The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [50]
“Did I miss anything?” The two Americans looked at each other, shook their heads. “Very well, I have only two questions. First, why did you come here?”
“I’m afraid I... insisted,” said Mrs. Simpson. Her fingers were twisting furiously at a delicate lace handkerchief in her lap. “Johnny hasn’t had so much as a day off in nearly two years, and I told him... I told him that if he didn’t take a vacation, I was going to take Jessie and go home.” Her voice broke and in an instant Holmes was before her, with that compassion and understanding for a soul in trouble that was so characteristic of him, yet which for some reason always took one by surprise. This time he went so far as to seize her hand, in order to force her to meet his gaze.
“Mrs. Simpson, listen to me. This was not an accident,” he said forcibly. “Your daughter was not kidnapped because she just happened to be on that hill at the wrong time. I know kidnappers. Had she not been taken here in Wales, it would have been while out with her nurse at the park, or from her bedroom at home. This was a deliberate, care-fully planned crime. It was not your fault.”
She, of course, broke down completely, and it took copious sup-plies of handkerchiefs and a judicious application of brandy before we could return to the point.
“But why here?” Holmes persisted. “How far in advance did you plan it, and who knew?”
The senator answered. “Because we wanted to get as far from civili-sation as we could. London—well, I know I’m not being diplomatic, but London’s a god-awful place: The air stinks; you can’t ever see stars, even with the blackout; it’s always noisy; and you never know when the bombs won’t start up again. Wales seemed about as far from that as a person could get. I arranged for a week off, oh, it must have been the end of May we started planning it, just after that last big bombing raid.”
“Did anyone suggest this area to you?”
“Don’t think so. My wife’s family came originally from Aberyst-wyth, so we knew the country in a general sort of way. It’s hilly like Colorado, where I grew up, no real mountains of course, but we thought it’d be nice to walk into the hills and tent for a few days. Nothing strenuous because Jessie was—because Jessie’s so small. Just someplace quiet and out of the way.”
“And the arrangements—the equipment, transportation—an auto-mobile dropped you, did it not? and you arranged for it to meet you af-ter five days—notifying the police and newspapers. Who did all that?”
“My personal assistant. He’s English. I believe his brother knew where to hire the tent and whatnot, but you’d have to ask him for the details.”
“I have that information for you, Mr. Holmes,” growled Connor from his desk. “You’ll have it before you leave.”
“Thank you, Chief Inspector. Now, Senator, that last day. You went for a walk, bought sausages and bread from a farmhouse, cooked and ate them at five o’clock, stayed inside the tent reading after that because it began to rain. You were asleep by eleven and woke at four o’clock to find your daughter missing.”
“She didn’t go!” Mrs. Simpson broke in. “Jessica didn’t go out of the tent by herself. The dark frightens her; she wouldn’t go outside even for the horses. I know she loved those ponies that wander around wild, but she wouldn’t follow them off, not my Jessie.”
Holmes looked directly into her shell-shocked features.
“That brings me to my second question. How did you feel when you woke up the following morning?”
“Feel?” The senator looked at Holmes with incredulity, and I admit that for an instant I too thought the question mad. “How the hell do you think we felt? Waking up to find no sign of our daughter.”
Holmes halted him with a pacifying hand.
“That’s not what I meant. Naturally you felt panic and disorienta-tion, but physically? How did you feel physically?”
“Perfectly normal, I guess. I don’t remember.” He looked at his wife.
“I remember. I felt ill. Thickheaded. The air outside felt so good, it was like breathing champagne.