Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [18]
Balfour sat up in his seat. He’d known that Pendergast and Esterhazy had hunted at Kilchurn before, of course—Esterhazy had mentioned as much in one of the interrogation sessions—but the fact that Grant had taken them out and could vouch for Esterhazy’s being an excellent shot was news to him. Esterhazy had always played down his skill. Balfour cursed himself for not having discovered this nugget on his own.
Next, it was his own turn to speak. Balfour described his arrival at the lodge; Esterhazy’s emotional state; the search for the body and the dragging of the pool; and the subsequent fruitless search of the moors and surrounding hamlets for any sign of a body. He spoke slowly and carefully. Ainslie listened intently, interrupting only infrequently with questions.
When he was done, Ainslie peered about. “And in the ten days since the shooting was reported,” he said, “the police have continued their searches?”
“That is correct,” Balfour replied. “We dragged the pool not once, but twice, and then a third and fourth time. We also dragged the surrounding pools. We used bloodhounds to try to pick up a trail from the accident scene. They found no trace, although to be sure there had been very heavy rains.”
“So,” said Ainslie, “you have found no independent evidence Pendergast is dead, nor any evidence he is still alive. Is that correct?”
“Correct. We did not recover his body or any personal effects, including his rifle.”
“Inspector,” Ainslie said, “have you found Dr. Esterhazy to be cooperative in this matter?”
“For the most part, yes. Although he describes his shooting skills rather differently than Mr. Grant.”
“And how does Dr. Esterhazy describe his shooting abilities?”
“He calls himself inexperienced.”
“Have his actions and statements corresponded to those of a person responsible for such an egregious accident?”
“So far as I have seen, yes.” Balfour, despite all, had not been able to put his finger on a single thing in Esterhazy’s actions that was inconsistent with shame, grief, and self-blame.
“Would you say he can be considered a reliable and competent witness to these events?”
Balfour hesitated. “I would say that nothing we’ve found to date has in any way disagreed with his statements.”
The coroner seemed to consider this a moment. “Thank you, Inspector.”
Next to speak was Esterhazy himself. In the ten days since the shooting, he had regained a good measure of composure, although a faintly haggard look of anxiety seemed to have deepened about him. His voice was steady, earnest, and low. He spoke of his friendship with Pendergast, which started when his sister married the FBI agent. He briefly mentioned her shocking death in the jaws of a man-eating lion, which elicited audible gasps from the audience. And then—at the gentle prodding of the coroner—he talked about the events leading up to Pendergast’s death: the hunt on the moors; the discussion of which stag to try for; the stalking on the Foulmire; the rising fog; his own disorientation; the sudden, bounding entrance of the stag and his instinctive shooting; the frantic attempt to rescue his former brother-in-law; and the man’s sinking into the quickmire. As Esterhazy spoke of these last events, and of his desperate trek back to Kilchurn Lodge, his veneer of calm broke and he became visibly upset, his voice cracking. The onlookers shook their heads, clearly moved and sympathetic. Ainslie’s face, Balfour noted with approval, remained as mournfully skeptical as always. He had a few questions about minor particulars—the timing of certain events, Esterhazy’s medical opinion of Pendergast’s wound—but beyond that, nothing. Esterhazy’s testimony was over in fifteen minutes. All in all, a remarkable performance.
Performance. Now, why had he chosen that word?
Because, despite everything, Balfour continued to find himself deeply suspicious of Esterhazy. It was nothing he could put his finger on.