The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [107]
“But why?” Ramses demanded, goaded into argument. “What motive could he have? According to his sister, he was devoted to his stepmother.”
“Motive, as all criminologists know, is not evidence. People kill people for the damnedest reasons. Some murderers hear voices. Others have such monumental egos that they appoint themselves judge as well as executioner. Then there are the simple souls who let small grievances pile up, month after month and year after year, until an equally small grievance pushes them over the edge. To say nothing of the—”
“You’ve made your point,” Ramses interrupted.
“No, I haven’t. I was working up to the fact that as yet we know almost nothing about any of these people. We need more background. I may have to go to Cairo for a few days.”
The boat bumped gently against the bank. Ramses jumped out, leaving his uncle to fend for himself. His concern for Adrian had been submerged in a more immediate worry.
Ramses was late. I had expected that, but I had not expected he would be accompanied by Sethos. The latter looked particularly bland.
“We’ve had to put dinner back,” Nefret said accusingly. “Even further back.”
“Sorry,” Ramses said.
Sethos went to the table and poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Ramses and settled himself comfortably in a chair with the other glass in his hand.
“Hmmm,” I said. “That bad, was it?”
Ramses took a long swallow and a deep breath. “No, not at all. That is—uh—not in the conventional sense. I’ve just had an interview with Harriet Petherick.”
“I suspected as much,” I said.
“I didn’t,” said Nefret. “I believed you.”
Ramses’s eyes fell under her accusing stare. “I gave her my word I wouldn’t tell anyone beforehand.”
“You gave me your word you’d never go off again without telling me.”
“I did tell…Goddammit!” Ramses slammed his empty glass down on the table. “Do you want to hear what happened, or don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I certainly do,” Nefret said gently.
Without further ado, Ramses plunged into his narrative. His description of Harriet Petherick’s attire, though vague as one might have expected from a male observer, raised a number of eyebrows. Having completed what was obviously for him the most dodgy part of the story, he paused for breath and for another glass of whiskey.
“Pink,” I said thoughtfully. “Veeery interesting. She must have taken the garment from her stepmother’s wardrobe. That implies premeditation. What happened after you refused her advances, Ramses? Was that her only reason for inviting you?”
“She claimed she wanted to give me certain background information,” Ramses said, more at ease now that the worst was over. “She was extremely critical of her father, who was, in her own words, selfish and cold to his first wife and to his children. The second Mrs. Petherick was quite unlike his first wife, worldly and wealthy, famous and—er—feminine. Harriet couldn’t understand why Magda was attracted to Petherick, but she was determined to marry him, and she succeeded.”
“There are attractions a daughter might not understand,” I said. “And Petherick was rich, wasn’t he?”
“So was Magda,” Ramses said. “Flaunting her jewels and expensive gowns, to quote Harriet.”
“That is no indication of wealth,” I remarked. “Rather the reverse, in some cases. I don’t know what her income may have been, but she spent it lavishly. As for her success in—er—trapping Mr. Petherick, men of a certain age are particularly vulnerable to such advances. She caught him at a susceptible moment.”
Emerson cleared his throat noisily, and I amended my analysis. “Some men.”
“Not I,” said Sethos. “I have always been susceptible.”
“Is that all?” Nefret inquired of her husband.
“She said that the lady had made a concerted effort to win Adrian over, at least at the beginning, and insists that he was genuinely attached to her. In retrospect,” Ramses said slowly, “I believe she was, and is, primarily concerned with gaining our help for her brother. She claims the police have fixed on him as the killer.