than her own predicament, the more her contorted body would relax.
“Right, Sonia. What I have to admit is an act of trespass.”
“Really?”
“Here. Into your premises.”
“You broke in?”
“Effectively, yes.” She decided not to admit that her trespass had been accompanied. No need for Carole’s name to be mentioned. “A few days ago, while you were staying at Yeomansdyke. I didn’t break into the house, just the stables. And that was hardly ‘breaking in’-everything was unlocked. But I went into the hayloft.”
“And you found the stuff up there? It was you who alerted the police to what they’d find?”
The idea angered Sonia, and Jude was glad to be able to allay that suspicion. “No. In fact we-I only missed the police by minutes. They arrived here just after I’d left. Someone must have tipped them off, but it certainly wasn’t me.”
“But why did you come here? What made you think you’d find anything in the hayloft?”
“Donal.” Sonia trembled at the name. “Some things Donal had told me made me suspect that he might have pitched camp in your stables.”
“What did he say?” she whispered.
“Nothing directly. I just pieced things together.”
“And you knew you were going to find the bloodstained clothes?” Sonia was almost weeping now. “Alec’s bloodstained clothes?”
“No. All I expected to find was evidence that Donal had set up base in the stables. The bloodstained clothes were a total surprise-well, ‘shock’ is probably a better word.”
“But Donal didn’t tell you anything else, did he?” Fear had reduced Sonia’s voice to a thin whisper.
“He implied to me that he was preparing to blackmail somebody-a married couple, or one member of a married couple.”
“Oh God. He didn’t tell you what it was about, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
The answer seemed to remove a great strain from Sonia Dalrymple. Her body untwitched, like a baby going to sleep, as the tension flowed out of her. If there had been any doubt in Jude’s mind as to who was the target of Donal’s planned blackmail, it had now been dispelled.
But finding out what he wanted to blackmail Sonia about would have to wait. Jude had another question of greater priority. “You know that, as well as the bloody clothes in the hayloft, the police also found a bloodstained knife.”
Sonia nodded. “Presumably the murder weapon?”
Jude didn’t disillusion her. “Did you see it?”
“No. They described it to me. A Sabatier kitchen knife, I gather.”
“Do you have such a knife in your kitchen?”
“Well, yes, of course. Everyone does, don’t they? The police checked through the stuff we’ve got, but I don’t suppose-” Sonia stopped short and looked at Jude curiously. “You’re not suggesting that the murderer stole the knife from our kitchen?”
Jude shrugged. No need at that time to remind Sonia that the police had in their possession the knife that killed Walter Fleet. And that it had been a bot knife, not a kitchen knife. “It’s possible,” she replied.
She sat on the sofa beside her client. “You were talking about Nicky coming home unexpectedly…”
“What?” Sonia looked confused by the sudden change of subject. “Oh, yes.”
“So he’s coming home tomorrow?”
“Mm.”
“And the last time he was home was, well, just before you went into Yeomansdyke?”
“Yes.”
“And the time before that?”
“Well, he was home for a weekend at…No.” Sonia corrected herself as the memory came back to her. He did come home for…well, really just a few nights at the beginning of February.”
“Would that stay have included the night that Walter Fleet was murdered?”
“Well, it…I’m not sure. I…” A strange, new expression came into Sonia Dalrymple’s face. “Yes. Yes, it was late that afternoon that he came home.”
30
“My name’s Nicky Dalrymple. We met when you came to visit my wife.”
“That’s right. And you gave me that very generous cheque for the N.S.P.C.C.”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “I believe you also do…some kind of therapy with Sonia.”
“I do.” When she heard that kind of scepticism in a voice, Jude never bothered with further explanations.
“I’m phoning because…I wonder if we could meet?”
Jude bit back the teasing instinct to ask if he too was in search of therapy. She didn’t think Nicky Dalrymple was the kind of man who would understand the concept of a joke. “Yes, of course.”
“It’s in connection with…that appalling business up at Long Bamber Stables. I’ve been giving the police some information they required, and I think there are a few points you might be able to help me with.”
“Really?”
“Well, I am right-you were the one who actually found Walter Fleet’s body, weren’t you?”
“Yes, that was me.”
“I wonder then, when would it be convenient for us to meet?”
“As soon as you like.”
“Shall I come to your place?”
Some instinct for caution stopped Jude from saying yes. “No, everything’s a terrible mess here. Could we meet at”-the unlikeliest of venues came into her mind-“the Seaview Cafe?”
“Mother, I want to come down and see you.”
“What?”
“With Gaby, of course.”
“Oh?”
“There’s something we need to tell you.”
“Something you can’t tell me over the phone?”
“I-we would rather do it in person.”
“Very well.”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Carole was thrown. “Tomorrow? Sunday? Um, yes. Yes, I think so.”
“We’ll come down to Fethering and take you out to lunch somewhere.”
“Come here. I’ll cook Sunday lunch for you.”
“But-”
“No, Stephen, I insist.”
“All right. We’ll aim for about twelve-thirty. I must dash. All hell breaking loose here at work.”
When wasn’t all hell breaking loose at Stephen’s work, Carole wondered as she put down the phone. She felt bad. The small triumph she had achieved in persuading him to have lunch at High Tor was swamped in the dread of the confrontation ahead. Her son and Gaby were coming to announce the end of their marriage. Why hadn’t she bitten the bullet and stayed with David? Why hadn’t she been a better role model?
“There are, as I say, one or two things the detectives asked me which-though I answered them to the best of my ability-well, I just wondered why they were asking them, and thought maybe you might be able to clarify
