Shape of Snakes

when he'd stated so often in his e-mails to Luke that he didn't approve of white people living in South Africa. 'But my argument isn't with the Slaters,' I told Drury, 'it's with you.' I stirred the torn photographs with the point of my finger. 'Because when I accused you and your colleagues of the same thing, it frightened you so badly that you manipulated every piece of evidence to support the theory that Annie had died in an accident. And I'd like to know why you did that.'

Did I imagine the flicker of fear in his cold, reptilian eyes or was it real? 'We didn't have to manipulate anything,' he said sharply. 'We accepted the inquest verdict ... accidental death after stumbling under a truck some fifteen to thirty minutes before you found her.'

'But you didn't know what the verdict was going to be when you began the investigation into Annie's death.'

'So?'

'So you can't claim it as justification for your refusal to make proper inquiries. The only evidence you put forward was a description of Annie's house after she was dead, but it didn't stop you weighing in with a conclusion that she was a chronic drunk, an abuser of animals and a mental incompetent who neglected herself. I even remember your words. You said that in view of 'Mad Annie's' numerous problems your only surprise was that she'd lived as long as she had.'

'Which was a view endorsed by everyone except you.'

'Her doctor didn't endorse it.'

He looked beyond me toward the door. 'Your husband did,' he murmured. 'He and Mr. Williams described Annie as paralytic outside your house when they came home an hour and a half before you did. They also implied it wasn't unusual.'

I followed his gaze to where Sam was hovering uncertainly in the doorway. We'd tarried too long, I thought. In the end everyone's patience ran out, even the guilty's. 'They were lying,' I said flatly.

'So you kept saying in '78.'

'It's the truth.'

'Why would they want to? If anyone was going to back you it ought to have been the man you married.'

Once upon a time that had been my view, too, but only because I'd believed that truth was simple. 'He was trying to protect his friend,' I said carefully. 'The two people I saw under the street lamp that night were Jock Williams and Sharon Percy. I suppose Jock was afraid I'd seen him ... and didn't want his wife finding out he'd been with a prostitute. So he and Sam concocted their story about going back to our house for a beer.'

Drury glanced toward the door again, but Sam had disappeared. 'Why didn't you tell me this twenty years ago?'

'I did. I gave you Jock's name as the man I thought I saw.'

'But that's the point,' he said sarcastically. 'You only thought you saw him ... and you didn't say he was with Sharon Percy.'

'At the time I didn't know who she was.'

He gave a dismissive shake of his head. 'Sharon had an alibi and Mr. Williams was ruled out when your husband vouched for him.'

'But you never even questioned him,' I said, 'just accepted Sam's word against mine. But why? Wasn't a woman's word as good as a man's?'

He leaned his hands on the counter and shoved his face close to mine. 'You were 'round the bend, Mrs. Ranelagh. Nothing you said was believable. Everyone agreed with that ... even your husband and mother. And they should know because they had to live with you.'

If I'd had a gun at that moment, I'd have killed him. Bang! Straight between the eyes. How dare he quote my family at me when he had been the cause of their distrust? But hatred is a futile emotion which damages the hater more than the hated. Yes, he'd have been dead ... but so would I ... to everything that mattered to me. Perhaps my expression said more than I realized because he straightened abruptly.

'Sam and Jock invented their story to conform with what you told Jock's wife the next morning,' I said evenly. 'You told Libby Williams, and anyone else who was interested, that Annie had been seen staggering about the road an hour before she died, you also mentioned the outside time she could have stumbled in front of the lorry. All Sam and Jock did was recycle that information to give you what you wanted-a stupid, drunk nigger lurching around from 7:45-and the fact that none of it was true didn't bother you one little bit.'

'Why would your husband and Mr. Williams do that?'

I shrugged. 'It was easier for everyone if she died in an accident. For !he police, too. It meant no one had to address the issue of racism.'

He stared at me for a moment, his brows furrowed in what looked like genuine perplexity. 'When did your husband tell you this?'

'Six months after we left England.'

It was in the wake of the Hong Kong policeman debacle. Sam had drowned himself in whisky while stomping about the room, lecturing me on my behavior. Most of it-the issue of how my 'madness' was affecting his career and social life-washed over me. Some of it did not, particularly when he started to feel sorry for himself at three o'clock in the morning. He was missing England ... and it was my fault. What the hell had induced me to go spouting off to the police about murder...? He could hardly switch horses midstream ... not when poor old Jock was caught between a rock and a hard place. Half the bloody road had seen the stupid woman roaring around like a bear with a sore head. All he did was agree with them ...

I fancied I could hear Drury's brain whirring.

'You told me your husband was lying as soon as I read his statement to you. How could you know that if he didn't admit it until six months later?'

'There were no beer cans in the rubbish bin,' I said.

Danny took a swig of Radley's