Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [220]
Tim licked his lips. “Me and two blokes. I understand.”
Toy4You looked him over, as if expecting something to ooze from his pores that would indicate the future. Tim stood his ground. Toy4You nodded sharply and punched in some numbers on the phone.
Tim said, “And after… when it’s over… you promise…”
“I promise. When it’s over, you die. Just like you want it. However you want it. You get to make the rules for that.”
10 NOVEMBER
MILNTHORPE
CUMBRIA
When Lynley phoned her early in the morning, he was clever enough to ring the inn and not her mobile. Because of this, Deborah answered. Simon or Tommy, she’d reckoned, would ring the mobile. She’d see the caller’s number and decide whether to answer or not. Even the reporter from The Source rang her mobile. A call on the phone inside her hotel room meant Reception was probably enquiring about the length of her stay.
Thus, Deborah winced as Lynley’s pleasant baritone came over the line. When he said, “Simon’s not happy with either of us,” she could hardly pretend he’d phoned the wrong number.
It was quite early, and she was still in bed. Clever Tommy to have thought of that as well: Catch her before she left the inn, and there was little she could do to avoid him.
She sat up, pulled the blankets closer against the chill, and said as she rearranged the pillows, “Well, I’m not happy with Simon, either.”
“Right. I know. But as it happens, he was correct, Deb. From the start.”
“Oh, isn’t he always?” she said tartly. “What are we talking about anyway?”
“Ian Cresswell’s death. He could have prevented it if he’d been paying closer attention to where he was tying up his scull that night.”
“And we’ve reached this conclusion because…?” Deborah waited to hear him say he’d reached his conclusion because of Simon’s insufferably logical presentation of the facts, but he didn’t go in that direction. Instead he told her about a family imbroglio he’d witnessed among the Faircloughs and a conversation he’d had with Valerie Fairclough afterwards.
He concluded it all with, “So it seems I’ve been brought up here as a means of Valerie’s delving into her husband’s doings. It was a fool’s errand with me as the fool. Hillier as well. I daresay he’s not going to be happy when I tell him how we’ve both been used.”
Deborah shoved off the blankets, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and looked at the clock. She said, “And you believe her?” as she read the time. A phone call from Tommy at six thirty in the morning could mean only one thing and she was fairly certain she knew what that was.
He said, “In the ordinary course of things, I might not. But with the coroner’s conclusion and with Simon’s assessment, along with what Valerie told me— ”
“She could be lying. There are motives, Tommy.”
“Without anything more than motives, there’s no case to present, Deb. That’s how it works. Frankly, people often have motives to do away with other people. They often have the wish to do away with other people. And still they never lift a finger against them. That’s what apparently happened here. It’s time to return to London.”
“Even without putting the matter of Alatea Fairclough to rest?”
“Deb— ”
“Just listen to me for a moment: Everything about Alatea suggests secrecy. People with secrets have motive to do all sorts of things to protect those secrets.”
“That may be, but whatever she might have done or might be doing to protect her secrets— assuming she has them— what she didn’t do was murder Ian Cresswell. That’s why we came up here. We now know the truth. As I said, it’s time to go home.”
Deborah got out of the bed. The room was cold. She shivered and moved to the electric fire. It had clicked off in the night, and she turned it on. There was moisture climbing the window, against which she brushed her hand to look out at the day. It was still quite