Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [127]
St. James stepped carefully onto the area from which the stones had been dislodged. He asked for a torch.
He could see how easily a skull could be fractured if someone had fallen here. The stones were roughly hewn in the manner of those used in so many structures in Cumbria. They were slate, with the odd piece of granite thrown in. They’d been mortared into place, as any other kind of positioning would have been foolhardy. But the mortar was worn and in some spots crumbly. It would have been no difficult matter for the stones to have been loosened from it. But such loosening could have come with age as well as with intent: Generations of people stepping from boats onto the dock would have over time caused the stones to become dangerous just as well as someone deliberately dislodging them.
He moved along the mortar, looking for marks to indicate a tool had been wedged into it to serve as a lever. He found, however, that the mortar was in such bad condition that it was going to be hard to say if this or that area of crumbling was the result of anything other than age. A shiny spot would have indicated someone had used a tool to mess about with the mortar, but there didn’t seem to be one.
He finally stood, having inched his way along the entire area of missing stones. Fairclough said, “What do you think?”
“It looks like nothing.”
“You’re certain?” Fairclough looked relieved.
“There’s no sign of anything. We could bring in some more powerful lights, as well as some higher magnification. But I can see why it was deemed an accident. So far, at least.”
Fairclough glanced at Lynley. “‘So far’?” he said.
Lynley said, “No marks on the mortar don’t indicate there are no marks on the stones that are missing.” And with a wry look at his friend, “I was hoping to avoid this, you know.”
St. James smiled. “I reckoned as much. I find there are distinct benefits to being moderately disabled. This happens to be one of them.”
Lynley handed his torch over and began stripping off his clothes. He got down to his underwear, grimaced, and slid into the water. He said, “Christ,” when the frigid water rose to his waist. He added, “At least it’s not deep.”
“Not that it’s going to matter,” St. James said. “Don’t avoid the best part, Tommy. It should be easy enough. There’ll be no algae on them.”
“I know,” he groused.
Lynley went under. It was simple, as St. James had said it would be. The dislodged stones hadn’t been in the water long enough to bear algae, so Lynley was able to find them quickly and heave them to the surface. He didn’t get out of the water, however. Instead he said to Fairclough, “There’s something else. Can you swing some light this way?” and he went under again.
As Fairclough swung the torchlight in his direction, St. James had a look at the stones. He was concluding that they were fine since there was no shine of strike marks against them when Lynley surfaced another time. He was holding something that he slapped against the dock. He lifted himself from the water, shivering, and grabbed the towels.
St. James looked to see what he’d brought to the surface. Fairclough, still above them on the dock, said, “What’ve you found?”
It was a filleting knife, St. James saw, the sort of knife used when one is cleaning fish. It had a thin blade some ten inches long. Most notable of all, its state clearly indicated it had not been in the water long.
MILNTHORPE
CUMBRIA
Deborah had no idea what on earth Simon thought was going to happen to her if she rang Nicholas Fairclough back. She’d perfectly weathered the confrontation with his wife; she was determined to do the same with Nicholas.
When she returned his phone call, he asked to meet her. He began by saying that he wondered if there was anything else she needed from him. He said he understood that filmmakers liked to include all sorts of footage to run during voice-overs, and there was plenty of scope for that, so he wondered if he could take her to Barrow-in-Furness to show her some of the areas where blokes lived rough. This might be important in the overall picture