The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [42]
“That was the last. All of your friends have been heard from. Now which of them was it, do you think, who tried to kill you tonight?”
6
UNEMOTIONALLY JEAN CONSIDERED THE QUESTION. It should have aroused a cry of disbelief or denial, or, at the least, of horror. Instead it seemed to crystallize a fact she had known, without admitting it, for a long time.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Abruptly Jacqueline sat down.
“Well, thank God for that.”
“For what? That I don’t know?”
“No, no. For accepting the idea. I was afraid you would think me hysterical. I keep forgetting how intelligent you are, under that Alice in Wonderland exterior. You look so blasted young….”
“And I thought I was the one who was imagining things. Jacqueline, I’m not that clumsy, really I’m not. One accident, even two…But three in a row…”
“You honestly don’t remember anything about tonight?” Jacqueline lit another cigarette. The incessant chain-smoking was the only sign of nerves she displayed; her hands were steady and her face showed only alert concentration. “I backed up your claim of ignorance as a matter of policy; obviously you didn’t want anyone to get the idea that you suspect the identity of your attacker. But do you?”
“No, honestly. It could have been anybody. It was a madhouse; I don’t suppose anyone kept track of anyone else…. Oh! You said José—”
Jacqueline shook her head reluctantly.
“Even José. He had left, to go up to the apartment for a minute. I didn’t notice him after that, till he grabbed you away from me and tossed you down and started pushing your ribs around.”
“Away from…. Now it all comes out. Were you the one who dragged me out of the pool?”
“Why do you think I was sitting on the sidelines like a dainty old chaperone?” Jacqueline snapped. “I was watching you; and a heck of a job it was, too, the way everyone was milling around. But in my hastily formed opinion you were safer in a small pool than you would have been in the ocean at Ostia.”
“That is a point,” Jean said slowly. “Jacqueline, you aren’t a dainty old anything, you’re a witch. How long have you had this suspicion?”
“Since Michael mentioned your first ‘accident,’ right after I had seen the scars of the second. I wasn’t sure, of course; how could I be? But I started to get a nasty cold feeling in the pit of my stomach, and when you mentioned going swimming, it occurred to me what a perfect setup that would be for another accident. I couldn’t warn you, I was afraid you would think I had flipped. All I could do was transfer your activities to a place where I thought I could keep an eye on you. When I think how nearly I failed, even then…”
“You saved my life,” Jean said snuffily.
“Yes, well, let’s both sit and cry about it, shall we? Anyhow,” Jacqueline said grimly, “you’d better save your thanks. You aren’t in the clear yet. And you won’t be until we figure out who is doing this, and why.”
“The ‘why’ is pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Yes, in a way. In another way—no, curse it! You’re thinking of Albert’s death. So am I; it more or less rises up and hits you in the face. But don’t you see that that assumption only raises another, stickier problem? You were the one to find Albert. Not only was he capable of communication when you found him, but he actually did communicate. That’s such a classic situation it’s almost corny. But in every thriller I’ve ever read, the witness is only in danger while he remains silent. The murderer has to shut him up before he can spill the essential clue. But you have already spilled it! Just to keep the record straight—Albert did not say anything, or write anything other than what you have already described to me—and to all your friends, and the entire police department?”
“No.”
“And there was no object in that room which might have provided a clue to a hypothetical murderer? No item—no discrepancy, or inconsistency—that the police could have missed, but that might have significance to someone else?”
“No.” Jean shook her head.