"If you mean Billy, he was a fine man." He took a handkerchief from his pocket. "I find it's easier to hold on," he said with a faint smile, "but you know where the lavatory is if you need it." He waited till her gagging ceased. "A psychiatrist who had three sessions with him described him as half-saint, half-fanatic. I've read a transcript of part of their interview. Billy believed in the salvation of souls and the mortification of the flesh, but he felt himself to be personally damned." He studied her for a moment. "From my own experience of him, through the medium of Terry Dalton-a youngster he befriended and cared for-I'd say Billy was a man of honor and integrity despite being a drunk and a thief."
"Why should any of that make him want to come here?''
Deacon got up and went to the window to toss his cigarette butt into the garden. The air that blew in was sweet and clean and smelled faintly of the sea. He turned back into the cloying atmosphere of her spare, minimalist surroundings and he began to understand why her car was always parked in her driveway, why she drenched the rooms in rose-scented spray, and, ultimately, why six months after Billy's death she had been so desperate to find out who her uninvited guest had been. He had had an inkling of it once before, but hadn't believed it. He held the back of his hand to his nose, and he saw recognition in her eyes because he was reacting the way she had expected when he first entered the house. "What did you do to him, Amanda?"
"Nothing. If I'd known he was there, I'd have helped him as I helped you."
She had put on a hell of a performance for Harrison in the last few hours, but was she acting now? Deacon didn't think so, but then he was no judge. "Why did you lie to Harrison about me and Barry?" he asked, opening all the windows to let in the freezing air. Anything was better than the sweet, sickly smell of death.
She shook her head, unable to cope with the sudden switch of direction.
"Are the Streeters right? Did you and Nigel work the fraud and then murder James?''
She lowered the handkerchief. "James worked the fraud. Everyone knows that except his family. They were so proud of the success he made of his life that they forgot what he was really like. He loathed them, never went near them in case their penny-pinching poverty rubbed off on him." She sounded very bitter. "He was always on the make, always after insider knowledge of stocks that might double in value overnight. I've never been less surprised about anything than when the police told me he'd embezzled ten million pounds."
"Where did he get the knowledge to bypass the computer system? Did Marianne Filbert help him?''
Amanda shrugged. "She must have. Who else was there?"
"Nigel de Vriess?" he suggested. "It's too much of a coincidence that he bought out Softworks after James and Marianne disappeared."
She rested her head against the back of her chair. "If Nigel was involved," she said wearily, "then he covered his tracks extremely well. He was investigated along with everyone else, but all the evidence pointed to James. I'm sorry the Streeters can't see that, but it is the truth."
"If you dislike James so much, why are you still married to him?"
"I didn't want any more publicity. And why get divorced if you don't want to marry again?" Unexpectedly she smiled. "There's a simple explanation for everything, Mr. Deacon, even this house. Lowndes, the company who developed the Teddington flats, also built this estate. I negotiated a straightforward exchange. I gave them full title to the Teddington property in return for full title to this house. And they did rather better out of the deal than I did. Converting the school was easy because I'd already done the drawings and obtained planning permission, and the flats were sold even before they were finished. Lowndes had far more trouble shifting these houses because they'd over-priced them, and the housing market was in the doldrums in nineteen ninety-one. You may not believe it, but I did them a favor by taking this one off their hands." Her voice took on its bitter note again. "If the bank hadn't threatened to pull the rug out from under me because of the uncertainty over James, I'd have made a great deal more by seeing the development through than accepting this house in lieu."
Were explanations ever that simple? Why hadn't she fought harder to see her project through? She was no pushover, in all conscience.
And once she'd cleared herself of involvement in the fraud... "You told me Billy liked to doss down as near the river as possible," he said, "but the same is true of you. Teddington's on the river. This house is on the river. Your office is on the river. Could the river be the connection between you?"
She raised the handkerchief to her mouth. There was still no color in her face except in the blue of her eyes, which followed every movement he made. "If I knew the answer to that-" She paused. "I thought-well, I hope it's enough just to identify him. If I can put the right name on his plaque-" she fell silent.
"He'll rest in peace?"
She nodded. "It's not always like this, you know." She gestured unhappily towards the window. "It's been worse since you came to the house."
"Has he ever spoken to you?"
"No."
"I think I heard him," Deacon said matter-of-factly. "Either that or I was dreaming. 'Devourer of thy parent, now thy unutterable torment renews'," he explained. "I heard that."
"Why would Billy say that?"
"I don't know. He was obsessed with religion. I think he may have murdered somebody and that's why he believed he was damned. Both he and his wife seemed to see hell as their inevitable destiny." My own redemption doesn't interest me ... Whose then? Verity's? Amanda's? He eyed her curiously. "He preached repentance to others but seemed to see his own salvation in terms of a divine hand reaching down into the bottomless pit to pull him out. He said there's no way out of hell except through God's mercy."
Her fingers tightened round the handkerchief, compressing it into a tight ball. "What does that have to do with me?''
Or me, thought Deacon. Why do I get the feeling that my fate is inextricably linked with Billy's ... he said London was full of shit ... I've watched men die violently ... the water reminded him of blood ... she sends her shit along the river to infect the innocent places further down...
"I need to talk to Nigel de Vriess," he said abruptly. "If he gave Billy your address, then Billy may have explained why he wanted it-" he paused to reflect-"although it doesn't explain why Nigel didn't warn you to expect him." He smiled slightly. "I would have said he didn't like you, Amanda, if Barry hadn't witnessed what you and he were up to last night."
She shrugged indifferently. "Your friend's quite capable of coming up with sick fantasies about what he saw through my window. What he did to my photograph was disgusting. Even you must recognize he's an unreliable witness."
Deacon drew his coat about him. It was very cold, although Amanda seemed unaffected by it. "I don't. He's totally reliable when it comes to anything visual. Is the Streeters' conspiracy theory right? Is that why it's so important to keep denying that Nigel was here?''
"You've already asked me that, and I've already given you my answer."
"Do you have de Vriess's telephone number?"
"Of course not. I haven't seen him in five years."
He gave a low laugh. "Then for your sake, I hope he's as good a liar as you are. You're too elegant to end up with egg on your face." He raised a hand in farewell. "Happy Christmas, Amanda."
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Deacon." She held out his handkerchief.
"You keep it," he said. "Something tells me you'll be needing it more than I do."
*18*
I reckon you and Mike take me for a mug," said Terry, opening another can of lager and sprawling on the sofa again. "I don't swallow this bullshit about you wanting to know what Amanda looked like. I've seen the way you watch Mike, and I've seen the way he watches you, and my guess is you're panting for him to do some uphill gardening, and he don't fancy the idea."