Tessa knew that he would be a formidable opponent and one whom it would be better to make an ally. She sipped her coffee and looked at him expectantly, waiting to see what his opening salvo would be.
Rasmussen shuffled his papers, opened his notebook, unscrewed the cap of his pen and took a mouthful of coffee, in no rush to begin the conversation. One hand clenched in her lap, out of sight, Tessa tried to appear relaxed. When he looked up at her, his gaze was bland and expectant. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, her initial utterances under stress potentially the most revealing, maybe even leading to her incriminating herself.
And that moment was when she relaxed. She knew the game he was playing for she’d played it herself. This time she wasn’t playing blind – she knew the possible consequences and she knew how to win. She took another mouthful of coffee and returned his gaze with the same blandness.
‘You seem to be coping with your husband’s death very well, Lady Kilpatrick.’ He broke first, although his conversational tone belied the, almost, accusation.
‘I’m not the sort of person who weeps and wails, Inspector. I’ve seen death many times. Besides, I don’t want to be distracted from the more important business of finding out who killed James. I’ll grieve properly when they’ve been caught.’
‘I’m confident that we’ll find out who killed Viscount Kilpatrick. You can leave that to us.’
‘Maybe. But if he was killed by someone he knew, I’m the person most likely to have an idea who that might be. He was an easy-going person on the whole, and if he’d fallen out with someone I think he’d have mentioned it. I’ve asked Major Henderson to send up his military records for me to go through to see if any names leap out at me.’
‘It may not be someone connected to his time in the army.’
‘Maybe not. But the gun by his side was an army-issue Webley. There are a lot of them around.’
‘The Webley was just a prop to set the scene. The pathologist thinks that he was shot with something like a Luger pistol.’
‘Really?’ Tessa leaned back in her chair, sure that Rasmussen hadn’t intended to let that slip so soon. ‘A civilian would be very unlikely to have one of those.’
‘Quite. Did your husband have one?’
‘No. I do, though. I acquired it during the war, as one does. But it was here as usual. No-one could have used it.’
‘You “acquired” it?’ He looked up, clearly curious. She wondered how much of her background he knew.
‘Yes. Quite by chance, really.’ Tessa was brisk, wanting to move on from that. ‘Anyway, it was here that weekend, put away in a locked drawer.’
‘Can anyone confirm that?’ He made a note.
‘I doubt it. Florence would have noticed if it had been in my bags when she unpacked, but if I’d carried it myself she wouldn’t have seen it. And I don’t suppose anyone would have checked on it here.’ She saw no point in denials; they would only make her sound guilty.
‘Your husband was a popular man.’ A new tack.
‘He was. People liked him.’ Tessa started to feel wary again.
‘Ladies particularly liked him, I gather. And he liked them.’ Rasmussen was deadpan.
‘So I discovered.’ Having established that she had the means with which to murder James, Tessa realised that he was now setting off to demonstrate she had motive and opportunity aplenty. He made another note.
‘You argued about this on the night he died.’ Another statement rather than a question.
‘We did. I went into the library and discovered him in a rather compromising situation. We argued. I made it clear that this was not something I would tolerate and we decided that we would divorce. We are not the people we were when we married and we were no longer compatible. It was sad, but we agreed that it was for the best.’
‘I see.’ Another few words in his notebook. He had a small, precise hand and Tessa could not read what he was writing. Having spent enough time being questioned, Tessa decided to change tack.
‘Tell me, Inspector. If I killed James, why would he have gone to meet me at the boathouse?’
‘You could have sent a message. Or gone to find him and suggested a walk, told him that you had reconsidered and wanted to talk to him where you wouldn’t be disturbed or overheard.’ Rasmussen shrugged as though he could think of a dozen more ways in which she might have lured James to his death.
‘I could have, but I didn’t.’ Tessa screwed the cap back on her pen and looked him square in the eyes, fed up with playing this game. ‘Although, if I had wanted to murder James, the boathouse would have been a good location. It’s relatively isolated but close enough to be able to get back to the house quickly, afterwards. Plenty of trees and bushes to give cover too. I could have told him that I wanted to talk, as you suggested, asked him to meet me. I could have changed into more practical clothes, slipped down there and shot him, arranged his body to look like a suicide, and I’m pretty sure that Major Henderson may have been prevailed upon to provide an alibi if, as you seemed to think when we first met, we had been having an affair.’
Tessa got up and wandered across to the window, thinking about how she would have carried out the murder.
‘When I got back to the house, I could have slipped up to my room, making sure no-one saw me. If I thought the house might be locked up, I may have unlatched a window earlier to make sure I could get in. I might even have had lock picks in my pocket if I’d really planned ahead.’
‘It would have been very easy, as you say.’ Rasmussen looked curious. She wondered if he thought this was a double-bluff.
‘But you underestimate me, Inspector. I would have done a better job.’ Tessa leaned back against the window sill and smiled, more relaxed now. ‘I would have made sure I had James’s own gun with me. I would have shot him in the correct side of the head. I wouldn’t have been the person to discover his body the following morning. I would have made sure that I had an alibi. I certainly wouldn’t have made that clueless country constable call in detectives.’ She sighed, wanting him to understand that she couldn’t have killed James because she wouldn’t be that careless. ‘Wait here, I want to show you something.’
Tessa left the room and sprinted up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, took two flat leather boxes from the bottom of a drawer and returned to the morning room. Rasmussen was looking unsettled, clearly surprised at the direction the interview had taken.
She opened the first box and slid it towards him. The heavy silver, not as polished as it might be, shone dully in the winter sunlight. She opened the second and placed it beside the first box.
‘That’s a Military Medal and that’s a Croix de Guerre. Those aren’t awarded lightly. Trust me, Inspector, I don’t make stupid mistakes. If I had killed James, you wouldn’t be here now questioning me. No-one would have doubted that it was anything other than suicide.’
Rasmussen looked at the medals for a few moments, taking in their significance. When his eyes returned to hers, Tessa thought she saw a new respect there. Tessa wanted him to understand that she knew how fragile life was, and that she would neither take another for the sake of hurt pride nor throw her own away in a moment of jealous rage. There was nothing else she could offer: no alibi, no evidence proving the involvement of someone else, nothing. All she could do was hope he believed her.
Rasmussen frowned, as though weighing her innocence. Then he smiled, almost imperceptibly, and closed his notebook.
Chapter Nine
Despite her thick wool coat, felt cloche hat, and gloves, the iciness of the Kilpatrick family chapel seemed to seep into Tessa’s very bones. A small, lonely building at the far end of the park, it had been the setting for centuries of the family’s baptisms, unions and departures, although it was rarely used these days. Hector tended to go to the village church, not that he was a terribly regular worshipper. Like many, the war had tested his faith and found it wanting.
‘Lighten our darkness Lord, we pray, and in your me
rcy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night.’ The minister paused, looking at the congregation of seven: the earl, Tessa, the family solicitor, three of the house servants and the ghillie who’d taught James to ride and to fish. Hector had asked James’s friends and the more extended family to stay away from the service. ‘For the love of your only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ.’
Tessa glanced sideways at Hector as he stared straight ahead. Showing public emotion was unthinkable, and so with clenched jaw he endured his youngest son’s funeral. She hoped there was some comfort in the fact that at least James was having a funeral. The older two boys lay in French soil, buried with the briefest of ceremonies, their resting places marked by makeshift wooden crosses. Hector had talked of his plans to one day visit them and say goodbye.
Tessa was also barely listening to the minister. For the last few days she’d been attending to the endless formalities that arose when someone died. Letters of condolence arrived by every post, piling up on the library desk awaiting her attention. A large envelope had also arrived from London containing as many of James’s military records as Bill had been able to gather, coaxing them from the powers above him that controlled and guarded this information. She’d already skimmed through them: lists of campaigns and battles, tragic lists of casualties; so many names. But none had leapt out at her and she felt as though it was a hopeless task. Tracking down a murderer by hoping that one person would stand out as having a possible grudge was perhaps the least likely way to yield fruit. With an enormous effort she pulled her attention back to the service and the minister’s words, concentrating on getting this dreadful day behind her.
Eventually, the service ended and the small party moved out to the graveside. James’s coffin was lowered in by four of the estate workers and the mourners stood with bare heads bowed; the persistent rain trickling down their collars. The earl threw in a handful of earth and Tessa a bunch of white heather. No-one spoke after the minister’s last platitudes, and leaving the men to fill in the grave, Tessa and Hector trudged back across the parkland to the house. The earl had said little since Tessa had arrived the evening before and he had spent the night in the chapel, keeping vigil beside his son’s coffin, alone at his own request. Now, they would have lunch followed by a meeting with the solicitor. After that would be dinner, and the following morning Tessa would take her leave and return to Edinburgh where she would begin to remake her life.
Hector was a man of few words at the best of times, and Tessa had never been sure how he’d felt about James marrying her. Cynical as it was, she knew her family’s wealth would be welcomed by almost every family and that the marriage would be thought of by most as a good match, but she had always wondered whether a more noble union might have been hoped for rather than the great-granddaughter of a grocer, even one as successful as hers.
Lunch was subdued, conversation stilted. In almost total silence, the earl, Tessa and Mr Peverill, the lawyer, ate their consommé, the roast beef, and the apple tart and sipped a glass or two of excellent claret. Hector Kilpatrick’s house was so cold that Tessa’s bedside glass of water had had a thin layer of ice on the top when she woke, but a well-stocked wine cellar and an excellent cook were two home comforts the earl valued.
‘You must be wrong.’ The earl stated this as fact, unable to comprehend what Mr Peverill, the third generation of his family to serve the Kilpatricks’ legal needs, had told him. The lawyer fidgeted awkwardly, embarrassed at the disclosure.
‘I’m very sorry, but it’s true. James made a will before he went to war, leaving everything to his brothers and then to you, sir, should they predecease him, which naturally wasn’t expected. When he married, the firm wrote and we suggested that his will be revised at the earliest opportunity, and we wrote again a few months later. However, we can’t force our clients to do anything. It is highly regrettable, but the fact is that he made no provision for Lady Kilpatrick in his will.’
‘He left me absolutely nothing?’ Tessa wanted to clarify.
‘Nothing. You will be able to keep any gifts he gave you. However, there are some pieces of jewellery which form part of the family estate, and they will need to be returned, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Tessa echoed him automatically. It wasn’t the money; heaven knows she didn’t need that. But that James had made no provision whatsoever for her was a shock. She hadn’t even been an afterthought. In fact, he had given no thought at all to her, even at the beginning of their marriage.
Hector was pacing the room.
‘There must be something we can do, Peverill.’
‘Not really. Lady Kilpatrick can make a claim in the courts, but only on James’s moveable goods such as cash in the bank and so on. James had little money of his own, everything being tied up in the estate. You could, of course, make provision yourself. Also, should there be an heir, there are various provisions in the entail that would provide for Lady Kilpatrick and the child.’ Mr Peverill looked at Tessa, and she saw the question hovering in his eyes.
‘No, Mr Peverill, James has not left an heir. I was injured in France.’
‘Of course. A terrible business.’
The room fell silent, everyone rather lost for words. Tessa got up and walked across to the fireplace, avoiding the pair of snoozing Labradors. She was furious, but didn’t want either her father-in-law or the lawyer to see.
The library was a lovely room with oak panelling, large windows overlooking the gardens and walls lined with shelves of books. Not just the uniformly bound, uniformly unread tomes of some other libraries, although there was a fair mileage of calfskin binding and gold blocking, but also the books that Hector had acquired more recently. A reader whose interests spanned philosophy, art, history and science as well as literature, the tables were stacked with books which now awaited the allocation of shelf space. Tessa loved this room, and early in their marriage, when she anticipated a golden future with James, she had been more entranced with the notion that one day she would be the chatelaine of this library, rather than she had been with the house it was contained within. However, it seemed that James hadn’t even left her the wherewithal to purchase a penny dreadful. She took a deep breath and turned to face the two men, both of whom were looking concerned.
‘Gentlemen, please don’t worry. If James had had any idea that he would meet his end, I am sure that he would have redrawn his will. Having survived the war, I rather think he felt invincible. If the Boche didn’t get him then he didn’t expect anything other than old age to do so. It doesn’t matter. Fortunately, I have my own money.’ She smiled, encouraging them to adopt her own positive attitude, hopefully dispelling some of the awkwardness in the room. ‘Now, let us speak no more of this. I’m sure that you have other business to discuss, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a walk.’ And she left, whistling up the dogs who leapt up and trotted out behind her.
By the time Tessa sat down for dinner with the earl, she had walked off her temper and was more resolute about her future. The fact she didn’t need James to make financial provision for her was perhaps why he hadn’t. If he had feared she would be left destitute or dependent on his family’s charity then he may have been prompted to ensure her security. Although, why he would see her father’s responsibility to provide for Tessa as taking precedence over a husband’s duty, she wasn’t sure.
But then duty and responsibility weren’t concepts that James had given much thought to since he came home. He’d been chasing a life free from both of those things because he couldn’t face the realities of a difficult marriage, a future with an estate and a title he’d neither expected nor wanted, and a lack of purpose now that the war was over.
One thing that she had decided, during that afternoon walk, was that if James didn’t feel required to make provision for her, then she did not feel the need to abide by society’s conventions for widows. She would not wear black for much longer, nor would she avoid social occasions. Life continued, and she saw no reason for he
r own to pause for a year in memory of a husband who had given so little thought to her welfare.
However, she would ensure that his murderer was found; she owed him that, although she was aware of a degree of self-interest. The circumstances of his death certainly incriminated her, and while she hoped that after their last meeting Rasmussen now believed in her innocence, if no-one else was convicted, some people would continue to see her as a murderess who’d escaped justice. Therefore, she would need to nudge Rasmussen until he, at least, found another suspect or two, and she would attempt to spot a possible murderer among the dusty records that Bill had sent.
Dinner was excellent and substantial. Leek and potato soup with oyster croutons was followed by Dover sole, and then roast venison with game chips, cheese soufflé and finally Queen of Puddings. Aware that Mrs Meikle, the formidable Dunbar family cook, would take leftovers as a personal insult, Tessa did her best, pleased that her walk around the park had sharpened her appetite. The earl was more talkative than at lunch: the meeting with the lawyer seemed to have helped him to draw a line of some sort. He would grieve for James as with his other sons but he seemed more optimistic about the future. Much as she did really.
‘I may go abroad for a while,’ he announced. ‘France perhaps, or Italy. Somewhere a little warmer, at any rate. Without the boys there’s nothing to keep me here. My factor can look after the estate and the house can be partly shut up.’
‘Really?’ Tessa was surprised. She had thought Hector wedded to the very soil of his land.
‘With this new heir – my cousin’s boy – I feel less responsible. I’m merely a caretaker now. Unless of course—’ He gestured vaguely in Tessa’s direction.
Death Will Find Me (A Tessa Kilpatrick Mystery, Book 1) Page 6