The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [72]
Jacqueline broke in. “Yes, a disguise. Who? Most of you are automatically eliminated, if my theory of motive is correct. Michael is like Ann, he couldn’t use Albert’s discovery. Neither could José. Jean? Again, no. As a librarian, I know how narrow your scholarly fields are. Jean has been working in medieval art history. She couldn’t produce a book on Paleo-Christian hagiology without raising eyebrows. That only leaves three possibilities. The three people who deal, in one form or another, with Roman archaeology and history. Because we can’t be sure, even now, precisely what form Albert’s work took.”
Slowly, inevitably, all eyes focused on a single figure.
“No!” Dana exclaimed. Clumsily she got to her feet. The appeal of Cleopatra had fled; there was only a sallow, rather chubby girl in a funny costume, fumbling at the table to keep from falling. “No, I didn’t! I couldn’t! I—”
“Someone catch her,” Jacqueline said. “She’s going to fall. She didn’t do it.”
“She’s a girl,” Andy said. “The only one who could disguise herself as Ann. A wig—”
“Don’t you see,” Jacqueline interrupted, “that it’s no use, Andy? You can’t use Albert’s material now. It would be a dead giveaway, after this. You’ve failed; it was all for nothing. Won’t you speak, and end this? It’s too hard on—on everyone.”
Andy shook his head.
“You’re crazy,” he said in a low voice. “A crazy old—”
Jacqueline glanced at Scoville. She spoke quickly, as if she wanted to get it over as quickly as possible.
“The light in the murder room was poor, but it was not that poor. Dana couldn’t by any conceivable trick have made Albert think she was Ann. Their figures, for one thing…And clothing; the killer didn’t have time for elaborate changes of costume, nor could he walk into the church carrying a suitcase. Even a wig would require a box. Ted is the only other person who might have had a motive, and I needn’t point out the absurdity of his trying to disguise himself. But the resemblance between Ann and her brother is striking. Ann is tall for a girl and Albert was short; he wouldn’t have noticed the height differential unless brother and sister were together. Hair, clothing—they were both wearing dark slacks and shirt that day—all Andy needed was a smear of lipstick, a scarf over his head, and a pair of sunglasses. It would serve, for long enough to do the job.
“Once I knew the truth, everything pointed to Andy. He fits both criteria—motive and means— and he is the only one who does. It would be natural for Albert to talk to Andy about his work; Albert thought of him as a boyhood friend and a fellow enthusiast. Albert’s English was poor, and his conversation was hard to follow; but Andy knows French and, I suspect, more Arabic than he admits. He’s an excellent linguist. He is the one among you most likely to understand what Albert was doing, and to recognize a meaningful discovery. He is also the one who could most easily profit from Albert’s work. It is, essentially, his own field. And he needs an idea. Shortly the trustees will be deciding on the renewal of the fellowships. Andy must have his. Everyone expects him to get it. And he is…Sam, I’m sorry; I’m not blaming you, no one could; but he is haunted by the fear of failing, failing himself and you. A different kind of child might have reacted differently to the magnificent image you project. Andy felt impelled to equal and surpass it.”
“My thesis,” Andy said in a strange, high voice. “I don’t need to steal ideas from anybody. He’s brilliant, Andy is. He’s brighter than anybody in the whole—”
“Oh, God,” Dana muttered.
“The thesis,” Jacqueline said. “And the boy, the friend, who committed suicide. Who had the nervous breakdown, Andy? How often has Ann lied to protect you? Did she know, in that other case, or did she only suspect?”
Andy fought visibly for control. The wild light in his eyes faded, and his quivering features grew hard.
“Now stop it,” he said. His voice was so calm, so reasonable that they all stirred uneasily. “I’ll end this business right