“I hadn’t thought it out that far,” Banks said. “I was just trying to get the lie of the land, that’s all. But I must admit you’ve got a way of reducing things to their essentials. Thank you for putting it so succinctly.”
Clayton stood up. His face was red. “This is insane, Banks. You’re clutching at straws. I think you’d better leave now.”
“I was just on my way. But I do have one more question.”
Clayton gritted his teeth. “Very well.”
“About the kind of work HarClay Industries does. Some of it is highly secret, isn’t it, MoD stuff?”
“Yes. So?”
“Is there any chance that Deborah might have stumbled across something she shouldn’t have, say in her father’s papers?”
Clayton shook his head. “First you practically accuse me of murder, then you bring up all this James Bond stuff. No, Chief Inspector, Deborah couldn’t have stumbled across any government secrets that got her killed. I think you already had the killer and you let him get off. Now you’re casting about wildly for some sort of scapegoat.”
Banks stood up to leave. “Maybe,” he admitted.
“And for your information,” Clayton went on, “I’ve known Geoff and Sylvie for years. I was there when they met. I was at university with Geoff. I have never had, nor am I having now, any other sort of relationship with Sylvie Harrison than that of a close friend. Am I making myself clear?”
Banks turned and met his gaze. “Perfectly.”
“And just for this one time I’m willing to forget that this meeting ever took place. But if you ever dare come here again with your-”
Banks held his hand up. “I get the message, sir. If I ask any more questions, you’ll go tell the chief constable. Fair enough.”
When Banks got outside and back into his car, his hands were shaking as he lit his first cigarette of the day.
II
Rebecca Charters hadn’t known what to do at first when Owen Pierce surprised her in the garden on Thursday. She had been scared, as she told Chief Inspector Banks, and her instinct had been to run inside, bolt the door and put the chain on. He hadn’t tried anything after that, even though he must have known she was alone in the house, but she had looked through the window and watched him stand by the garden gate for a moment before walking off. Her heart had beat fast.
After Banks had left, she rationalized her fear away. Pierce hadn’t done anything, after all, or even said or threatened anything. Perhaps she was overreacting. Pierce might not be guilty of anything. Certainly Inspector Banks had his doubts, and his idea of Deborah having arranged to meet the person who ultimately turned out to be her murderer made sense.
But when Owen Pierce came and knocked at her door on Saturday afternoon, while Daniel was out visiting the terminally ill patients in Eastvale General Infirmary, she felt afraid all over again.
Because it was a warm day and she liked the way the scents of the flowers drifted into the living-room, Rebecca had opened the bay window. Before moving to shut it and lock it, she shouted, “Go away or I’ll call the police.”
“Please,” he said. “Please listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never hurt anyone. I just want to talk to you.”
She left the window open but put her hands on top of the frame, ready to slam it down if he made any suspicious moves. “What about?” she asked.
“Just talk, that’s all. Please. I need someone to talk to.”
There was something in his tone that touched Rebecca, but not enough to open the door to him.
“Why me?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”
“But I know about you. I know what you’ve been through. You’re the vicar’s wife. I’ve read about the accusations and everything. I just felt…I’m not trying to say I’m especially religious or anything. I don’t want to lie to you about that. Please, will you just let me come in and talk? Will someone just treat me like a human being. Please.”
Rebecca could see tears in his eyes. She still didn’t know why he had come. She couldn’t let him in, nor did she feel she could turn him away. After all, she was a Christian, and a minister’s wife.
“Stay there,” she said. “I’ll come out.” She would feel safe outside in the garden, with the constant flow of people on the river path.
Why was she doing it? she asked herself as she went outside. She knew part of the answer. Not too long ago, she had allowed herself to doubt Daniel, her own husband. Instead of offering him her unqualified support and devotion, she had turned to liquor and carnality to escape her obligations. More than that. It wasn’t just her obligations she was running away from, but the horrible realization that she had doubted Daniel, she had believed him guilty. And now, here was this pathetic man, found not guilty by a jury and presumed guilty by the rest of the world. Call it pity, compassion, Christian charity or mere folly, but she couldn’t turn him away.
Daniel had put out a couple of folding chairs in the garden. When the weather was nice, he liked to sit and watch the river as he composed his sermon. There was also a beautiful view of St. Mary’s Hill, the fine old houses above the gentle slope of grass and trees. Here I am, Rebecca thought, sitting in the garden with a possible murderer on a warm June afternoon.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here,” she said.
“I told you. I want-I need-a friend. Or friends. Everywhere I go people turn their backs. I’m lonely and I’m scared. I heard somewhere about what your husband’s been going through. But you have obviously stood by him however hard it’s been. I’ve got nobody.”
Rebecca almost laughed out loud at the irony of it. Instead she said, “Yes. It has been hard. But the court found you innocent. You’re free now.”
Owen sniffed. “Not innocent. Just not guilty as charged. It’s a different thing. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not really free. Everyone believes I’m guilty.”
“Are you?”
“Will you believe me if I promise to answer truthfully?”
Rebecca felt her heart speed up. It was such a simple question, but it seemed to her that so much depended on it. Not just Owen Pierce, here and now, but her whole moral reality, her sense of trust and, even, her faith itself. She became aware of Pierce looking at her and realized that she had probably been holding her breath. Finally, she let it out and took the leap.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll believe you.”
Pierce looked her in the eye. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t do it.”
Somehow, Rebecca felt great relief. “What can we do for you?” she asked.
Almost as if he didn’t believe his good fortune, Pierce remained speechless for a while. His eyes filled with tears and Rebecca felt, for a moment, like taking his hand. But she didn’t.
Finally, in a cracking voice, he said, “I need help. I have to put my life back together again and I can’t do it alone.” As he spoke, he regained his composure and wiped the tears away briskly. “It may seem cold, calculated,” he said, “but it isn’t. When I found out who you were, I remembered you from court and I was drawn to you because I thought you’d understand, you know, about being thought guilty when you’re innocent, about all the hypocrisy they talk about truth and justice. I’m sure your husband didn’t do what he’s been accused of. No more than I did.”
“But I thought you would be angry with us. My husband gave evidence against you.”
Owen shook his head. “All he did was tell the truth. It didn’t make any difference to the case. It was me on the bridge. I never denied that. And it must have been terrible for you finding the body. No, I hold nothing against you or your husband. Look, I have no friends, Mrs. Charters. Everyone’s deserted me. I have no close family. Even strangers treat me like some sort of monster if they recognize me. I need support, public support. I need it to be seen that decent, intelligent people don’t think I’m a monster. I need you on my side. You and your husband.”