No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [151]
Gorley-Smith suppressed his momentary annoyance. “No, I don’t suppose he did. Look, Reavley, I know he was a friend of yours, but he was obviously driven beyond his sanity by whatever it was that young Allard was pressuring him over, and I’d really rather not know the details. I don’t think we should speculate.” His face was filled with distaste and with the anxious desire to avoid embarrassment.
Joseph knew what was on his mind. “I was going to ask you,” he said coldly, “if Beecher had any opportunity to speak to the master around about that time. He might have some ideas what we should do. As far as I know, Beecher had no close family, but there must be someone who ought to be informed as discreetly as possible, in the circumstances.”
“Oh.” Gorley-Smith was taken aback. “Actually, I don’t think so. Whatever sent him over the edge must have been rather sudden, and as it so happens, I know the master was in a meeting for at least two hours before we heard about it, because I was there myself. I’m sorry, Reavley, but you’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“You’re quite sure?” Joseph pressed. He wanted it to be true, and yet it made nonsense of the only answer he could think of.
“Yes, of course I’m sure,” Gorley-Smith replied wearily. “Basildon went on interminably about some damned building fund, and I thought we were going to be there all day. It was mostly the master he was arguing with.”
“I see.” Joseph nodded. “Thank you.”
Gorley-Smith shook his head in incomprehension and closed the door.
Once again Joseph made his way over the bridge to the Backs. The air was cooling at last, and the light shone through the flowers in rich colors like stained glass. The trees across the grass barely shimmered in the faint sunset wind, and there was no sound but the call of birds.
If Aidan Thyer had not killed Beecher, and Beecher had not killed Sebastian, then what was the answer?
He walked slowly, his feet silent on the dry grass. He passed into the shade of the trees. Here it smelled cooler, as if the greenness itself had a fragrance.
Who else could have put the gun on the roof of the master’s lodgings? Or was he wrong about that after all? He went back to the beginning of all that he knew for certain. Elwyn had come to his rooms, almost hysterical with shock and grief, because he had gone to fetch Sebastian for an early morning walk by the river and found him shot to death. There was no gun there. Anyway, no one had ever suggested Sebastian had any reason on earth to take his own life. No one who knew him had ever imagined such a thing.
The police had been called and had searched everywhere for the gun, but had not found it. Everywhere except the funnel openings to the drainpipes on the master’s roof.
Of course, it was always possible there was another answer he simply had not thought of. Maybe someone had quite casually walked out with the gun and put it in another college—or had given it to somebody else.
Except that unknown person had retrieved it with no difficulty in order to shoot Beecher.
Joseph concentrated on who could have shot Beecher and who might have wanted to. Everyone seemed to assume after Beecher’s death that he had killed Sebastian. But had anyone assumed it before?
Mary Allard? She would have had the fury and the bitterness to kill. But how would she have known where the gun was, or got herself to the roof for it?
Gerald Allard? No, he had not the passion, and he also would not have known where it was.
Joseph was opposite Trinity now. The wind was rising a little, whispering in the leaves above him, and here in their shade the light was fading rapidly.
Elwyn? He could not have killed Sebastian. He was accounted for in his own room at the time. Besides, he and Sebastian had been close, even for brothers, and so unalike as to have been rivals in very little. They admired each other’s skills without especially wanting to possess them.
Nor could Elwyn have had anything to do with crashing the