Lynley had to admit that there was a certain skewed logic to what Havers was suggesting. Still, he didn’t like the fire with which she suggested it. That hot edge of feeling nearly always implied a loss of objectivity, the bane of effective policework. He had encountered it too often in himself to let it go ignored in his partner.
He knew the source of her anger. But to address it directly would be to give a distinction to Thorsson’s words that was undeserved. He sought another tack.
“He would know about the Ceephone in her room. There’s that. And according to Miranda, Elena left the room prior to the time Justine received the call. If he’d been in her room before-and he admits that he had-then he probably knew how to use the phone as well. So he could have made the call to the Weavers.”
“Now you’re onto something,” Havers said.
“But unless Sheehan’s forensic team give us trace evidence that we can connect to Thorsson, unless we can pin down the weapon used to beat the girl before she was strangled, and unless we can connect that weapon to Thorsson, we’ve got nothing much more than our natural dislike of him.”
“And we’ve plenty of that.”
“In spades.” He shoved his coffee cup to one side. “What we need is a witness, Havers.”
“To the killing?”
“To something. To anything.” He stood. “Let’s look up this woman who found the body. If nothing else, at least we’ll fi nd out what she was planning to paint in the fog.”
Havers drained her coffee cup and wiped the greasy crumbs from her hands onto a paper napkin. She headed for the door, shrugging into her coat, with her two scarves dragging along the floor behind her. He said nothing else until they were outside on the terrace above North Court. And even then he chose his words carefully.
“Havers, as to what Thorsson said to you.”
She looked at him blankly. “What he said, sir?”
Lynley felt an odd strip of sweat on the back of his neck. Most of the time he didn’t give a thought to the fact that his partner was a woman. At the moment, however, that fact couldn’t be avoided. “In his room, Havers. The…” He sought a euphemism. “The bovine reference?”
“Bo…” Under her thick fringe of hair, her brow creased in perplexity. “Oh, bovine. You mean when he called me a cow?”
“Ah…yes.” Even as he said it, Lynley wondered what on earth he could possibly come up with to soothe her feelings. He needn’t have worried.
She chuckled quietly. “Don’t give it a thought, Inspector. When an ass calls me a cow, I always consider the source.”
7
“And what’s this one, Christian?” Lady Helen asked. She held up a piece of the large wooden puzzle that lay on the floor between them. Carved from mahogany, oak, fir, and birch, it was a softly hued map of the United States, a gift to the twins on their fourth birthday sent from America by their aunt Iris, Lady Helen’s oldest sister. The puzzle reflected Lady Iris’ taste more than it said anything about her devotion to her niece and nephew. “Quality and durability, Helen. That’s what one looks for,” she would say stolidly, as if in the expectation that Christian and Perdita would be playing with toys right into their dotage.
Bright colours would have attracted the children more strongly. They certainly would have gone further to hold their attention. But after a few false starts, Lady Helen had managed to turn putting the puzzle together into a game which Christian was playing like a zealot as his sister watched. Perdita sat snugly against Lady Helen’s side, her thin legs splayed out in front of her, her scuffed shoes pointed northeast and northwest.
“Cafilornia!” Christian announced triumphantly, after spending a moment studying the shape his aunt held for him. He beat his feet on the floor and crowed. He was always successful with the oddly shaped states. Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, Utah. No problem there. But Wyoming, Colorado, and North Dakota were blatant invitations to a fi t of temper.
“Wonderful. And its capital is…?”
“New York!”
Lady Helen laughed. “Sacramento, silly face.”
“Sackermenno!”
“Quite. Now put it in. Do you know where it goes?”
After a futile attempt to pound it into the spot left for Florida, Christian slid it across the board to the opposite coast. “’Nother, Auntie Leen,” he said. “I can do more.”
She selected the smallest piece and held it up. Wisely, Christian squinted down at the map. He plunged his finger into the empty spot to the east of Connecticut.
“Here,” he announced.
“Yes. But can you name it?”
“Here! Here!”
“Are you stalling, darling?”
“Auntie Leen! Here!”
Next to Lady Helen, Perdita stirred. “Roseila,” she whispered.
“Roads Island!” Christian shrieked. With a whoop of triumph, he lunged for the state which his aunt still held.
“And the capital?” Lady Helen kept the puzzle piece away from him. “Come along. You knew it yesterday.”
“Lantic Ocean!” he bellowed.
Lady Helen smiled. “Close enough, I suppose.”
Christian tugged the piece from her fingers and smashed it into the puzzle face downward. When it didn’t fit, he tried it upside down. He pushed his sister away when she leaned forward to help him, saying, “I c’n do it, Perdy,” and managing to get it right on a third clumsy, sticky-handed try.
“’Nother,” he demanded.
Before Lady Helen could accommodate him, the front door opened and Harry Rodger entered the house. He glanced into the sitting room, his eyes lingering on the baby who kicked and burbled on a heavy quilt next to Perdita on the fl oor.
“Hullo, everyone,” he said as he took off his overcoat. “Got a kiss for Dad?”
Squealing, Christian barrelled across the room. He flung himself against his father’s legs. Perdita didn’t move.
Rodger swung his son up, kissed him noisily on the cheek, and set him back on the fl oor. He pretended to paddle him, demanding, “Have you been bad, Chris? Have you been a bad boy?” Christian shrieked with glee. Lady Helen felt Perdita shrink closer beside her and glanced down to see that she was sucking her thumb, eyes fixed on her sister, fi ngers kneading her palm.
“We’re doing a puzzle,” Christian told his father. “Auntie Leen ’n me.”
“And what about Perdita? Is she helping you?”
“No. Perdita won’t play. But Auntie Leen and I play. Come see.” Christian dragged on his father’s hand, urging him into the sitting room.
Lady Helen tried to feel neither anger nor aversion as her brother-in-law joined them. He hadn’t come home last night. He hadn’t bothered to phone. And those two facts eradicated whatever sympathy she might have felt upon looking at him and seeing that, whether the illness was of the body or the spirit, he was obviously unwell. His eyes looked yellow. His face was unshaven. His lips were chapped. If he wasn’t sleeping at home, he certainly didn’t look as if he were sleeping anywhere else.
“Cafilornia.” Christian poked at the puzzle. “See, Daddy? Nevada. Puta.”
“Utah,” Harry Rodger said automatically, and to Lady Helen, “How’s everything here, then?”
Lady Helen was acutely aware of the presence of the children, especially of Perdita quivering against her. She was also aware of her own need to rail at her brother-in-law. But she said merely, “Fine, Harry. How lovely to see you.”
He responded with a vague smile. “Right. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Patting Christian on the head, he left the room, escaping in the direction of the kitchen.
Christian began to wail immediately. Lady Helen felt herself growing hot. She said, “It’s all right, Christian. Let me see about your lunch. Will you stay here with Perdita and little sister for a moment? Show Perdita how to put the puzzle together.”