Mourn Not Your Dead

by Deborah Crombie

  “People keep assuring me of a lot of things, Miss Wade, and quite frankly, I’m getting a bit fed up.” He set his glass on the table and leaned forwards. “There’s a conspiracy of silence in this village. A conspiracy of protection, even. You all must have known Geoff Genovase’s history, must have considered the possibility that he might be responsible for your thefts. Yet no one said a word. In fact, you were reluctant to talk about the thefts at all. Were there others that went unreported, once the word got out?”

  He sat back and retrieved his glass, then said more slowly, “Someone murdered Alastair Gilbert. If the truth goes undiscovered, that knowledge will eat away at this village like a cancer. Each person will wonder if his friend or neighbor deserves his loyalty, then wonder if the friend or neighbor suspects him. The snake is in the garden, Miss Wade, and ignoring it won’t make it go away. Help me.”

  The music tinkled in the silence that followed his words. For the first time, Madeleine didn’t meet his eyes but stared into her glass as she swirled the liquid slowly around. At last, she looked up and said, “I suppose you’re right. But none of us wanted the responsibility for harming an innocent.”

  “Things are never quite that simple, and you are perceptive enough to be aware of that.”

  She nodded slowly, acquiescing. “I’m still not sure what you want me to do.”

  “Tell me about Geoff Genovase. Claire Gilbert described him as childlike. Is he simple, a bit slow?”.

  “Just the opposite, I’d say. Highly intelligent, but there is something a bit childlike about him.”

  “How so? Describe it for me.”

  Madeleine sipped her wine and thought for a moment, then said, “In the positive sense I’d say that he has a very well-developed imagination and that he still has the capacity to enjoy the small things in life. On the negative side, I think that he may not always face things in an emotionally adult way… that he retreats to his fantasy life rather than face unpleasantness. But then most of us have been guilty of that at one time or another.”

  Especially lately, thought Kincaid, then wondered if she could read his flicker of embarrassment. “Madeleine,” he said, deliberately dropping the formality of “Miss Wade,” “can you see the potential for violence?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been presented with a clear before and after example. I can sense chronic anger, as I told you yesterday, but I have no way of knowing when, or if, it will explode.”

  He said casually, swirling his wine as Madeleine had done, watching its legs make ribbon patterns on the inside of the glass, “And is Geoff angry?”

  She shook her head. “Geoff is frightened, always. Being here seems to ease him-sometimes he just comes and sits for an hour or so, not speaking.”

  “But you don’t know why?”

  “No. Only that’s he’s been that way as long as I’ve known him. They came to the village some years before I did. Brian gave up a job as a commercial traveler and bought the Moon.” She shifted a little in her seat, and the cat stood up, giving her an affronted look before jumping to the floor. “Look,” Madeleine said abruptly, “if I don’t tell you this, that nasty Percy Bainbridge probably will, and I’d rather you heard it from me.

  “You might say that Geoff had good reason to hate Alastair Gilbert. When Geoff got into trouble, Brian begged Alastair to help him. He explained about the blackmail and Geoff’s illness, explained that Geoff would never have participated voluntarily. Just a good word in the magistrate’s ear might have lightened Geoff’s sentence, perhaps even got him off on probation. But Alastair refused. He went on about the sanctity of the law, but we all knew that was just an excuse.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “Alastair Gilbert was a self-righteous prig who enjoyed playing god, and Geoff’s trouble gave him an opportunity to exercise his power.”

  They went into the interview room together, Kincaid and Gemma and Nick Deveney. Kincaid had asked Deveney to let Gemma conduct the interrogation and had briefed her on the results of their search. “I’ll be prepared to play bad cop if necessary,” he’d told her, “but terrified as he is already, I’m not sure that would be a very effective strategy.”

  Geoff Genovase sat huddled on the hard wooden chair, looking defenseless and uncomfortable in faded jeans and a thin cotton T-shirt. The room’s uncompromising light gave Kincaid his first opportunity to study him closely. High, flat cheekbones gave the young man’s face a slightly Slavic cast, and his eyes, though wary, were large, dark-lashed, and a true, clear gray. It was an honest, guileless visage, with no hint of meanness. Kincaid wondered, as he often did, at how easily one’s perception of others was influenced by the simple combination of genes that made up a human face.

  “Hullo, Geoff.” Gemma sat directly opposite him, elbows on the table. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  He nodded and gave her a shaky smile.

  “I’d like to get this business sorted as quickly as possible, so that you can go home.”

  Kincaid and Deveney had flanked her but sat back a bit, allowing Geoff to focus on her.

  “I’m sure this must be difficult for you,” Gemma continued, “but I need you to tell me about the things we found in your room.”

  “I never meant to-” Geoff cleared his throat and started again. “I never intending keeping them. It was just a game, something to-” He stopped, shaking his head. “You won’t understand.”

  “A game you played with Lucy?”

  This brought a nod. “Yes, but how did you-” Beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. “Lucy didn’t know,” he said, his voice rising. “Honestly, I never told her the t-truth about where the talismans came from. Sh-she would have been really angry with me.”

  “Lucy told us a little bit about the game. She also told us she thought you collected the things from jumble sales.” A hint of disapproval crept into Gemma’s voice. “She trusted you.”

  “Lucy knows about… this?” Geoff whispered, ashen. When Gemma nodded confirmation, he closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his fists in a gesture of despair.

  Gemma leaned even nearer, until her face was a mere foot from his. “Listen, Geoff, I understand that you meant to help Lucy. But how could you play with things that were tainted by dishonesty-lying and stealing?”

  A pulse ticked in the hollow of Geoff’s throat, and the rise and fall of his collarbone were sharply visible beneath the black-and-white dragon painted on his T-shirt. Gemma, pale and tired but resolutely caring, held his gaze transfixed.

  She had a rare and instinctive talent for forming a connection and getting right at the emotional heart of things, and when Geoff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered his face with his hands, Kincaid knew she had done it once again.

  “You’re right,” he said, voice muffled. “I hated taking things from my friends, but I couldn’t seem to help it. And the game wasn’t working. I told myself I didn’t know why, but I was just too ashamed to admit it. I kept telling Lucy she wasn’t trying hard enough.”

  “Trying hard enough at what?”

  Geoff lifted his head. “Becoming the character. Transcending the game.”

  “And what would happen then?” asked Gemma, sounding only reasonably curious.

  Shrugging, he said, “We’d live this life on a different level, be more engaged, more dedicated-I can’t explain. But then that’s only my idea, and it’s probably total bullshit, anyway.” He sat back in his chair, looking tired and defeated.

  “Maybe,” said Gemma softly, “and maybe not.” She pushed a wisp of hair back into her plait and took a breath. “Geoff, did you take anything for the game from Lucy’s house?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t go there if I can help it. Alastair doesn’t-didn’t approve of me.”

  Kincaid had no trouble imagining how Alastair Gilbert would have felt about Geoff or what he might have said.

  “Maybe Wednesday night was an exception,” persisted Gemma. “Maybe there was something you needed, and Lucy wasn’t home. You’
ve slipped in and out of other people’s houses easily enough-we have the evidence of that-maybe you thought you’d just nip in for a minute and no one would be the wiser. Except Alastair came home unexpectedly and caught you. Did he threaten to send you to jail again?”

  Geoff shook his head, more vehemently this time. “No! I never went near there, I swear, Gemma. I didn’t know anything had happened until Brian saw the police cars, and then I was frantic because I thought something must have happened to Lucy or Claire.”

  “Why?” asked Gemma. “Why not assume that the commander, a middle-aged man in a high-stress job, had dropped dead of a massive coronary?”

  “I don’t know.” Geoff wound a finger in his hair and tugged at it, a curiously feminine gesture. “I just didn’t think about him, I suppose because he’s not often home that time of day.”

  “Really?” Gemma sounded puzzled. “It was almost half past seven when the nine-nine-nine call came through.”

  “Was it?” Shifting in his chair, Geoff rubbed a thumb against his bare wrist. “I didn’t realize. I haven’t worn a watch since I bid Her Majesty’s hospitality farewell,” he said with an unexpected trace of humor.

  “You know I have to ask you this-” Gemma gave him an answering smile. “Where were you between six o’clock and half past seven on that Wednesday evening?”

  Geoff dropped his laced fingers into his lap. “I’d finished in Becca’s garden-about five, I’d say it was-then I came in and had a bath to get the muck off.”

  He’s on firm ground now, thought Kincaid, watching Geoff’s relaxed posture.

  “And after that?” asked Gemma, settling a bit more comfortably into her chair.

  “I got on-line. I’d been looking for some communications software that might perform a little better than what I’ve been using. Brian stopped by for a word at one point, but I’m not sure when.”

  Kincaid met Deveney’s eyes. The on-line connection shouldn’t be difficult to check, but how could they be sure Geoff didn’t leave the computer downloading automatically while he ran across the road long enough to kill the commander?

  “I’d just finished when I heard the sirens, then Brian came upstairs to tell me something had happened at the Gilberts’.”

  That struck Kincaid as a bit odd. With a bar full of able-bodied customers, why had Brian felt it necessary to inform his son before he charged across the road to investigate?

  “Anyone else see you?” Gemma asked hopefully, but Geoff shook his head.

  “Can I go home now?” he asked, but his tone held little optimism.

  Gemma glanced at Kincaid, then studied Geoff for a moment before she said, “I want to help you, Geoff, but I’m afraid we may need to keep you a bit longer. You do understand, don’t you, that if your neighbors positively identify the things we found in your room, we’ll have to charge you with burglary?”

  * * *

  Will Darling stood in the corridor outside the interview room, looking as relaxed as if he’d been napping on his feet. “Brian Genovase asked for a word with you in private, sir,” he said as Kincaid came out and shut the door. “I’ve put him in the canteen with a cuppa-thought it might be a bit more comfortable there.”

  “Thanks, Will.” Kincaid had left Gemma and Deveney to take Geoff’s statement, in hopes that he might catch up on his own paperwork, but he should have known it wasn’t a likely prospect.

  The smell of hot grease made his throat close convulsively. It also made him realize, with a stomach-turning queasiness, that he was ravenously hungry. Vaguely, he remembered lunch, and a look at his watch told him it was after eight o’clock.

  The room was almost empty and he quickly spotted Brian, who sat staring fixedly into his cup. Kincaid got himself a cup of tea so dark it might have been coffee and joined Brian at the small orange-topped table. “Disgusting color, isn’t it?” Kincaid asked, rapping the table with his knuckles as he sat down. “Reminds me of baby food. Always wondered who’s in charge of the decorating.”

  Brian looked at him blankly, as if trying to decipher a foreign language, then said, “Is he all right?” I’ve called our solicitor, but he’s not in.”

  “Geoff is making a statement just now, and he seems to be coping reasonably-”

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” said Brian, pushing his cup out of the way. The spoon fell from the saucer with a clatter. “I know you think I’m behaving like a broody old hen over a grown son, but you don’t understand about Geoff.

  “You see, his mum left us when Geoff was only six. The poor kid thought it was his fault, and he was terrified I’d leave him, too. I had a good job then as a commercial traveler, and I could afford to pay someone to stay with him when I was away, but he’d panic every time. At first I thought he’d get over it, but instead he got worse. Finally I quit the job and invested my savings in the pub.”

  “And did that help?” asked Kincaid, giving his muddy tea a desultory stir.

  “After a bit,” said Brian, sitting back in his chair and regarding Kincaid levelly. “But it was only then that I began to find out what she’d done to him. She told him it was his fault she was leaving, that he wasn’t good enough, didn’t ‘measure up.’ And before that, she did…” He shook his head, reminding Kincaid of a frustrated bull. “She did vile things to a small boy. I’ll tell you, Superintendent, if I ever find that bitch, I’ll kill her, and then it’ll be me you’ll have warming your cell.” He stared aggressively at Kincaid, chin thrust forwards, then when Kincaid didn’t respond he relaxed and sighed. “I felt responsible. Do you understand that? I should have seen what was going on, should have stopped her, but I was too caught up in my own misery.”

  “You still feel responsible for him.” Kincaid made it a statement.

  Brian nodded. “He got better over the years. The nightmares stopped. He did well enough at school, even though he didn’t make friends easily. Then when he went to prison it started all over again. ‘Separation anxiety,’ the prison doctor called it.

  “Superintendent, if Geoff is sent to prison again, I don’t think he will recover.”

  A movement caught Kincaid’s eye and he looked up. Will Darling threaded his way through the tables towards them like a barge easing its way down the Thames. “Sir,” he said as he reached the table, “there’s a… um, delegation of sorts… to see you.”

  They were crowded into the tiny reception area-Doc Wilson, Rebecca Fielding, and behind them, a head taller, Madeleine Wade. The doctor had evidently appointed herself spokesperson, for as soon as he came into the room, she marched up and buttonholed him. “Superintendent, we want a word. It’s about Geoff Genovase.”

  “You couldn’t have had better timing,” Kincaid said, smiling. “You’ve saved us asking you to come in, as we need you to officially identify your things.” He looked over his shoulder. “Will, is there somewhere more comfortable-”

  “You don’t understand, Mr. Kincaid.” The doctor sounded exasperated, as if he were a recalcitrant patient. The vicar looked worried, and Madeleine looked as though she were enjoying the whole thing but trying not to show it.

  Stepping forwards, Rebecca put a hand on the doctor’s arm. “Mr. Kincaid, what we’re trying to tell you is that we don’t wish to press charges. We’ll be glad to identify the things for you, but it won’t make any difference.”

  “What the-” He shook his head. “I don’t believe this. Madeleine?”

  “I’m with them all the way. We’ll say we lent him the things and just forgot, if necessary.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin.

  “What about Percy Bainbridge?”

  “Percy has a tendency to be a bit difficult, all right,” said the doctor, “but Paul’s having a word with him just now. I’m sure he’ll manage to sort him out.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Kincaid eyed them skeptically.

  The doctor smiled, and he recognized the battle light in her eyes. ‘We’ll make his life hell.”

  Kincaid rubbed the stubble on his
chin between thumb and forefinger. “What if you’re wrong about Geoff? What if he went into the Gilberts’ house that night and killed the commander?”

  Madeleine stepped forwards. “We’re not wrong. I promise you, Geoff isn’t capable of killing anyone.”

  “You have no evidence,” added the doctor. “And if you try to pin this on him, I guarantee you’ll have half a dozen people suddenly remember they saw him doing something else.”

  “This is all a bit feudal, don’t you think?” When no one responded, Kincaid said on a surge of anger, “You do realize what you’re doing here? You’re taking the law into your own hands, and you have neither the knowledge nor the impartiality to do so. This is what our justice system is designed to prevent-”

  “We are not willing for Geoff Genovase to be sacrificed in order to test the fairness of the law, Superintendent.” The doctor’s brows were set in a straight line, and the faces of the others were implacable.

  Kincaid glared at them for a moment, then sighed. “Will, take care of the formalities, would you? I’ll just tell Brian he can take his son home.”

  Kincaid scooted in beside Gemma on the bench before Deveney or Will could outmaneuver him, then smiled at the disappointment on Deveney’s face. They had adjourned to a pub near the station, hoping to organize strategy as well as fill their stomachs.

  “The chief constable’s been on the blower,” Deveney said conversationally when they had ordered and were sipping appreciatively at their drinks.

  No one looked thrilled at the prospect of hearing what that exalted figure had to say, but Kincaid set down his pint and took the plunge. “All right, Nick, put us out of our misery quickly, then.”

  “You’ll never guess.” Deveney pulled down the knot on his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He’s ‘very anxious for a resolution,’ and he would be ‘most pleased’ if we were to find reason to charge Geoff Genovase with Gilbert’s murder. Allay any suspicion on the part of the public that we’re sitting around on our duffs, you know.”

  Gemma spluttered into her drink. “Is he daft? We don’t have a shred of evidence. Turning the burglary file over to the CPS is embarrassing enough-trying to bring a murder charge against him at this point would make us laughingstocks.”