Denton, sitting up on a pile of pillows, his emaciated chest partly revealed by an unbuttoned nightshirt, stared at Munro. His interest in Jarrold now was rather theoretical, not at all a desire for justice or revenge. ‘Before he shot me, you told Janet Striker he was getting better.’
‘I didn’t; his bleeding doctors did. Any doctor who pretends to know what’s going on in another man’s mind is a bleeding quack. They had him on chloral, so he breaks out and when we arrest him he’s been drinking, and now the doctors tell us the combination of chloral and alcohol’s the sure way to lunacy. Well, they’re right.’
Denton stared at him some more. Not fully aware of his own state, his own motives, Denton sensed he was coming out of the anger and melancholy of the past weeks. He knew that he wanted to show himself to Munro — the gaunt face, the apparently haunted eyes — because he knew that his body was an accusation. Finally, when he could see that Munro was embarrassed and annoyed, he said, ‘Tell me what happened to Heseltine.’
‘Oh, that poor sod.’
‘Yes, that poor sod.’
‘Wasn’t our case; Division handled it. Still, Fred followed it once he found you’d had some connection with him.’
‘How did you find that?’
‘His man. Said Heseltine had been travelling with you.’
Markson was going through a notebook, licking a finger every two or three pages to turn them. ‘Man named Jenks,’ he said when he found the page.
‘I know Jenks.’
‘He found the body. Coroner’s jury ruled suicide, that was it.’ Markson looked up. ‘He was despondent.’
‘Like hell he was.’
Both detectives jerked; Munro looked offended. Markson said, ‘Division reported the man Jenks said his employer had been despondent. Just got chucked out of the army. Confirmed by interview with the victim’s father conducted by — mmm, local constabulary in-’
‘Jenks is a drunkard.’
‘Well, still-’
‘Heseltine wasn’t despondent!’
‘Leave it, Denton. It’s history now.’
‘He wasn’t despondent! I’d just spent three days with him. He was talking about going to Jamaica to take a job. When I left him at Waterloo, he was happy.’
Munro picked up his hat and leaned his forearms on his knees. ‘Leave it.’
‘How did he kill himself?’
Munro looked at Markson. The young detective looked at his notes, clearly marking time, and then said, ‘Slashed his wrists with his razor.’
‘It’s done,’ Munro said. He stood. ‘The coroner’s jury got the evidence, Denton; there was no doubt in anybody’s mind. He got in the bath with his razor and did it. I’m sorry, especially as you have to hear it in your condition, but it’s what happened.’
Denton tried to picture Heseltine’s cutting his veins with a razor. Lying in his own blood? He said, ‘Dressed or naked?’
‘Unh — I don’t have that, sir.’
‘With the water running? A man like Heseltine doesn’t make messes. He’d have known he’d be found by Jenks, who was incompetent; he’d have done everything to avoid leaving a mess. Find out.’
Munro shook his head. ‘It’s over. Don’t tell us how to do our job.’ He fanned a fly away with his hat. ‘Your job is to get well. It hurts me to look at you. I mean it — I want you to focus on getting your old self back; forget all this business. The young man who killed himself-’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
Denton held his eyes and then, feeling the pain in his back, the discomfort of the sheet under his buttocks, used both hands to shift the position of his right leg. He said, ‘Sit down, Munro.’
‘Got a job to do.’
‘Not yet. I want to talk to you.’
Munro looked at Markson as if to ask if Markson should stay, too; Denton nodded. Munro lowered his backside into the chair as if he feared sitting on something. He made a demonstration of taking out his watch and looking at it.
Denton said, ‘I don’t remember everything that happened when I was shot. More of it comes back to me, but I’m still blank where the shooting itself is concerned. Also just before that. I think I was coming to see you-’
‘You’d been at Mrs Castle’s.’
Denton raised his head. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Somebody grabbed Jarrold before he could put another bullet into you. Happened to be a private detective.’ Munro glanced at Markson, who seemed engrossed in his notebook, slowly turning the pages from back to front. ‘He was following you.’
Denton frowned, bewildered. ‘I’d just got back from France.’
Munro laid his hat on the bed again. His hair was pressed against his scalp where the hat had rested; he stroked the sides with his palms. ‘This is an embarrassment for the Metropolitan Police, Denton. I was going to tell you in good time. It’s, mmm, not something we’re proud of.’
‘I remember now — I thought somebody was following me. I think I’d thought so before, but there was never anybody.’
‘Lady Emmeline — Jarrold’s mother — was having you followed. She sent copies of their reports to Georgie Guillam.’
Denton’s brain seemed slow. He had to remind himself who Guillam was. When he remembered, he was enraged. ‘Why?’
‘I told you that Georgie’d pulled Jarrold over into his bailiwick. I thought it was just to make the connection — get himself some credit with the upper crust. Maybe that was all there was, to start with. He told the super he’d gone to Lady Emmeline’s house and offered her his help. Because Jarrold was now his responsibility. That could have been just Georgie’s sucking up. But getting the private detectives’ reports from her-He wanted to get something on you. So did Lady Emmeline. She really hates you, you know — a lot worse than Georgie. So they scratched each other’s back.’
Denton felt out of breath. ‘That’s how Jarrold knew where I’d be when he decided to shoot me.’
‘His mother wrote to him at least once a day. Sent him telegrams — one the night before you came back from France.’ Munro rubbed his forehead and blew out his cheeks. ‘One of the detectives had tailed you to the Channel ferry and told Guillam. Guillam cabled the French demanding they tell him when you started back. When he heard from them-’ Munro shook his head. ‘He did what no copper should ever do. He notified Lady Emmeline. After, he said he did it just so’s her detectives could pick you up again. But she telegraphed Jarrold, so what Guillam did meant that Jarrold could find you, too. Jarrold’s mother — and therefore Jarrold — knew where you’d be twelve hours before your boat landed that morning. The dicks picked you up again at Waterloo.’
‘And so did Jarrold.’
‘That’s my reading of it.’
‘But-’ Denton was thinking of the logistics of getting from Lady Emmeline’s Sussex house to London, then to Waterloo. Twelve hours would be plenty of time. Still-‘But why?’
‘Why Georgie, or why Jarrold?’
‘Jarrold.’
‘Loony.’
‘Not good enough, Munro. He’s insane, but he’s sane enough to get from Sussex to Waterloo, avoid the detective following me and wait for the opportunity to shoot me.’
‘Well, he knew about the detective, so avoiding him wouldn’t take a genius. Anyway, the detectives didn’t know him. The rest-’ Munro shook his massive head. ‘He’s a loony.’
‘With all respect, sir-’ Markson had put his notebook away. ‘It’s true it’s never been established why he shot Mr Denton.’
Munro waved the comment away. ‘He shot him because he was a loony that had been pestering Denton for a long time. He couldn’t get what he wanted from him, so he took his revenge.’