to find out exactly what you were doing there in that church, on your own. You could have been killed by this callous sod and I could have done nothing about it.'

‘It would have been my own fault,' Alkmene said contritely.

But Jake grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Promise me you will never do that again. Or else we can't work together.'

‘Work together?' Alkmene echoed.

‘Yes. There is still the little matter of the London blackmailer to consider, remember? He didn't just target you but others as well. Is it just for money? Or is there more at stake? After this initial success we should continue our partnership and ferret out who he is.'

‘Or she,' Alkmene said. ‘Why couldn't it be a brilliant female mastermind?'

Jake suppressed a smile, then he said tightly, ‘But I don't work well with someone who does not listen to me and goes against everything I say.'

‘You want someone you can order about like a dog.' Alkmene wriggled herself free and walked after him as he made for the door of The Hunted Boar. ‘I for my part do not work well with someone who treats me like I am weak and in need of protection all the time.'

‘Hah. Who was found locked up in a burial cellar, huh?'

‘That was a…mistake.'

Jake roared with laughter as he held open the inn's door for her. ‘You could say that again, my lady.'

But his eyes were serious as he added, ‘It could have been your last.'

Chapter Twenty-One

They sat at the roaring fire in the hearth, Alkmene in a leather chair that the innkeeper had brought from his own living quarters, Jake on the stone rim of the fireplace, taking care of the burning logs inside it.

Alkmene had been offered brandy, but had refused to drink it before having had any solid breakfast. The innkeeper had rushed to make some, but the toast had been burned and the coffee half cold, probably because he was thinking of his wife who had been taken away by neighbours to be calmed down.

Alkmene sighed. ‘It seems we have profoundly ruined the peace in this idyllic little place.'

Jake shook his head. ‘There was never any peace here to begin with. Now people know that Mary Sullivan did not die; they know she is alive somewhere and well. They know that the person responsible for her disappearance at the time repented in his old age and that a man who killed him, for gain or for whatever twisted reason he argues that he had, will have to answer in court for that.'

Alkmene frowned. ‘That is a lot really to work through all at once.'

‘Yes, but at least they can begin to work through it and try to find their own peace with the facts. I do not say it will be easy, but… Perhaps the pain beneath the surface was worse than these discoveries are now.'

She studied his furrowed brow. It was the wrong time and place to ask about his mother, the way in which his father had betrayed her. It would have to wait until some other time. She trusted that time would indeed come as Jake had suggested they'd be working together more.

‘Are you going to publish this story?' she asked.

Jake looked up at her. ‘Not at this time. I will wait to see if the court case will be public and if so, how much will be revealed about all the details. If they are going to divulge it all, I would like to write about it, as I have been an eyewitness to some of it. But I am not going to run to my editor now and have it printed tomorrow. I think I promised Pemboldt as much. In your presence.'

There was a hint of reproach in that last sentence, and Alkmene hurried to say, ‘I was just wondering how it will go from here.'

‘Fitzroy Walker will be questioned, and others will be, here in town and beyond. Once there is a full picture, they will take the case to court. Walker will no doubt hire an excellent lawyer who will try to get him off on a technicality or some claim it was an accident, self-defence, whatever. He already laid the groundwork for that with his story to you just now. Claiming he grabbed the victim by the shoulders to calm him down, that the fall on the hearth rim wasn't intended.'

Jake sounded almost bitter. ‘His mention of Norwhich being so red in the face might even suggest he was close to a seizure and fell because of that. I can only hope the jury will not be deceived and return a verdict of guilty of murder anyway.'

Alkmene frowned. ‘Are you so sure? You were not there. Walker did have time to get to know Evelyn before he introduced her to Norwhich. Perhaps he did fall in love with her and was eager to protect her. He sounded sincere when he talked about her bit parts in New York and his empathy for her position. She is a very attractive young woman. Why could he not have fallen in love with her and acted on that feeling?'

Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, it all sounded nice enough. And maybe he even believes it, who knows. But when you consider it closely, Fitzroy Walker is a man cold into his bone marrow. He locked you in that church cellar to die. Just so he could get away, erase the last traces of Mary Sullivan's existence and vanish to France or beyond. Evelyn Steinbeck was no longer important to him. Now that he could not marry her and get his hands on her fortune, accumulated via poor Silas Norwhich's obsession with the past, he just wanted to save his own skin. Escape punishment for his actions. He didn't care whom he had to hurt to do so.'

Alkmene nodded. ‘You are probably right. He didn't care much what happened to me. What he said to me when he locked me in was pretty crude. Almost like he was enjoying himself.'

‘Wallace Thomson also said Walker was happy when he had seen the place where Mary Sullivan allegedly died. That he rubbed his hands with glee. Thomson's protectiveness of Mary Sullivan's memory might have made him feel like it was glee, but I can also imagine he read the lawyer right. That he really felt this deep satisfaction that there was no threat to be expected from a real heir and his scheme of introducing the fake one could work. Whether he later fell for Evelyn Steinbeck or not doesn't really matter. The seed for Silas Norwhich's death was planted when Walker decided to trick him out of his fortune.'

Alkmene nodded. ‘I suppose you are right. If only you could plead the case against him.'

Jake waved a hand. ‘There are other people to do that, who have more expertise in the field than me. They will realize the same things and go down the same route, I suppose.' He continued, ‘How did you end up in the church anyway at that hour?'

Alkmene glanced at him. ‘I am more interested in how you found me.'

Jake shrugged. ‘I slept badly and I decided to knock on your door before breakfast to ask how your feet were. Your room was empty and showed that you had left in a rush. I was worried where you had gone to all of a sudden. I conjectured you had probably seen something from the window, because the curtain had been opened.'

‘Very smart deduction.'

Jake grimaced. ‘That curtain told me you had seen something in the square, but it did not tell me what it had been or why you had felt it necessary to go after it. Without even telling me.'

Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘There was no time.'

Jake glanced at her. ‘You were there at the ruins of the old keep when I warned Mary Sullivan's son to be careful as long as the killer was still at large. You thought that warning did not apply to you?'

She shrugged. ‘I only wanted to see what this person was doing in the churchyard. I never believed he could just grab me and lock me up. I had no idea this church had such an impressive old vault.'

She rubbed her wrist again where the ugly rope burn seemed to get worse. ‘Tell me how you found me.'

‘Once outside I looked around me and saw the gate into the churchyard was open. I went there and down the path. There were fresh footprints. That was the clue really. Mud.'

‘Mud?' Alkmene echoed.

‘Yes. Inside there was some fresh mud at the door leading into the vault. It showed that somebody had recently gone down there. I thought it was worth a look and I called at the vicarage to ask for the key. The poor vicar had to get the church proprietor out of bed. Or was it the organist? I am not even sure. One of those is a fountain of local knowledge and keeps close guard of this vault. It seems some illustrious inhabitants of old are buried there.'

‘I don't want to know,' Alkmene said and shivered. The cold of that place was still flowing through her veins.

She supposed she'd revisit it in nightmares whenever she had a busy day or had eaten a bit too much chocolate pudding too soon before going to bed.

‘I guess you would have lasted there for a day or two,' Jake mused. ‘I would certainly not have left without you, so I might have found you in the end. Unless there were rats there, nibbling at…'

‘Stop it, you cruel cad.' Alkmene pretended to slap at him.

Jake laughed.

The door to the inn opened, and a man came in. He looked a bit like Pemboldt, wrinkled and breakable, leaning on a stick. Under his arm he carried a big square object wrapped in brown paper, tied with a bit of string.

He stood a moment looking at them, then limped over.

Jake rose at once to help him with his big package, putting it carefully against the wall and helping him to sit down in the chair opposite to Alkmene. The man's bright eyes observed her for a few quiet moments before he began to speak.

‘So you are the young people,' the old man said, ‘who came to look into Mary's disappearance.'

He coughed a moment, a deep cough coming from his very centre, his body shaking with the force of it.

Then he lifted his eyes at them again. ‘I am her father.'

‘You made that painting,' Alkmene said, glancing up to the moor view hanging over their heads.

He nodded. ‘For my other daughter's wedding day. She wanted a nice piece for this inn.'

A hint of reproach in his voice suggested he had not much liked his daughter marrying an innkeeper.

But would he have liked his other son-in-law any better?

The old man said, ‘I heard from her the other day that some lady from London had asked about my paintings, wanting a piece for her own home. She laughed about it, saying, “Maybe, Father, one of your pieces will end up in some fine drawing room.” She never believes much good can happen to us poor people from Cunningham, you know. I guess looking at what happened to poor Mary she had her reasons to think so.'

Alkmene wet her lips. Did he know his daughter had never drowned? Did he know she was still alive, as was her son, his grandchild?

She glanced at Jake, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. She agreed with him. If the family were to be reunited, it would have to happen in their own time and at their own will. They could not force people to get together again, when they were not ready for it. So much had happened, so much time had passed.

The old man gestured at the wrapped parcel against the wall. ‘That is my painting for your fine drawing room, my lady. I do hope you will like it.' He pushed himself up and smiled at her.

Alkmene tried to get up as well. ‘I have to pay you.'

He shook his head. ‘You have already paid me enough. Thank you.' And he turned and shuffled off.

‘He knows, doesn't he?' Alkmene asked Jake.

Jake nodded thoughtfully. He reached for the string round the brown paper. ‘Let's see what is in here, hey.'

He carefully took the paper off, and Alkmene stared at a large view of the moor in full bloom, all lilac and purple with busy bees and butterflies fluttering above and a lark soaring like a speck against the azure skies.