Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [76]
“Do you think it was a German spy or sympathizer who killed him?”
Corcoran chewed his lip. “The more I consider that possibility, the less certain I am. At first I assumed, because of the work we were doing, that it had to be. Now I am beginning to remember that as well as being a superb mind he was also a young man, with a young man’s appetites and occasionally an impractical way of looking at things, and particularly at people.”
Joseph smiled in spite of himself. “Is that a euphemistic way of saying that he ignored other people’s feelings? Like, possibly, his wife’s? Or those of Dacy Lucas?”
Corcoran’s eyes widened. “You know about that?”
“I’ve heard. Was he self-centered?”
“I suppose so. A lot of young men are, in that area of their lives. And I think Mrs. Lucas is a headstrong woman, perhaps a trifle bored with being the wife of a man devoted to his work, in which she has no part, and very little understanding.” He shook his head. “She has a hot temper, and I think considerable appetite, at least for admiration.” His face puckered. “I’m truly sorry about it, Joseph. Sometimes we ask a great deal of people, and we forget that even highly talented individuals may have the same human weaknesses and needs as the rest of us.”
“Shanley, are you speaking of Theo Blaine, or of Mrs. Lucas? Or Dacy Lucas?”
“Or Lizzie Blaine,” Corcoran added wryly. “I really have no idea. And to be honest, I prefer not to. I don’t want to look at the people I know and like—and think such things of them.” His mouth twisted a little. “Perth told me that a woman was seen on a bicycle about half a mile from Blaine’s house, and there were bicycle tire marks in the damp earth of the path along the back. I wouldn’t like to think that it was Mrs. Lucas. That would be terrible. Although I suppose I have to admit that it is possible.”
“Why would she kill Blaine? She had nothing to be jealous of. If she wished to end the affair then she could have done it,” Joseph reasoned.
“Perhaps she didn’t wish to,” Corcoran responded, looking at Joseph with a patient smile. “Maybe he did?”
Joseph realized the obviousness of that now, but the thought was ugly. “And kill him?” he protested. “That seems . . .”
“A very violent passion,” Corcoran observed. “Of course it does. Insane to you or me. Very probably it was a German spy. I rather hope so. That resolution would be infinitely preferable to revealing the murderer as someone I know and probably like.”
“Did you know about his affair before?” Joseph asked.
Corcoran spread his hands in half apology. “I chose not to look, but I suppose I was aware.” Guilt creased his face. “Do you think I should have intervened somehow?”
Joseph drew in breath to say that he should, then changed his mind. “I don’t know. It probably would have looked more like interfering than the warning of friendship. I doubt it would have stopped him.”
“I could hardly threaten to dismiss him,” Corcoran said ruefully. “His genius put him above such law, and he knew it.”
“And whoever killed him?” Joseph asked, then almost instantly wished he had bitten the words into silence. Would Corcoran protect a man, even from payment for murder, if his brain were needed to finish a project that might be crucial to the war?
“Don’t ask me, Joseph,” Corcoran replied quietly. “I don’t know. Do the ordinary laws of society apply to men like Newton, Galileo, Copernicus, or geniuses of the spirit like da Vinci or Beethoven? Would I have saved Rembrandt or Vermeer from the gallows, if they had warranted it? Or Shakespeare or Dante, or Homer? Yes—probably. Wouldn’t you?”
Joseph had no answer to offer. Did you weigh one gift against another, count the price in other people’s lives, innocent people, make judgments? He refused to think whether such a thing had been necessary, or would yet be. Shanley Corcoran had no more idea than he had who had killed Theo Blaine.
He smiled, and they indulged in a pleasant debate as to who was the greater, Beethoven or Mozart. Corcoran always favored the lyrical