Amen to that, thought St. Just. Aloud he said, "You think she was using him to make you jealous?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that… I don't really know. It does rather sound like something she'd do, I suppose…" His voice trailed off. His gaze rested on the fireplace, its hearth filled with summer flowers. Sir James seemed to be lost in the past-the past of his marriage to Lexy, presumably.
"You were seen talking with her. After dinner."
Sir James seemed slightly taken aback at this. He blinked several times. "Was I? Yes, I rather suppose I would be."
"What was the topic?"
Sir James said nothing.
"I'm going to have to insist that you answer, Sir. Was she hoping for reconciliation between you two?"
He shook his head ruefully. "She knew that was out of the question."
"Hope is different from knowing, though, isn't it? Did she have hope?"
Reluctantly, Sir James said, "She may have done. I did nothing whatsoever to encourage her thinking along those lines. Nothing. That you must believe absolutely."
"Your meeting with her in the Fellows' Garden-was that by pre-arrangement?"
Looking taken aback by the question, Sir James didn't respond immediately. Finally he said, "No. I stepped out for a cigarette, and there she was. I allow myself one cigarette after each meal, you see."
"She knew your habits, did she? So she might have hoped to run into you."
"That is possible. Of course, I could have gone 'round to the front of the college."
"What did you talk about?"
"She said something about how the memories were flooding back, and didn't I feel it, too? The past revisited. 'I feel such melancholy,' she said. She asked me-" Here he paused, as if needing to collect himself. And when he spoke again moments later, his voice was husky and raw. "She asked me if I'd ever loved her. Now, in retrospect, that seems so incredibly sad, knowing she had such a short time to live."
"And how did you answer, Sir?"
"I told her the truth. I told her that of course I had loved her. Thank God. If it gave her any peace to hear that, I am quite glad we had the conversation we had."
"Did Lexy smoke?"
The question seemed to surprise him. "Not to my knowledge. Never. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering what drew her outside, if not to meet you."
"A breath of air, I'd imagine. These college dinners can be stuffy in more ways than one."
"Did she have her evening bag with her?"
Again, that look of mild, puzzled surprise. "Yes, I believe she did. I didn't really notice."
"Did she know many people still living in Cambridge?"
"Probably a few. Perhaps people connected with her old department. I don't really know whom she's kept up with."
"What did she read at Cambridge?"
"Law."
"Really?"
"Yes. But she barely scraped through her final exams and never practiced the law, to my knowledge." He paused to inspect an immaculate cuff. "Probably just as well," he continued. "Lexy was very bright, don't misunderstand. But she could also be rather… undisciplined. Not everything you'd want in a solicitor. Law was her father's idea."
"Her parents? Can you help us get in touch?"
"Both long dead, I'm afraid. Motoring accident. That's what makes it rather sad. Apart from her nightclubbing friends-and the less said about them the better-she was quite alone. She never remarried, had no children."
"Sir James, who do you think did this?"
"A passing madman, of course. It must be. Really, who else could it have been?"
"That's what I'm asking you, Sir."
"You think one of us-the group that's here for the weekend?"
St. Just let the silence stretch out, an artful pause, then asked, "You say your wife was not given to jealousy?"
This seemed to galvanize Sir James.
"Not in the least. It's preposterous to suggest otherwise, to imply-"
"But, she must have disliked Lexy, rather. Lexy who wouldn't let go, who hung on, making things uncomfortable for the pair of you, especially this weekend. Making both of you feel guilty, perhaps."
"Don't be absurd, man. Besides, aren't you forgetting, India was in the SCR, with many others to attest to that?"
"There's that, of course," said St. Just mildly. "Well, thank you. You've been most helpful."
After Sir James left, having reiterated his pleasure in doing anything he could to help, Fear said, "If you ask me, Sir, that was a man choosing his words carefully. It was as if he was trying to avoid giving offense-do you follow?"
"Nil nisi bonum. Speaking no evil of the dead. An ex-wife, just brutally murdered-possibly that is not the best time to get the truth out of an ex-husband."
"We really are limited to the people here at the college, do you think?" asked Sergeant Fear.
"The only other access was by river," St. Just replied. "And that is the one area the wretched security cameras would have picked up-they are all trained, did you notice, on the access points from the river? Of course we'll be viewing the tapes closely-but I doubt we'll see more than a clear shot of Sebastian's departure and arrival back at the boathouse. It definitely makes one think this crime was committed by someone who knew the college, knew exactly where the security cameras were targeted and knew how to avoid them. Knew that some of the cameras were dummy cameras. Knew, in other words, the security was pathetic, and rather relied on that fact. That doesn't speak of a random passer-by. As I say, we'll look at the video, but I promise you, if it shows anyone in any kind of river conveyance, it shows them going straight past the college, not turning in to hop off and kill Lexy. Who just happened to be standing there. And there's another question-if she was standing there, why? Whom did she hope to meet?"
"Our friend Geraldo?" asked Sergeant Fear.
"Perhaps. He has rather the same alibi as all the others. They didn't all head straight for the SCR en masse, but rather slowly drifted in. We need to get a handle on who was late in showing up. Let's have Lady Bassett in here next."
India Bassett strode athletically into the room, as if about to leap on a horse and ride off. St. Just politely indicated a chair opposite him instead. She looked at the item of furniture a moment as if unsure of its purpose before finally sitting down.
St. Just took a moment to survey India, as she asked to be called, as she settled herself in. She was in fact rather a horsey looking woman, her face long and mobile, but she also possessed a homey quality that didn't quite go with being a member of the riding-to-hounds set. She seemed a comfortable person to be around, St. Just thought, an impression that was reinforced as they talked. Her tanned complexion drew attention to rather startlingly blue eyes, the whites of which shone with apparent good health. Crow's feet were just beginning to etch their way permanently into her skin. The blonde hair, sun-bleached beyond all hope of resuscitation, could have used a spot of conditioner or whatever it was women used.
She'd taken off her academic gown, which she carried slung over one arm; under the somber gown she had worn a dress in a bold summer print of red and yellow. It recalled to St. Just the dresses women wore in the summers of his childhood. He would have put her age at forty-five, but he thought her weather-beaten appearance was probably misleading him.
Sergeant Fear, for his part, liked her as well. A sturdy, earthy, no-nonsense sort, as her husband had implied.
St. Just began by asking her where she was from the time she came down to dinner. She gave them a brief summary, ending with:
"Dinner ended at nine-fifteen, but then I stayed a bit to talk with the Master. He is a dear but he does tend to wander on. Of course, he's on a mission this weekend. We walked together to the SCR."
"You were with each other the whole time?"
"That is correct."
"Now, I realize this is awkward, given your situation, but I will need your impressions of Lexy Laurant."
She nodded understandingly as he spoke. "I can o
nly feel pity for her now, of course," she said, "but in life she could be… difficult." A heavy note of irony had entered her voice: She might as well have come out and said she had found her impossible to deal with. "The divorce hit her hard, no doubt of it, but it was all ages ago." There seemed to be an unspoken "These things happen" subtext to her words.
"Did she seem to be over it?"
"Not entirely, no. But we were spared the hysterics and scenes of previous years. Her new angle seemed to be to wave Geraldo under my husband's nose at every opportunity. It was the sort of behavior that is much easier to ignore."
"So. Let's back up for a bit. You walked with the Master to the SCR. That took how long?"
"It's rather a large college and so a bit of a walk, with the gallery and then the long corridor leading to the SCR. I'd say a few minutes, walking slowly, yes."
"And you went straight to the SCR. You didn't stop at the cloak room, for example."
"Oh! Well, I did, of course, but only for a moment. Really, I was just trying to shake off the Master, if you want the truth."
"That's why we're here, yes," said St. Just, with just a tinge of exasperation. "To get at the truth. I understand at some point while you were in the SCR the curfew warning bell rang. You all could hear it?"
"Yes. Quite clearly; it's a most annoying sound, like a flock of geese calling for help from inside in a large tin. And then shortly after that, Seb came running in. Poor child." She shook her head. "Seb and his precious rowing. Do you know, he is so disciplined in that regard-I can't tell you what a relief it's been since he discovered this talent. He's not terribly disciplined in any other way."
"Who was in the SCR when you entered?" asked St. Just.
"That's rather difficult. The Master had reattached himself and was bending my ear again by then. Let's see, I believe the Americans were there-they're always frightfully hard to miss, aren't they? At least, she is-Constance. And dear old Hermione was gassing away about the polar ice caps."
"When did your husband arrive?"
"Oh, didn't I say? He was already there. I tell you, I was rather waylaid by the Master. They are quite desperate for donations, poor lambs."
Fear, pen flying, found he was a bit in awe of this woman who could speak so offhandedly about the Master. He thought: She's the real thing; not given to show. Upper crust-not flashy, though. Real upper crust.
"So, you weren't entirely fond of Lexy, would it be true to say?"
She answered coolly, "Some women make rather a success of divorce. Lexy was not one of those women. I'm afraid that instead she continued to carry a torch for my husband. Writing him letters and so on. 'Asking his advice' on this, that, or the other. Just 'happening' to be where she knew he would be. To be completely frank, she never stopped thinking of him as her husband, I don't think."
"Do you have any of those letters?"
"Oh, I'm sure not. They used to aggravate James no end. I'm certain they went straight into the fire, as he told me they did. But you should ask him."
"Her view of things was rather 'finders, keepers,' was it?"
"Something like that. Exactly like that, now you mention it. Her head, I think, was rather filled with romantic nonsense, and she always had an inability to deal with reality. In the real world, relationships dissolve, lose their-I suppose one must say-their usefulness. Hard as that sounds, it is the way of the world, and Lexy never came to grips with it. She was, in many ways, a born victim, you know. The manner of her death was, while a shock, not completely out of character, if one can put it what way. Lexy would always manage to create, and to cultivate, chaos around her person."
Sergeant Fear, hearing this opinion voiced with such confidence, felt somehow this assessment was spot on-even without his ever having met the victim.
"I mean, here she was," India went on, "intelligent in her own way-although crafty might be a better word, and educated-" here she threw wide one arm rather as St. Just had done earlier to encompass the paneled walls, the Carolean bookcases, the seals and crests and other emblems of prestigious learning, "and beautiful to boot. But what did she do but throw herself at someone like-well, forgive me, but that boyfriend of hers, whatever his name is, is so obviously a scamp. What on earth could she have been thinking? You don't suppose…"
"Suppose?" prompted St. Just, responding to her look of confusion.
"Well, that he had anything to do with this? Some heat of passion type of crime? I overheard them quarreling you know."
She nodded emphatically, gratified by the effect this had on her listeners.
"Indeed. I heard them quarreling, and quite violently."
OVERHEARD
"That's right. You may well look shocked." India rearranged the diamond bracelets on each arm, creating a show of twinkling lights against the wall and ceiling as table lamps caught the sparkles and made them dance. Seeing she had the full attention of her audience, she went on:
"It was our first night here… just last night, in fact. The windows in my room were open, as they were in most rooms, I'd wager-apart from Mrs. Dunning's. She's done nothing but complain about the cold since she got here. Hermione, although rather mad in her way, is quite right about global warming, you know. The college used to be freezing year-round. It's been quite warm since we got here, even in the dungeon-like rooms along that corridor, and we've had to keep the windows open all night. No air conditioning in the old part of the college, of course, and-"
"Anyway," St. Just cut in. She smiled charmingly, not in the least offended.
"Sorry, I do go on. Anyway, I was unpacking-James was down the corridor, trying to coax hot water out of the college's rusty old pipes for a shower. This was before the big kerfuffle about Lexy's room being broken into, which was also impossible not to overhear. Oh, I see you do know about that? Well, I'll get back to that in a minute, shall I? Anyway, I was unpacking when Lexy and her friend started a real argy-bargy."
"What was said?"
"I could really only hear half the conversation without actually hanging out of the window, you know. Her little girl voice didn't carry, somehow, and it sounded anyway as if he were nearer the window, she on the other side of the room. I did hear her say-she got rather shrill at moments, which is when I could hear her well-I heard her say, 'I didn't bring you here to make a fool of me.' To which Geraldo replied, 'No, you don't need anyone's help for that.' I thought that was rather good, frankly. But he mainly kept saying, 'Don't be absurd!' or 'I did nothing of the sort!' and so on. Denials. I remember particularly when he said, 'You'll get your money back and more, don't worry.'"
"You're quite certain, money was mentioned?"
"Quite certain."
"Do you recall anything else you may have overheard?"
She shook her head. She wore a little diamante headband-not quite a tiara-and the movement dislodged it. Her hand flew up to catch it before it fell. She placed it in what looked like an antique jet-beaded handbag.
"I'll try to remember, but I think that was it."
"As to her room being broken into…?"
"Yes, wasn't that another tempest? Honestly, being next door to that room was like trying to fall asleep in King's Cross. Again, because it was so stuffy in the room, we heard more than perhaps we were meant to, through the open windows."
"Your husband was with you, then?"
"Yes."
"Go on."
"We heard Lexy raise the alarm. This was Saturday afternoon. Complaining that the lock on her room had been forced. I guess the Porter and several members of staff were called in to investigate-we could hear various voices, all talking at once, asking her if anything had been stolen. 'No, I don't think so'-I heard her say that plainly enough. 'That's what's so very odd,' she said. 'All my jewelry is right here'-presumably, still in her jewelry case or whatever she travels with."
St. Just sat for a moment, lost in thought. Sergeant Fear took advantage of the lull to extract another Biro from his pocket, having run the first one nearly dry. At
last, St. Just said, "You are certain it was Geraldo Valentiano she quarreled with?"
"Positive. I mean, there can't be too many others running about the college with that Rubirosa-type accent."
"I'm sorry," put in Sergeant Fear. "Would you spell that, please?"
She spelled it out for him, and seeing the Sergeant's continued look of puzzlement, said kindly, "He was a bit before your time. Mine, too, come to that. He was a famously louche playboy of the '40s and '50s. Worked his way through the list of any heiress or actress of the day worth knowing. A legendary Lothario. I only know who he was because my mother used to speak of him with great fondness-she was suspiciously fond, if you know what I mean. Anyway, our Argentine is much the same type of egg. All melting glances under the moonlight. Then, poof! Next day, gone. Lexy was rather a fool, you know."
"Well, this has been most helpful, Lady Bassett," said St. Just.
"India, please! We shall all get to know each other rather well before this is over, I should imagine."
"I imagine so. Please let us know if you can add anything to what you've already told us."
She merely shook her head, looking, for the first time, rather helpless. When she had left, Sergeant Fear turned to St. Just and said, "Funny Geraldo didn't mention any quarrel over money while we had him in here."
"Yes," said St. Just faintly. "Of course, if Lady Bassett is the only one who overheard this altercation… "
"You think she was lying, Sir?"
"I think she might have a motive to protect her husband if she thinks he might be implicated. Not quite the same thing, is it, Sergeant, as proof she's lying?"
Sergeant Fear allowed that it was not.
"As to the break-in, if that's what it was, it sounds as if there were plenty of witnesses to the conversation about that. We'll have to talk to the Porter and find out what he knows about it. We'd better have a look in Lexy's room. Make sure Geraldo kips somewhere else tonight, if he thinks he's staying there." First pulling back his cuff to look at his watch, St. Just drew the list of names towards him again and said, "Who's next?… Mr. and Mrs. Dunning of New York, USA. We'll have the wife first, I think." -- Constance Dunning was a formidable-looking woman of militaristic bearing whose counterpart in Great Britain would no doubt be the mainstay of the Women's Institute; the heart and soul, not to mention the veritable backbone, of the village fete; the bastion of the Bring-and-Buy table. What equivalent role she might perform in the United States, St. Just could not imagine, but surely the entire world needed someone such as she to keep it whipped into shape. Stepping with thunderous intensity into the room, she seized the reins of the conversation immediately, settling into an armchair and proclaiming in ringing tones, "This is a shocking thing to have happened. Positively shocking. We come to England to get away from this kind of thing."
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