Julie held off speaking until they had walked a few yards and turned left onto a path that was known as the Garrison Walk, a two-hour circular ramble that ran along the extensive coastal breastworks that had protected the castle from seaward attack during the Civil War. The walk was said to provide spectacular views of the neighboring islands, and they had intended to take it at some point during the week, but today they could barely see down to the rocky shoreline forty or fifty feet below.
“Joey’s dead,” she told him.
“Oh, is he?”
She threw him a quizzical look. “You don’t seem very upset.”
“No, of course I am. But, you know, I’d figured somebody had to be dead, with all this going on, especially after the way Clapper took off from the station. All I didn’t know was who.” What he didn’t tell her was that his strongest feeling at the moment, almost his only emotion, unworthy though he knew it was, was a draining, overwhelming sense of relief. He was just glad it hadn’t been Julie, that’s all. His heart was still finding its way back up from his ankles.
Joey had been found that morning by Mrs. Bewley, the housekeeper, Julie explained. It looked as if he’d fallen into the passageway from the catwalk that ran around the building just under the eaves, where he liked to smoke a bedtime cigar and commune with the night skies.
According to Kyle Robb, with whom she’d chatted briefly, it had happened quite late last night. The catwalk and the passageway were under police seal. Like everyone else, Julie had been interviewed by Clapper: When had she last seen Joey? Where was she between-
“Clapper interrogated you himself? That must have been fun, considering the mood he’s in. My hand still stings from getting whacked with the ruler.”
“No, he was a lamb. He couldn’t have been more considerate. We’re now old friends. I’m on a first-name basis with him, too.”
At Gideon’s surprised expression, she smiled and explained. “Kyle told me what was going on. When Mr. Moreton called the police station to report what had happened-the first possible homicide in St. Mary’s in decades, or maybe ever-Mike just assumed that headquarters would take it away from him and hand it to a detective team that would helicopter in from the mainland. That’s the way the process is supposed to work. But when Kyle called Exeter-”
“They told him it was too foggy to get a helicopter out here, so Mike gets to run a possible murder investigation after all?”
“That’s it.”
“Which sent the ogre into remission and brought back the genial, amiable Sergeant Mike,” Gideon said, nodding. “I see. Julie, it’s after one. Would you rather go back into town and get some lunch somewhere? A pot of tea, maybe?”
“No!” She wrinkled her nose, a behavior he found annoying in everybody but his wife, in whom it was adorable. “I couldn’t eat anything. Can we just keep walking?”
“You bet. I can’t say I have much appetite either.”
They walked without talking for a while, the unseen waters of St. Mary’s Sound on their right, the barely seen outer walls of Star Castle disappearing into the fog behind them on their left. Jackets were zipped up against the moisture-laden breeze. Gideon lightly kneaded the back of Julie’s neck until he felt the tense muscles relax and heard a small, grateful sigh, after which they continued hand-in-hand on the path.
“Gideon, I’ve been thinking. If it was murder, it pretty much had to be done by someone at the castle, right? One of us.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Likely, yes, but hardly certain. This happened late, you said, when people would have been in their rooms for the night. I can easily imagine an outsider getting into the castle, up to the third floor, and out again without being seen.”
Julie shook her head. “No. Mr. Moreton locked up after we all got in from the museum, which was about ten. He locks up every night. And Mrs. Bewley left after that, but the doors-the entry to the building, and the one in the outer walls-automatically lock after her when she leaves. There would have been no way in. I specifically asked about that.”
“I didn’t realize that,” Gideon said. “You have been thinking, haven’t you? I assume you mentioned this to Mike.”
“Mike’s the one who told me about it.”
“‘One of us,’” Gideon echoed, thinking. “I didn’t know Joey very well, but he seemed like a nice enough kid. Some pretty strong views, yes, and maybe too fond of the sauce, but basically harmless. It’s hard to imagine any of these people wanting to do him in.”
“Well, he did get on Donald’s nerves quite a bit.”
“Yes, sure, but… murder? Do you really think-”
“No. Well, I don’t think so, who knows?” She hesitated. “But I do have a theory. I’ve been giving it some thought.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Now you’re not going to laugh at me, are you? And you won’t interrupt me and start arguing before I’ve finished?”
“Have you ever known me to?”
She laughed. “That doesn’t even deserve an answer. And you’re not going to tell me it’s not a theory at all, that it’s a hypothesis, or a speculation, or a-”
“I don’t see how I’m going to be able to tell you anything unless you get around sometime to letting me know what it is.”
“All right, then. Now I know this sounds a little convoluted, so just let me-”
“Julie-”
“Well, what if it wasn’t Edgar that killed Pete Williams? No, don’t interrupt. What if it was someone else? And what if Joey knew who that person was? Gideon, please, you promised. Just let me finish for once. And what if that person was afraid Joey might tell? Wouldn’t that person-” She threw up her hands. “Okay, okay, I should have known you wouldn’t be able to let me finish. What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong is that the bones aren’t Pete Williams’s, they’re Villarreal’s.”
At that she stopped in mid-stride to stare at him. “ Edgar! But how can that be? Edgar was eaten by a bear! In Alaska!”
“Julie, I’m not sure how it can be, but it is. I’m ninety-nine percent positive. He wasn’t eaten by a bear, he was stabbed to death-pretty viciously, too-and right now he’s lying-what there is of him is lying-on a desk at the police station right here on St. Mary’s. And I can guarantee that the remains haven’t been through the innards of a bear or of anything else.”
“You’re saying the newspaper got it wrong?”
“I believe such things have been known to happen.”
“You don’t sound very surprised.”
“I’m surprised that the bones on the beach are Villarreal’s, yes; but, no, I’m not surprised that the people in Alaska got it wrong. When you’re looking at tiny bits of bone that have been chewed up by a bear, gone through its digestive process, and come out the other end, it’s easy to let your imagination run away with you and conclude they’re human-especially if you have an unaccounted-for human being on your missing persons list. And the paper made it clear there was no physical anthropologist involved; just the local police surgeon, who almost certainly wouldn’t have been trained to distinguish human from nonhuman.” He shrugged. “So, yes, I had my doubts.”
She nodded slowly, with a faint smile. “That’s what that ‘Hm’ was, when I read you the story back in Penzance, wasn’t it?”
“That’s what it was,” he said, smiling back. They began walking again.
“But why in the world would Edgar have come back to Saint Mary’s?” she wondered. “ When would he have come back?”
“Never. I don’t think he ever left.”
They had come to one of the several batteries along the path-a grouping of three black, well-preserved, seventeenth-century cannons, glistening with moisture and arranged in an arc to aim out to sea. Julie leaned against one of them, shaking her head. “But he resigned from the consortium after he left, remember? He sent Vasily a letter, a fax. From the States.”
“No, somebody sent Vasily a fax from the States.”