“Actually, we have very few questions,” I began. “We know most of what happened.”
“Pray tell, what do you mean?” Meredith said. I wasn’t surprised she was the first to speak. She’d be the one to try and steer the conversation her way, to stay in control.
“It’s my fault, really,” I said, ignoring her. “But I’ll come back to that later. First, we knew Crawford would not be here today. We followed him into the restricted area last night, knowing he would go in to retrieve the loot from his home.”
“Loot?” Edgar said. “What do you mean by that? And wasn’t his house destroyed weeks ago?”
“Some of you may know of Crawford’s brushes with the law,” I said, watching for a reaction. “Smuggling before the war, for one. He carried on his thieving ways even after that avenue was closed. It seems he was moonlighting as a burglar, responsible for a string of thefts Inspector Grange had been investigating. He had a hiding place beneath the stone hearth of his cottage. Very secure, safer than a bank. We found gold and jewels, some cash, and this.”
I held out Peter Wiley’s ring with the Pemberton coat of arms. I walked in front of them, letting them see the brightly polished gold.
“But that was Peter’s,” David said. “Wasn’t he wearing it when he drowned?”
“Ah,” I said. “Good question. We can’t say for certain that he drowned. The doctor who did the autopsy had another theory.”
“But how did Crawford come by the ring?” David said. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“Nothing,” I said. “He overstayed his welcome. Dunstone was the target of a rocket attack by fighter-bombers early this morning. He didn’t get out in time. We almost didn’t, either.”
“Roger is dead?” Meredith said, her hand shooting up to her mouth. “Crawford, I mean.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. “He was caught in a rocket barrage.”
“Well, it is upsetting,” Meredith said, lowering her hand and regaining control.
“Of course,” I said. “Quite a trusted member of the household, wasn’t he? The kind of man you’d look to when things had to be taken care of.” I watched the two sisters. Steely eyes from Meredith, a deer-in-the-headlights look from Helen.
“Are you saying Crawford killed Peter?” David asked. “Is that why he had the ring?”
I looked at Edgar, wondering if and when he’d pipe up. But his gaze was on Meredith, his brow furrowed in thought. I wondered if he was thinking of Desdemona. “He wasn’t supposed to keep the ring, but then how can you trust a thief and smuggler?” I said.
“We certainly trusted him,” Meredith said, sounding indignant. “He had the run of the house.”
“He definitely did,” I said. “ ‘Appen the janner will find the shord.’ That’s what old Evan at the pub said. Perhaps the fisherman will find his way through the hedge as well. Meaning he was a sly one, and that he’d make his way where he shouldn’t, just as Sir Rupert did years ago.” Meredith looked away, and I wondered if there was any real sorrow beneath that rigid surface.
“You claimed to know what has happened, Captain Boyle,” Edgar said. “I suggest you proceed with facts and leave the baseless insinuations out. You were recently a guest here, remember.”
“If you insist,” I said, giving in to the pain in my calves and taking a seat. “Here’s what I do know. On the night he was killed, Peter Wiley made the mistake of speaking to someone about what Sir Rupert had said to him: that Peter was Rupert’s illegitimate son, and that he stood to inherit the estate. My guess is it was done out of genuine, innocent enthusiasm. Peter had lost his parents in America, Ted Wiley quite early in his life. He must have been overcome with joy to find he was part of this family and this house, which he’d heard so much about all his life. That may have prevented him from thinking through the implications for Sir Rupert’s daughters. I’d guess he blurted it out, unable to contain himself. But it was too much to bear, wasn’t it, Helen?”
“No!” she shrieked, burying her head in David’s shoulder.
“No, it wasn’t too much to bear?” I asked.
“Captain Boyle,” Meredith said, her teeth clenched. “Stop bullying dear Helen. It’s true that none of us liked the idea of Father’s unfaithfulness staring us in the face, but that does not add up to murder.”
“Even when Peter would inherit?” I said. “After all, your mother had promised you Ashcroft House. It was rightfully yours, but she died before she could put you in the will ahead of her husband. That must have rankled, after what you’d witnessed. Your father and Julia Greenshaw embracing in the garden. Or was it even more than a kiss and embrace that you saw?”
“Captain Boyle! Remember your manners,” Lady Pemberton said. There were no manners in an interrogation, but I thought it best not to lecture her on police procedures.
“Of course I hated Father for what he did,” Meredith said, too eager to defend herself to listen to anyone else. “He pushed my mother to an early grave and would have begged that terrible Greenshaw woman to return to Ashcroft if I hadn’t kept the letter from him.”
“Only that one?” I asked.
“It was the only one she sent, as far as I know,” Meredith said. “He even offered to get Edgar a position again, if only I’d give it over. I declined.”
“What!” Edgar said, roused. “How could you?”
“Easily,” Meredith said. “Why bother? You’d only ruin things again. Now you have your leisure to write your silly book. Even you couldn’t ruin that.”
“It’s true, then,” Edgar said. “Crawford. I confronted him about it a few nights ago, but he denied it. I’ve had my suspicions.”
“Our private affairs are of no concern to these policemen,” Meredith said, her eyes drilling into Edgar’s.
“Why did you accuse Helen?” David said, after an uncomfortable silence had filled the room.
“I think it happened on the stairs,” I said, not answering directly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the only reason his wife could look him in the face, that she sought solace in him out of guilt, not love. “And probably not on purpose. Perhaps near the painting of Helen. You can see a bit of Peter in that, I think. A push, a shove, a desperate need to get away from the words being spoken by this interloper, this man who might take everything away. Who might toss you all out of Ashcroft House.”
“Preposterous,” David said, looking to Kaz for vindication. Kaz stood rigidly silent.
“I know you didn’t mean to kill him, Helen,” I said. “But you couldn’t help yourself. It must have been a terrible shock. How could you live with no home and a badly scarred husband?”
“It was an accident, I tell you!” Helen exclaimed, blinking back tears as she sat up straight. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“So you called for Meredith,” I said. “She and Crawford were together, and they took over. Peter Wiley wasn’t dead yet, and he might have been saved. But they decided he was worth more dead than alive. He was worth Ashcroft House.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Helen said. David moved away, his eyes narrowing as he watched her face.
“It was all Crawford,” Meredith said, jumping in before Helen could say any more. “Yes, I admit it. I had an affair with him. I’m so ashamed, but everything was going wrong, and I made a terrible mistake. It was foolish, I know. After all, he was a criminal, as you said.” She spoke with the desperation of a woman willing to bear all to evade responsibility.
“What happened next?” I said.
“Crawford said it would be better if Peter died,” Meredith said. “We both tried to stop him, didn’t we, Helen?” On cue, Helen nodded. “But then he sat on his chest and put his hands over his mouth and nose. He suffocated him. He threatened to do the same to us if we said anything.” That fit with what the doctor had said about Peter being burked.
“Why did he do all this?” I asked, eyeing the staff lined up against the wall. Alice’s mouth was wide open at the shocking revelations.