‘Yes, Inspector, I’m afraid that I lied.’ The last of the light left the room and she got up awkwardly to switch on a tall standard lamp with a heavy fringed shade which stood in one corner.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because I wanted the conversation between Dorothea and me to remain confidential.’
She looked at him with something of her old defiance.
‘You do see,’ he said gently, ‘that now that’s impossible?’
‘It doesn’t seem important any more,’ she said.
‘Dorothea came into your flat when she brought you back from the hospital?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She was in a hurry but I asked her to come. There was something I wanted to discuss with her.’
‘Would you tell me what that was?’
She stared at him, her hands knotted on the bony lap. She wanted to believe that he would understand.
‘It was a question of morality,’ she said. He did not reply and waited for her to continue. Why did he have so much more patience with Emily Bowman, he wondered, than he did for Theresa Stringer?
‘I was considering taking my own life,’ she said quickly. ‘I wanted her views.’
She was pleased to see that she had not shocked him and that he felt no inclination to laugh. He considered her words carefully.
‘You must have known,’ he said gently, ‘what Mrs Cassidy’s position would be.’
Emily Bowman paused. I admired her, she thought. I expected too much of her. She wanted to explain.
‘I hadn’t expected,’ she said slowly, ‘ that she would be so… rigid.’
Emily remembered Dorothea’s horror when, stumbling, she had tried to explain her intentions, her motives: ‘You can’t even think of it,’ Dorothea had said. ‘ You know it’s quite wrong.’
Ramsay waited for Emily to continue. Again she was reminded of the young priest. She wanted to be honest with him.
‘I had always thought her sympathetic,’ Emily Bowman said. ‘Open to new ideas. We had considered her rather progressive. Her reaction came as a shock. She spoke, even, about the devil. It wasn’t very helpful.’
It had been horrible, she thought. Dorothea’s certainty, her energy, her impersonal pity had been demeaning. It had reduced Emily to an example in a theological argument.
‘Did you kill her?’ Ramsay asked.
Emily moved in her chair.
‘I just wanted to stop her talking,’ she said. ‘She would go on about the sanctity of life. There was a bread knife on the table – she’d had no lunch and I made her a sandwich. I picked up the knife and turned towards her. She didn’t realise. She was very trusting. She kept on talking, telling me all the things I didn’t want to hear, too good for me to bear. You’re young and you wouldn’t understand. I meant to kill her. What right did she have to stand there preaching? How could she know?’
‘What happened?’ Ramsay asked.
‘I missed,’ she said simply. ‘I meant to kill her and I missed. I didn’t even have the strength for that.’
‘But you cut her wrist,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And there was, I suppose, some satisfaction in that. There was a lot of blood. And at least she was quiet for a while.’
‘She must have been very shocked,’ he said, smiling.
‘No, not very. I don’t think anything shocked her. And she was too busy, I think, trying to save my soul.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘She must have convinced you.’
‘Because I’m still alive, Inspector?’ She seemed to find the idea amusing. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she was more persuasive than I like to admit. Or perhaps I’m less brave than I thought I was.’
She sat back in the chair, preoccupied with her own thoughts. Ramsay thought she was a formidable woman. He hoped she was telling the truth now. If she was lying it would be impossible to tell.
‘What time did Mrs Cassidy leave here?’ he asked.
‘At about quarter past four. Your aunt appeared almost immediately afterwards. The game of bingo in the common room had just finished – that usually ends at quarter past I think.’
‘Wasn’t Dorothea worried about leaving you alone?’
‘Not too worried,’ Emily said. She smiled. ‘She had enormous faith, you know. Besides, I promised her I wouldn’t take all my pills last night. It was the only way to get rid of her.’
‘Did she come to see you later?’
‘No,’ Emily said. ‘I was surprised. She said she would come, either before her talk to the Residents’ Association or afterwards. When she didn’t come I thought she’d given up on me. It was quite a relief.’
‘Did Dorothea tell you where she intended to go after leaving here yesterday afternoon?’
‘I’m not sure. She said so much I found it rather exhausting.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘ Do try to remember.’
She looked up at him. ‘Of course. Don’t misunderstand me, Inspector. Despite what I said, I liked Dorothea Cassidy and admired her conviction. I was jealous of it. I’m not deliberately trying to obstruct your investigation.’
He stood up and moved towards her to look out of the window. The curtains of Walter Tanner’s front room were drawn against the prying eyes of the neighbours. A uniformed policeman stood outside.
‘She was going to see Clive Stringer’s mother,’ Emily Bowman said suddenly. ‘We saw Clive leave the building and walk towards the bus stop over there and Dorothea said, “Poor Clive, I don’t know how he’s going to react to it all.’”
‘Did she explain what she meant?’
‘No.’
‘You have heard,’ Ramsay said, ‘ that Clive Stringer was killed this afternoon?’
She would not meet his eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d heard.’
‘Were you here all afternoon? Did you see him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘ I noticed he’d gone missing when your sergeant gave me the lift to the hospital. I should have said something then, but it was always happening. He frequently wandered off.’
‘And later this afternoon?’ he persisted. ‘ Did you see anything then?’
She shook her head.
‘I was in this chair,’ she said, ‘but I was asleep. The treatment always makes me tired.’
‘You knew them both,’ he said. ‘You must have some ideas. Tell me about them.’
Of all the people he had talked to that day he thought she saw the situation most clearly. At first she was suspicious. She thought he was flattering her, then she saw the ghost of her old lover and she began to speak. She wanted to show him how perceptive she was, how clever.
‘Dorothea was a fanatic,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise to what extent until she came here yesterday. She was ruled by her conscience, by principle. I suppose I should find that admirable but it didn’t make her easy to get on with. Principles are all very well but you shouldn’t let them get out of hand. She thought compromise was wicked.’
Ramsay said nothing. Was this leading anywhere or was it Emily’s response to being lectured the day before?
‘She would have had more sense if she’d had a family of her own,’ she said. ‘She could never have children. She tried to accept it but it wasn’t easy for her. I was late having a family and I know what it was like – watching your friends with babies, holding them, feeling jealous every time you saw a woman in a maternity smock in the street. It affected her. If she had had children perhaps she wouldn’t have felt the need to look after the rest of us so much.’
‘Did she treat you all like children?’
She nodded. ‘She thought she knew what was best for us.’
‘And Clive?’ he asked. ‘Where did he fit in?’
‘He was a ready-made son. Dependent, simple as a five-year-old, desperate for affection. What more could she want? We thought she was being so kind, so generous. But it wasn’t good for the lad. He already had a mother. It was a dangerous way to carry on. It confused him.’