“Please, Superintendent,” said Sir Gerald, “you really have gone too far. This is all absurd. Caro couldn’t kill anyone. She’s not physically capable-just look at her. And Con was over six feet tall and well built…”
“She’s also an actress, Sir Gerald, trained to use her body on the stage. It may have been something as simple as stepping aside when he rushed at her. We’ll probably never be certain of that, or know what actually killed Connor. From the results of the postmortem I think it likely he had a laryngospasm-his throat closed from the shock of hitting the water, and he died from suffocation without ever drawing water into his lungs.
“What we do know,” he said, turning back to Caroline, “is that help was less than fifty yards away. The lockkeeper was at home, he had the necessary equipment and expertise. And even had he not been available, there were other houses just a bit farther along the opposite bank of the river.
“Whether Connor’s fall into the river was an accident, or self-defense, or a deliberate act of violence, the fact remains that you are culpable, Dame Caroline. You might have saved him. Did you wait what seemed a reasonable time for him to come up again? When he didn’t surface, you walked away, drove home and climbed back into bed, where Gerald found you sleeping peacefully. Only you were a bit more flustered than you thought, and didn’t quite manage to leave your car exactly as it had been.”
Caroline smiled at him. “That’s quite an amusing fiction, Mr. Kincaid. I’m sure the chief constable and your assistant commissioner will find it most entertaining as well. You have nothing but circumstantial evidence and an overactive imagination.”
“That may be true, Dame Caroline. We will have forensics go over your car and your clothes, however, and there’s the matter of the witness who saw a man and, she assumed, a boy wearing a leather jacket on the weir walkway-she may recognize you in an identity parade.
“Whether or not we can build a case against you that will hold up in court, those of us here today will know the truth.”
“Truth?” said Caroline, at last allowing her voice to rise in anger. “You wouldn’t know truth if it came up and bit you, Mr. Kincaid. The truth is that this family will stand together, as we always have, and you can’t touch us. You’re a fool to think-”
“Stop it! Just stop it, all of you.” Julia rose from the sofa and stood shaking, her hands clenched and her face drained of color. “This has gone on long enough. How can you be such a hypocrite, Mummy? No wonder Con was furious. He’d bought your load of rubbish and taken on my share of it, too.” She paused for a breath, then said more evenly, “I grew up hating myself because I never quite fit into your ideal circle, thinking that if I’d only been different, better somehow, you would have loved me more. And it was all a lie, the perfect family was a lie. You warped my life with it, and you would have warped Matty’s, too, if you’d been given a chance.”
“Julia, you mustn’t say these things.” Sir Gerald’s voice held more anguish than when he’d defended his wife. “You’ve no right to desecrate Matthew’s memory.”
“Don’t talk to me about Matty’s memory. I’m the only one who really grieved for Matty, the little boy who could be rude and silly, and sometimes had to sleep with his light on because he was frightened of his dreams. You only lost what you wanted him to be.” Julia looked at Plummy, who still sat quietly on the edge of her seat, her back straight as a staff. “I’m sorry, Plummy, that’s unfair to you. You loved him-you loved both of us, and honestly.
“And Tommy-as ill as I was I remember Tommy coming to the house, and now I can understand what I only sensed then. He sat with me, offering what solace he could, but you were the only one who might have comforted him, Mummy, and you wouldn’t see him. You were too busy making high drama of your grief. He deserved better.”
In two lightning steps, Caroline crossed the space that separated her from Julia. She raised her open hand and slapped her daughter across the face. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. You don’t know anything. You’re making a fool of yourself with this ridiculous scene. You’re making fools of us all, and I won’t have it in my house.”
Julia stood her ground. Even though her eyes filled with tears, she neither spoke nor lifted a hand to touch the white imprint on her cheek.
Vivian Plumley went to her and put an arm gently around her shoulders. She said, “Maybe it’s time someone made a scene, Caro. Who knows what might have been avoided if some of these things had been said long ago?”
Caroline stepped back. “I only meant to protect you, Julia, always. And you, Gerald,” she added, turning to him.
Wearily, Julia said, “You’ve protected yourself, from the very beginning.”
“We were all right as we were,” said Caroline. “Why should anything change?”
“It’s too late, Mummy,” said Julia, and Kincaid heard an unexpected note of compassion. “Can’t you see that?”
Caroline turned to her husband, hand out in a gesture of supplication. “Gerald-”
He looked away.
In the silence that followed, a gust of wind blew a spatter of rain against the window, and the fire flared up in response. Kincaid met Gemma’s eyes. He nodded slightly and she came to stand beside him. He said, “I’m sorry, Dame Caroline, but I’m afraid you’ll need to come with us to High Wycombe and make a formal statement. You can come in your own car, if you like, Sir Gerald, and wait for her.”
Julia looked at her parents. What judgment would she pass on them, wondered Kincaid, now that they had revealed themselves as all too fallibly human, and flawed?
For the first time Julia’s hand strayed to her cheek. She went to Gerald and briefly touched his arm. “I’ll wait for you here, Daddy,” she said, then she turned away and left the room without another glance at her mother.
When they had rung High Wycombe and organized the preliminaries, Kincaid excused himself and slipped out of the sitting room. By the time he reached the top landing he had to catch his breath, and he felt a welcome ache in his calves. He tapped lightly on the door of Julia’s studio and opened it.
She stood in the center of the room, holding an open box in her arms and looking about her. “Plummy’s cleaned up after me, can you tell?” she said as he came in.
It did look uncharacteristically clean and lifeless, as if the removal of Julia’s attendant clutter had stripped it of its heart.
“There’s nothing left I need, really. I suppose what I wanted was to say good-bye.” She gestured around the room with her chin. The mark of her mother’s hand stood out clearly now, fiery against the pale skin of her cheek. “I won’t be back here again. Not in the same way. This was a child’s refuge.”
“Yes,” said Kincaid. She would move on now, into her own life. “You’ll be all right.”
“I know.” They looked at one another and he understood that he would not see her again, that their coming together had served its purpose. He would move on now as well, perhaps take a leaf from Gemma’s book-she had been hurt, as he had, but she had put it behind her with the forthright practicality he so admired.
After a moment, Julia said, “What will happen to my mother?”
“I don’t know. It depends on the forensic evidence, but even if we turned up something fairly concrete, I doubt we’ll make anything stiffer than involuntary manslaughter stick.”
She nodded.
Near to the eaves as they were, the sound of the rain beating against the roof came clearly, and the wind rattled the windows like a beast seeking entrance. “Julia, I’m sorry.”