by Laura Briggs
"Hold on! You can't go through there —" the constable began. Sergeant MacEntire was just emerging from a cell which was open, and I knew that must be the one where they were holding Sidney.
"Stop right there," he ordered me, as I pushed back against its door before it could latch. I heard PC Pringle puffing breathlessly from the doorway behind me.
"I tried to stop her, sir, and she wouldn't listen," he explained. "She kept sayin' she needed to see the suspect."
"Sidney," I corrected him, with a glare. "How can you lock him up like this? He hasn't done anything! He's not a jewel thief — he can't be —"
"He was found in possession of the evidence," Pringle corrected me. "Sir, what should I do? Do you want me to sort of ... put her outside?" The thought of actual force seemed to poke through his police service bluster like scissors through wet tissue paper, but he was steeling himself to do it with all his reluctance.
"Please." I glanced from Pringle to MacEntire, desperately. "Let me talk to him. Just for a minute."
"It's against regulation," said Pringle, stubbornly. "The law states that —"
The sergeant sighed. "Have a quick word with him," he said. "But we're standing here, so mind yourself." He let me push the door all the way open, as he stationed himself outside, arms crossed in a 'police business' stance.
Sidney was sitting on the bed, his worn work boots propped up on the metal headboard until I entered, when he swung his feet down and sat up. "Maisie?"
"Sidney, what is going on?" I said. "What happened? They arrested you?"
"It's all right, Maisie," he said. "Calm down —"
"I don't want to calm down, I want to know what you're doing here," I said.
"They found something at my place. It isn't mine, and I've no idea how it got there," he said. "But they're holding me, as they've every right to do, given that it's apparently stolen property." He grinned, but only for show. "At least until I confess."
"Stolen property," I repeated. That part was true, then. I felt Sidney's hands surround my shoulders as I spoke, as if to keep me from turning away.
"I swear to you, I didn't steal anything from anyone," he said, his voice softening. "Believe me, Maisie, I'm not a thief." He searched my eyes, and for a moment I glimpsed the fraction of worry in his own — had I ever felt any doubts about Sidney's character, this would have erased them entirely.
I realized he had interpreted my speech from before as one of faltering belief, which fired an arrow of guilt through me. On the list of reasons I could make to convince myself not to trust Sidney, criminal activity had never been one of them.
I laid both my hands on his arms. "I believe you," I promised. "I know you're not a criminal. But how? How did they find anything in your shed that would make them arrest you?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Are you saying that you were framed? Sidney, we have to do something — there must be someone who can give you an alibi, or some way we can prove it was planted." Laws in England were different from those in America but surely Sidney had options to fight this shadow over his name. "We can't let them go on thinking you're involved in this — thinking you're a criminal."
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't be sent to prison anytime soon. They're only detaining me for questioning. Dean has a number for a solicitor I can contact, if it comes to something more serious. But they'll realize they have the wrong person before long."
Sidney's smile suggested that being locked up in this manner was trivial, although I wasn't completely fooled by it. The sergeant ushered me out again and closed the cell door, leaving Sidney locked up alone.
I turned to the sergeant. "How long will he be locked up like this?" I asked. Suddenly, I was afraid I had seen Sidney for the last time for a long time. Weeks, months, until they finished this investigation, as crazy as the thought seems — how long could suspects be detained in England?
"He's off to prison, likely enough," PC Pringle informed me, grimly. "What with the evidence that he was behind the hotel's smash up. Caught red-handed with the goods, as they say."
"That's enough," said MacEntire, sternly. "There is no official charge —"
"Is he telling the truth?" I demanded of the sergeant, as the constable looked somewhat chastened after letting this information slip.
The sergeant sighed. "There's evidence that he was involved in some manner —"
"How involved?"
"Enough that we can hold him for the time being —"
"Until when? A lawyer comes? Another piece of evidence turns up? What about other suspects? The insurance company's detective says there's a master criminal involved somehow —"
"We found one o' the stolen items in his coat pocket, for pity's sake!" barked Pringle. "The rest'll turn up, given time for a proper search." This, before he could stop himself from revealing official information to a civilian.
"Pringle," said the sergeant, warningly, which caused the red-faced constable to reel in his speech once more.
"Sorry, sir," he answered, apologetically. He glanced at me. "I made a point of investigatin' every likely suspect on the hotel's list o' staff, and his was the first name that turned up with somethin' to tie him to the crime."
"Why was Sidney a likely suspect?" I asked.
"He fits the criminal profile, what with his lifestyle," argued the constable. "We know he must be hard up for money —"
"You'd best go home," said the sergeant to me, quietly. "We're handling the investigation as is necessary, and we'll be holding him for further questioning so long as the law allows. As for the evidence — that'll be up to the law to determine as well."
"But the whole idea is ridiculous. Sidney a thief?" I repeated, as the sergeant returned to his duties without giving my persistence notice. "He's only worked for the hotel a couple of times at most."
"He was seen about the place the last three days," said Pringle. "And word has it that the job's an inside one."
"How would Sidney get inside?" I demanded.
"He might've spent the evening there, courtesy of a certain maid he's friendly with," suggested the constable, carefully. "I've heard the word 'round the hotel is you've spent a good bit of time lately with said suspect."
"What evidence is that of a crime?" I mimicked his speech italics with some of my own. "Are you saying that I'm a suspect, too?" His words were catamount to saying that Sidney and I had planned a heist together, using my inside knowledge and his brawn, presumably.
The fact that the constable didn't answer seemed a confirmation that this theory was real.
"Everyone is a suspect until the thief is found, Miss Kinnan." The private detective was standing in the doorway to the cell room, listening to our argument, apparently. "The only differences between them will be that of evidence and alibis."
The sergeant reappeared behind him. "You'd best go home, miss," he repeated to me, with a firm look at both me and the constable. A moment later, PC Pringle showed both me and the insurance company's detective to the station's front door again, the sergeant busy answering the ringing phone at PC Pringle's former station. "Port Hewer Police Station."
"Could I have a word with you, Miss Kinnan?" asked the private detective.
In the tea shop, Anson ordered a cup of plain, hot tea, while I ordered a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. I wasn't sure what I was doing here, except that I still felt a bit numb. I had nowhere else to go except back to work, where I would find it hard to concentrate on laundry right now. In the past twenty-four hours, I confronted a crisis of self, my novel and my secret writing ambition had been literally exposed to daylight, and my closest friend in the village was under suspect for robbery.
"You seem very distracted," observed the detective.
"Wouldn't you be, if someone accused you of participating in a robbery?" I asked.
"No one is accusing you for the time being," said the detective. "I, for one, do not believe that you had anything to do with the diamond's theft."
"Thank you for th
e vote of confidence," I answered.
"In time, this will all disappear," said Anson. "Give it time, Miss Kinnan."
Nothing could erase the memory of this horrible feeling inside me, even if Pringle and Jones found the diamonds hidden in a guest's mattress and Sidney emerged from that cell five minutes from now. It had eaten to my core already as all of these facts and circumstances settled into reality.
"I sense, however, that you're not really worried about being arrested," the detective continued, in the wake of my silence. "You're worried about your friend currently behind bars. I gather that you and the suspect are close."
I nodded. Words to answer him directly were stuck in my throat, and too terribly complicated to loosen so they could emerge. The thought of Sidney in this kind of trouble was ten times worse than the many ways I had previously imagined him slipping out of my life.
The more time passed, the harder it became to possibly face a moment we might part physically; but I had always imagined facing it as the girl who left for the sake of her writing, or the girl left behind when Sidney resumed his wandering travels. Not with him serving an unfair prison sentence, for example.
I lifted my eyes to meet the detective's squarely. "Did they really find stolen jewels in Sidney's pocket?"
He nodded. "The miniature silver dragon," he said. "It was in the pocket of his overcoat on the hook by his door, apparently. I've seen the object in question, and there's no doubt that it's the one from the exhibit — before you ask if your friend might have coincidentally possessed a copy."
I stared at my coffee now. I felt a hand touch mine in a light, sympathetic gesture. "I can see that you are distressed by this fact," he said. "For what it is worth, Miss Kinnan, I find it unlikely that it is your friend involved."
"You do?" I said. This was the first vote of confidence I had heard on Sidney's behalf, besides my own. Certainly PC Pringle had doubts about Sidney's innocence.
"I still believe that this could be the work of an experienced thief," said Anson, confidentially. "Unless your friend is one. You know him well enough to prove he isn't, I trust."
"Sidney would never steal from anyone," I said. "He isn't the type. He's not interested in money. He may not be rich or even comfortable, but he's not stupid or desperate."
"People talk," said the detective, stirring a tiny bit of sugar into his tea. "In every village, there's always someone who becomes an easy scapegoat. It's entirely possible that the real criminal knew that your friend was a bit of a vagabond ... or maybe he was just the choice of convenience." He laid aside his spoon. "The thief we spoke of before hasn't been active in Europe for four years, and your friend has been in this village longer than that, surely."
I wasn't sure. At least that long, I imagined. "Sidney's been living in the village for several years," I said. "Longer than that, I think."
"The last robbery was in the Ukraine. It was a sapphire and diamond tiara made for a Czarina, on loan from the Moscow museum. It was nearly five years ago in autumn. I was there the morning after — but, unfortunately, the criminal wasn't." He sipped his tea. "Your friend was never in Ukraine, was he?" He smiled at me.
The Czech Republic wasn't all that far from Ukraine, was it? "No," I said, though not honestly.
"How long has he been in the village, truly?" asked the detective. "What does he do for the man he works with?"
"He looks after the grounds, and makes repairs for the church and the vicarage," I said.
"Does he know anything about electronics?" asked the detective, peering over his teacup's rim.
He did, as I well knew. "He probably does," I said, hedging these facts. "He only fixes lamps and small appliances, though." Not radios, at least not with signal-jamming capabilities, even 'crude' ones.
"What did he do before he came here?" asked the detective. "Before he was the vicar's groundskeeper."
"He worked different jobs as a laborer," I said. "He traveled a bit."
"Where? And at what times?" he asked. He could see by my face that I didn't know the answers, so he smiled again, but with a touch of pity. "You see the problem, Miss Kinnan. You can't answer these questions about him, nor can the police. It's what makes him a good suspect in this crime. A man with a questionable past, an experienced traveler who lives from hand to mouth in a tiny village ... who better fits the profile of someone desperate enough to steal a fortune?"
His fingers held mine, briefly, in an understanding squeeze. "You can't defend his past beyond question," he said. "But that doesn't make him an international jewel thief. In fact, I think it very unlikely that he is in any way connected with the missing jewels. But if you and he will help me, then perhaps we can find the person who is. It will clear your friend's name, and it will solve a crime which interests me greatly."
"But if it's the master thief you talked about, then isn't it hopeless?" I asked. "That's what Mr. Tiller says."
"I am not entirely sure that the hand of that particular notorious jewel thief is the only one involved in this crime," he answered. "Until I can be sure that he is truly behind the case, I have to believe that the gems are still safe in this village, and may still be recovered."
"How?" I asked.
"By first determining what things only people on the inside know," answered the detective. "You have ears and eyes and a job at The Penmarrow Hotel. Knowing that hotel and this village will be the keys to solving this crime."
***
"It's against the rules," protested PC Pringle. "I'm not supposed to let anybody see him without orders."
"I have the permission of the chief inspector to participate in this investigation, and I have promised my full cooperation in this matter," said Detective Anson.
"But not her," said the constable, looking at me. "Not again, on my watch." I glanced at the detective. I had wheedled my way into this interview based on the detective's need for my inside information, in order to see that Sidney was still okay. But if it jeopardized Anson's chances of talking to Sidney alone, I knew he wouldn't have a choice but to leave me here.
"Miss Kinnan is here at my request," said the detective. "Since she hasn't been implicated or formally charged in this matter, I fail to see the problem."
"But she's — she might be involved." The constable's voice dropped to a whisper. "No offense," he added to me, hastily. "Civilians aren't supposed to be present at the questioning of a suspect. Official guidelines —"
"My methods are not those of the police force of England, constable," said the detective. "And for me to fully deduce the involvement of either of these parties in the crime to my satisfaction — and that of my employer — I need to interview them together. If you please."
With a deep sigh, PC Pringle rose from behind his desk. "I think it's a terrible mistake, sir," he said. "If you don't mind my saying so."
"I'll try not to take offense, constable." A faint smile of amusement crossed Anson's lips.
Sidney sat on the edge of the bed in his cell, in a thoughtful pose. He hadn't shaved today, or yesterday, his appearance slightly disheveled compared to when I saw him yesterday morning moments after his incarceration. In the bleaker light of today, his old cotton shirt revealed how much it needed bleaching, its fabric a faded yellowish-white from too much wear, and his trousers had black oil from the vicarage shed in small patches on one knee. He looked the part of a desperate, shabby local vagrant, so maybe PC Pringle wasn't entirely to blame for giving in to that impression.
"I wanted to see you, Mr. Daniels," said Anson, opening his little notebook— but with the cover blocking his notes as he wrote them. "I am told that you have something of a reputation in the village. Hence, perhaps, why the constable waiting just outside had your name on a list of people who had motive for such a crime."
"I thought almost everybody had a good motive for stealing a fortune in diamonds," said Sidney. His smile was a humble one; I wondered if maybe the cell was getting to him a little after a full day and night surrounded by its walls.
"They do," said the detective, who was evidently amused. "But I don't think you are the thief, no matter how little you earn in the village ... or the offhand manner by which you are paid."
He had done a little digging into Sidney's life already. I perched beside him, looking at Sidney as I listened, and wondering if the rumors about his character were as much to blame as the circumstances behind Sidney's life. Unfairly so, as what he had done for people like Dean and Mrs. Primmer had proved so many times in the recent past. How many others had he been kind to, of whom I knew nothing at all?
"Who could have put that item in your pocket, Sidney?" I asked. "Did anyone come to see you that day? A stranger asking directions? Did you talk to a tourist by the beach, or give someone a ride?"
The detective had told me that I could ask questions or contribute to the interview, but not to get too involved ... which probably meant not asking the first questions. I gave Anson an apologetic glance. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't meant to do that."
"It's all right," he said. "I have the same questions for Mr. Daniels. Anyone who crossed his path in the time between the robbery and his arrest might be connected to the investigation — either way." A warning look accompanied this gentle reminder, and made me silent once more.
"Anybody could have stopped by," Sidney answered. "The shed's open. For that matter, so is my door. People can walk in if they please. And everybody knows it in the village, should you be thinking of asking," he added, to Anson instead of me. "I'm afraid I can't give you any suspects."
"Nevertheless, the person who did it must be acquainted with the village and its gossip," said Anson. "Therefore, they are a local, like yourself ... or they have visited the village frequently during their sojourn and insinuated themselves into the conversations of some of the villagers."
"That could be anyone," I said. "Of the staff, I can't think of anybody who could be involved, and most of them have alibis. Except for me," I admitted, with chagrin. "But the rest, only Mr. Trelawney, and maybe Brigette and Riley — who is not a thief, regardless of his many flaws. As for the guests, I don't know any of them, so I couldn't begin to guess which ones would have made friends in the village. Again, it could be anyone."