The Blue Virgin

by Marni Graff

  He sat up quickly, knocking over his water glass, sweat breaking out on his freshly scrubbed brow. The water ran unheeded under the sofa, the lime wedge stranded on the pile of his hand-woven Kirman.

  A square of poster board had been crudely cut to fit the envelope. It was printed in pencil, all capitals, and simply read:

  I SAW YOU THERE. MEET INNER BOOKSHOP MONDAY 11 AM.

  Cam stared at the missive for a few long seconds, his mind racing over the implications of the message. With a shudder, he dropped the card as though it burned his hand.

  *

  Declan lounged on his worn leather sofa, a well-thumbed address book open on the walnut coffee table alongside a Styrofoam container from his Indian takeaway. He brushed naan crumbs off his chest and dialed a London colleague, muting the television.

  “Willis—Barnes here—how goes it at the Met? … Not interrupting anything important, am I? … Listen, I’m coming up blank on a background check in a murder case, and I wondered if you could suss it out on your end. Might be too old to be on computer, but worth a shot … Excellent, my shout next time I’m down there … A punter who lived for a while in Chipping Norton, disappeared about twenty-eight years ago. Name of Allen Wesley.”

  He hung up, settling full-length on the couch, his feet propped up on one arm, his head on the other. Taking the remote off mute, he scanned the evening’s offerings, settling on a Monty Python rerun for background noise. Pulling his briefcase up on his lap, Declan took out the files on Bryn Wallace, re-reading the interviews from the residents of Magdalen Road. He had the tantalizing feeling an important sliver of information was just out of his grasp.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Mary sometimes heard people say: ‘I can’t bear to be alone.’ She could never understand this.”

  — Monica Dickens, Mariana

  5:15 PM

  Nora hit Althea Isaacs’ buzzer in the lobby, waiting for a response on the intercom. Nora had gone down to Davey Haskitt’s flat first but had come upstairs when there’d been no answer to her knock.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Isaacs, I’m Nora Tierney, a friend of Bryn Wallace and Val Rogan’s. Would it be possible to speak with you for a minute?” There was a long pause. “I’m not a reporter, just a friend.”

  Finally the woman said, “For a minute, then,” and hit the release. When Nora reached her flat, Althea was waiting at her door, the chain on.

  Through the gap, Nora glimpsed Althea’s dark, smooth skin, complemented by her pale yellow pantsuit. “Thank you very much for agreeing to speak with me.” Without her dark glasses, Althea’s blindness was immediately apparent.

  “What did you want to see me about?”

  Nora decided to be direct. “Val Rogan is my best friend, and she’s under suspicion of murdering Bryn. I’m trying to prove she didn’t.” She didn’t mention she would also like to find the killer. “Could I ask you a few questions about what you heard that night?”

  Another moment of hesitation, and then the woman seemed to make up her mind. “You’d better come inside.”

  Althea took off the chain and led Nora to the same sofa Declan Barnes had occupied, sitting down herself after feeling the rim of her chair with the back of her leg. “You’re American, Miss Tierney, from somewhere in New England?”

  “Please, call me Nora. And you’re right, I grew up in Connecticut.”

  Althea Isaacs smiled. “Brilliant! It’s a hobby of mine, puzzling out people’s accents. I’m Althea. Now that’s all sorted, what can I do to help you? I met Valentine a few times and thought her quite pleasant. Oh! I do hope I’m not the reason she’s under suspicion.”

  “Why would you think that?” Nora asked.

  “Because I told Inspector Barnes I heard arguing from Bryn’s flat the night she died. And it sounded like two women.”

  Nora chewed her lip. No wonder Declan Barnes had rushed to judgment on Val. He had a witness to the argument between Val and Bryn.

  “Can you tell me exactly what you heard?”

  “Of course. There was a brief period of music, and then two voices, both female, rose in argument.”

  “How long did they argue?” Nora asked, jotting in her notebook.

  “About ten minutes. Then it was quiet. I thought all was well until about a quarter to 12 when it started again, only this time the voices were much quieter. I’m afraid I went into my bedroom at that point, where I couldn’t hear it, and went to sleep. I told the inspector I wear earplugs to sleep due to the traffic noise because my hearing is so sensitive.”

  Nora considered what Althea said. “Val admits she and Bryn had a mild dispute but insists it was patched up when she left.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know quite what to say, except I distinctly heard two arguments.”

  Nora thought hard. “The first argument, which we presume to be the one Val took part in, began around what time?”

  “11:15.” Althea was firm. “I’m certain about the time because my mantel clock chimes every fifteen minutes.”

  “All right,” Nora said. “Bryn and Val argue from that point, for about ten minutes you said?”

  Althea nodded. “If even that long.”

  “Which brings us to 11:25. Then there was a second argument about quarter to 12?” Nora leaned forward in her chair. “Althea, that’s twenty minutes later. Could it have been someone different the second time?”

  Althea nodded quickly. “I did tell the inspector I thought I’d heard the flat door open and close after the first argument ended. Maybe it was your friend leaving?”

  “Did you hear it open to admit someone else?” Nora asked. Had she found a major clue Declan Barnes had missed?

  “No, I didn’t,” the blind woman admitted reluctantly. “Let me think a moment.”

  Nora held her pen poised in midair as Althea concentrated. She couldn’t wait to tell Simon what she’d unearthed.

  “Wait!” Althea said. “I forgot I went to the loo just before the second argument—I might have missed a second visitor to the door.”

  “Not a visitor, Althea,” Nora said grimly. “A murderer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “If a man insisted always on being serious and never allowed himself a bit of fun and relaxation, he would go mad or become unstable without knowing it.”

  — Herodotus, The Histories

  7 PM

  Nora drove the Celica on its last voyage, Simon beside her. Tomorrow she would turn it in for the Volvo that Simon had examined and pronounced sound. She was keyed up and hungry.

  Val rode in the back with Janet. She had insisted they take Janet out for drinks and dinner. “We can toast Nora and Simon’s book news, too. Jeff Nichols told me to get a good meal and a good night’s sleep, and I plan to do both.” She checked her watch. “Louisa and May should be getting the train right about now.”

  “What’s your plan with them?” Nora asked.

  Val made a face. “I suppose I’ll have to thank May for getting me Jeff Nichols. I told her I’d bring Janet to the Randolph tomorrow to meet her. Will you two come along?” Val caught Nora’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Please don’t make me inflict her on poor Janet alone. Even Lou isn’t enough to counter that experience!”

  Nora laughed. “What do you say, Simon—up for a bit of running interference for Val?” She made a left at the foot of the Banbury Road and turned into the driveway of The Old Vicarage.

  “Absolutely,” Simon said. “I’ve always wanted to play footie.”

  Nora parked, and they entered a honeyed stone building with mullioned windows, draped lavishly with wisteria.

  “It’s lovely here, Val,” Janet said as they were led to their table in a corner. The dark fuchsia
walls were covered with oil paintings. Soft lighting reflected the patina of the antique furnishings, while discreet classical music in the background enhanced the polished feel. “Much more elegant than my parsonage,” Janet declared, scanning the tall menu placed before her. “I haven’t been here since my teens. I came for a bank holiday with a group of friends, and we had high tea, right outside in that lovely garden, gossiping and laughing over the silliest things. It seems like a lifetime ago,” she said wistfully.

  “After enduring meeting May, Janet’s going to go home until the inquest,” Val explained. “There are neighbors and friends she wants to see. I admit I’m curious to see how May will behave.”

  “In terms of you?” Simon asked.

  Val nodded. “If she’s not properly sorry for me, or for Janet, I may well earn the murderous title Barnes wants to give me.”

  “Shh, don’t say that.” Janet patted Val’s hand.

  May Rogan always had such a hard time with Val, Nora thought, and worried about her influence on Louisa. Could May have decided to eliminate Bryn Wallace? Val’s stepmother certainly had the financial resources to hire someone to do her dirty work if she were enraged enough. Of course, killing Bryn wouldn’t have changed Val’s lifestyle. There would always be someone lining up to fall in love with her golden-eyed friend. But would May have been perceptive enough to consider that? Aloud, Nora asked, “How was your meeting with Nichols, Val?”

  “Dad’s old partner came through for me. I feel better after talking with him, like someone believes me.”

  “We all do, Val,” Nora said, feeling a twinge of guilt for the few moments she’d doubted her friend.

  “He also told her to get back to normal activities until this is all settled,” Janet added, patting Val’s arm.

  “That’s why I’m going to stop at the co-op after running Janet home tomorrow. There might have been developments in the approvals for the new building, and it isn’t fair to leave Lottie shouldering everything alone.”

  “Lottie’s a dear,” Nora said.

  “She’s such a dependable colleague. I owe her so much. I should have invited her along tonight.” Val’s eyes darkened. “I feel so guilty having a nice dinner out with Bryn gone.”

  The table’s occupants were still until Janet spoke up. “Val, if Bryn were here she would be coaching you from the sidelines, urging you to live while you have the chance.”

  *

  Simon pushed his empty dessert plate away. “That was an incredible meal.”

  The quartet lingered over coffee and pudding. As Janet excused herself to find the ladies’ room, the others turned once again to the events that brought them all together.

  “I still have no idea who would have wanted Bryn to die,” Val confessed. “I think I’m numb to the reality of it.”

  Nora immediately pulled out her notebook and heard Simon unsuccessfully stifle a sigh. “I’m determined to look into this, Val,” Nora said. “You can’t go on being a suspect while the real murderer walks around enjoying life. I’ve made a list of a few people I’m going to talk to over the next few days—”

  Val interrupted her. “Nora, that could be dangerous, and I’ve already lost someone I love.”

  “Thank you, Valentine,” Simon threw in.

  Nora was prepared for their opposition. “I’m not going to be in any peril just talking to a few people. I can’t believe you and Janet don’t want to know what really happened.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Besides, I’ve already started. I went to see Declan Barnes today and then to see Bryn’s neighbor Althea Issacs. Barnes wouldn’t talk about the case with me, of course, but I got Althea to remember a very important point.”

  Nora related her theory that a late visitor came to Bryn’s flat after Val went home. “I know it’s upsetting, but Val, it’s a real possibility.”

  Simon had remained silent during her explanation, but Val’s excitement showed. “Finally, a reasonable explanation that doesn’t include me.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have visited Bryn that late?” Nora asked. “Was she expecting someone?”

  “Not at all,” Val said.

  Janet rejoined the table. “Janet, I was just going to ask Val to think back to her time at the station last night,” Nora said. “Val, did you hear anything relevant, any names that caught your interest or seemed connected?”

  Val considered this as Janet spoke up. “Nora, I appreciate what you want to do, especially for Val, but you have a child on the way. None of us wants you to endanger yourself.”

  “I promise I’ll be safe, Janet. I’ve almost convinced Simon to come with me for more interviews tomorrow—” Nora broke off and gave Simon an appealing look.

  “My friend, you can be so manipulative at times,” Val said.

  Simon cleared his throat as he composed a reply. “I think I’m the last one who’d want to see Nora in jeopardy. But I’ve also seen that once she becomes determined about something she won’t let it go.” He kept going even as Nora put her hands on her hips. “So when I can be available to accompany her, I will. Against my better judgment, I might add.”

  “You couldn’t resist adding that last bit, could you?” Nora teased.

  “Absolutely not,” he answered.

  “Last night I did hear something,” Val said. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now that I’m concentrating—”

  Nora leaned in, pen poised over a clean page. “Yes, go on.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Yankee. But when I was being escorted to my overnight accommodations, the officer at the desk congratulated that young sergeant for going through Bryn’s mail.”

  “I would think that’s standard, Val,” Simon said.

  “I know, but at the time I was chucked off at the invasion to her privacy. Anyway, he asked, ‘Any joy, McAfee?’ And my escort answered along the lines of: ‘Not till we’ve checked out Wilson and Wheeler for a connection.’ And then he shut up like he shouldn’t have said that in front of me, but I think he meant Cam Wilson.”

  Even Janet sounded interested. “Bryn dated him. I met him once and wasn’t impressed. She talked about him for a few months, and then he suddenly wasn’t in the picture, and she said they weren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  Nora scribbled away.

  “Bryn told me she outgrew him. They weren’t together when we met,” Val said. “But that last night she did mention he’d been calling and bothering her.”

  “But who’s Wheeler?” Simon asked.

  Val answered him. “I’ve no bloody idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “The Assistant Commissioner was careful of his appearance before meeting men younger than himself.”

  — Graham Greene, It’s a Battlefield

  Monday

  10 AM

  Louisa Rogan brushed her silky blonde hair until it shone. On the train up last evening, as her mother read the latest issue of Vogue, Louisa had given thought to what she would say to Janet Wallace when they were introduced. “I’m sorry your daughter was murdered” wasn’t the way to go. And she wanted to be sincere. She knew the pain of sudden loss from when her father had died. Our father, Louisa corrected herself, smiling at the thought that Lloyd Rogan connected her by blood to Val.

  She wished she could see Val more. As a small child she hadn’t been aware of the distance her mother put between them. When she got older and more observant, Louisa recognized her mother treated Val almost as she treated Louisa’s school friends—polite and pleasant, but rather patronizing and aloof. Her mother was prone to let cutting remarks fly at Val, too, remarks Louisa noticed never occurred when their father was home.

  The girl sighed. May did have moments of true caring, especially tow
ard Louisa, and even enlightenment at times, but that was not her typical reaction to situations. Her mother was who she was, and Louisa was old enough to wish for change but not expect it.

  She sat back and wondered how she could possibly get away from her mother today to begin her search to help Val. She rummaged through her train case, debating whether to let her hair hang loose or to wear a black velvet Alice band. Louisa opted for the headband, hoping it would prevent her mother from constantly whispering “brush that hair off your face” during the meal.

  *

  In the second of the two elegant connected rooms, May Rogan finished the last touches to her makeup before slipping into her clothes. She had decided a demure cream silk blouse with gold buttons worn with black dress slacks would be appropriate and flattering. May always presumed she would be inspected by the people around her, at the center of the spotlight as it were. She leaned close to the mirror, examining her facial lines and the slight sag of middle age that appeared despite her best efforts to control it with facials, toning exercises, and cream imported from Switzerland.

  Stepping back to check her full-length reflection, May was satisfied, flicking a stray hair into place. She stifled a yawn while changing purses to match her outfit. May didn’t care for an early start to her day, but she did like to control events when possible. She had told Val to bring Janet Rogan to the Randolph for their meeting. Afternoon tea might be considered too twee, so a late breakfast it would be, the better to leave the rest of her day free for the shops. She would still impress Janet with the hotel’s pedigree. Celebrities stayed there when in town, and several films had shot scenes at the hotel as well. Upon arriving in her suite last night, May had decided it must be the same one Sir Anthony Hopkins had occupied during the filming of Shadowlands.