She took a breath. ‘I don’t think I can go on, Harry,’ she said softly.
‘You’re doing fine.’
She touched her brow with her fingers, then looked up again.
‘After four years, it was the money he wanted. On that day…well, perhaps he felt something special for Angela. I don’t know. But when Charlie did arrive, and drove straight into the car wash, Fletcher would be waiting, and hating him. And he shot him and left him there, while he took the car, now black, to the lay-by. It was what she’d been waiting for. She ran out to it. Oh, I’ve waited hours… And Fletcher got out and said: he isn’t coming, he’s dead, I shot the bastard dead. Or words to that effect. And she, in fury, went at him with her shoe, which he’d be able to take from her easily, probably laughing at her, and you know how wild she always became when people laughed at her, so she’d go at him with everything, and he’d strike back with what he had — short of producing his gun — which was the shoe. So I suppose…’ She sighed. ‘I reckon that in law it might be called self-defence.’
She was silent. In the dull eyes there had been something, but it was not recognition.
Harry whispered: ‘Cynthia.’
It was to him she explained, but still for Martin’s ears. ‘In the shed, to us, she shouted that she’d driven to the lay-by and seen nothing. It was loud enough for Fletcher to have heard, if he’d been hanging around. So she was killed, in case she was lying, and had seen something. Just in case.’
Silence again. Martin blinked. She went on, a catch in her voice, in case the blink had been intentional.
‘Fletcher gave me the vital information — that all the while he’d been after the money while I was involved with trying to rescue Harry. As I’ve told you, Martin, Harry was in desperate trouble. He couldn’t possibly have climbed the rope, because he was plastered with slippy clay. I didn’t think he could even hold on much longer. So I had to back up the car, and Fletcher was trapped beneath it. I killed Fletcher, Martin. He’s dead…the man who took Angela’s life.’
Martin’s lower lip quivered. A bubble of saliva appeared on it. For a second, intelligence awoke in his eyes, but the effort depleted him.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she told him huskily. ‘But I’ve already been informed that it’ll be treated as justifiable homicide. Otherwise…’ She reached forward, smiling, and placed her hand on his knee. ‘Otherwise I’d have had to ask you to appear for my defence.’
Then she straightened her skirt and got to her feet. ‘It was very pleasant speaking to you again, Martin, particularly as I had this news for you. Let Angela rest now. I’ll come again soon.’
Harry rose with her. Solicitor, she’d said. Perhaps she’d meant barrister. He couldn’t think of anything to say, but as he moved past Martin’s chair the hand rose from his chest, hovered, and slowly moved towards Harry. The head turned to monitor its progress. It clawed at Harry’s hand, then caught his wrist. Harry felt the pressure, then it fell to Martin’s knee.
When Harry turned, Virginia had run from the room.
Chapter Nineteen
They were ten miles nearer home when Harry next spoke. He was driving, his mind still engaged with the scene between Virginia and her husband.
‘Will your father accept all that?’
‘It wasn’t invented just for Martin.’
He had wondered how much, in his situation, Martin had warranted the truth. ‘There’s not a scrap of evidence,’ he pointed out.
‘True,’ she conceded. ‘But I think it’ll persuade him to withdraw the charge against Freda.’
‘Hmm!’ he said, and accelerated down the slip road to join the motorway. Then he was silent for a few miles.
He now had an elusive thought captured and analysed. She had been honest with him in finally revealing her true reasons for approaching Harry at the beginning. But she could have been doing no more than freeing her conscience, in which case it could signal the end of their relationship. Harry had to know the truth, which was all bound up in the question: did they now fully enjoy each other’s confidence? If she could lie to her husband, as he was sure she had, if only by implication, then she could still be prepared to lie to Harry. Would she dare to repeat it?
All this he finally forced his brain to comprehend. He wasn’t sure how to broach the question. He stalled.
‘Your father’ll never authorize that trick with O’Loughlin.’
‘Want a bet?’ She stretched, seeming to relax. ‘It could be fun, though.’
‘I can’t wait.’
She patted his knee in approval. It was clear she saw a continuation in their partnership. He plunged. ‘I could have…’ Then he sidestepped it at the last second.
‘I could’ve…sworn he’d refuse.’
She shook her head. ‘And have you thought, Harry…if it comes off, and O’Loughlin actually gives me the diamond, there’ll be half of its value for you.’
It sounded a little dishonest to Harry. ‘Me? It’s your diamond.’
‘It was your finger it stuck to,’ she reminded him severely.
It was in considering the peculiar pathways of her logic that he found himself saying it.
‘I could’ve climbed that rope, you know. I had a good grip.’
‘Do you imagine I didn’t realize that, Harry?’
Smiling, relaxed, he drove on, letting the car have its head.
The Second Jeopardy Page 23