Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [180]
“Something other than that filleting knife could have been used to dislodge the stones, Simon.”
“Of course. But the stones themselves would have borne the marks of a tool being used on them. And they had no marks. You saw that. Beyond that, look how many others were loose. That boathouse has doubtless been an accident waiting to happen for years.”
“No case to present, then.”
“That’s my conclusion.” St. James smiled regretfully. “So I’d have to say to you what I’ve said— quite unsuccessfully— to Deborah. It’s time to go back to London.”
“What about a crime of intent?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning one wishes another dead. One hopes for it. One even plans it. But before the plan can be put into action, an accident supervenes. The intended victim dies anyway. Could we have that here?”
“We could, of course. But even if we do, the point is in this case no guilt can be established, and no one’s behaviour is suggesting guilt.”
Lynley nodded thoughtfully. “Still and all…”
“What?”
“I have the nagging feeling— ” Lynley’s mobile rang. He glanced at the number then said to St. James, “Havers.”
“Could be something new, then.”
“I can only hope.” Lynley answered the call with, “Tell me something, Sergeant. At this point, anything will do.”
CHALK FARM
LONDON
Barbara had placed the call to Lynley from her home. She’d been into the Met long before the crack of dawn to engage in some further investigating using the vast resources there. Afterwards, not wishing to be anywhere near the place when acting Detective Superintendent Ardery showed her face, she’d scarpered home. Twelve cups of coffee had seen her through the early morning, and at this point she was so lit up by caffeine that she doubted she’d be able to sleep for days. She was also smoking like a steam engine going full throttle. Her head felt as if her brain were about to begin sending out torpedoes.
The first thing she told Lynley was, “There’s a kid, Inspector. This may be important. This may be nothing. But turns out Vivienne Tully’s got an eight-year-old daughter called Bianca. I think she also knew I was going to show my mug on her doorstep. Her flat was swept clean of everything personal, and she didn’t exactly swoon with shock when I told her I was from the Met. I only found out about the kid because I’m bonding with the building’s porter in a very big way. Expect an announcement soon in that quarter.”
“You got inside, then.”
“My talents, sir, know not a single bound. I live to impress you.” Barbara went on to tell Lynley what she’d learned from Vivienne. She gave him everything from the woman’s education to her employment to her intention to return to New Zealand, land of her birth. “Didn’t deny a thing about Fairclough: knowing him, acting as a board member of his foundation, seeing him regularly for meals and such at Twins. But she threw up a roadblock when it came to why he has a key to her digs.”
“This child, Bianca. Could she be Fairclough’s?”
“Possibly. But she could also be his son’s, Ian Cresswell’s, the prime minister’s, or the Prince of Wales’s for that matter. She could be a wild night on the town, a little whoops, if you know what I mean. Anyway, this Vivienne hasn’t worked for Fairclough for years. She hasn’t worked for him since before she even had the kid. It’d be hard to believe she’s maintained a long-distance romance with him, wouldn’t you say, a long-distance romance enduring enough to have had his kid?”
“Perhaps it’s not a romance that’s been maintained for years, Barbara. Perhaps Bianca’s the result of a chance encounter that brought Vivienne back into Fairclough’s life at some point.”
“What? Like they find themselves in a lift somewhere, lock eyes on each other, and the rest is Bianca? I s’pose that’s possible.”
“He established a foundation,” Lynley pointed out. “He needed board members, and she’s one of them.”
“Can’t be that. Foundation’s been around long before Bianca was a gleam in anyone’s eye. Anyway, accepting a position on the foundation board’s one thing. Getting involved with Fairclough and staying