10
Lindsay drove down the motorway at a speed that would have seemed tame in a modern high-performance car. In the soft-top sports car it was terrifying. Deborah was relieved that Lindsay’s lecture on the current state of play was absorbing enough to occupy her brain. “So you see,” Lindsay complained, “Alexandra has opened a completely new vista of possibilities. But the more I find out, the less I know. I don’t think I’m really cut out for this sort of thing. I can’t seem to make sense of any of it.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Lin,” Deborah said with a smile. “Just be logical about it. We now know there were a fair few people less than fond of Rupert. Let’s run through them. Think out loud.”
“Okay,” Lindsay replied. “One: his son Simon. For reasons unknown, he was in bad odour. It sounds like more than his assertion of the right to independence by opening up his computer firm. But how much more, we don’t know. Yet.
“Two: his daughter Ros. For some unspecified reason, Rupert was seriously considering disinvestment. Now that may or may not be an effective weapon in the war against apartheid, but it sure as hell must be a serious threat to a small restaurant just finding its feet. Hopefully tonight will answer our questions about Ros. But the middle classes being what they are, five will get you ten that Daddy’s disenchantment with daughter was deviance of the dykey variety.
“Three: Emma Crabtree. Our Rupert marched off on Saturday to think about his future. What we don’t know is whether he told Emma about Alexandra; whether he’d decided he wanted a divorce and whether that prospect would have delighted or dismayed a woman who isn’t the most obviously grieving widow I’ve ever encountered. A lot of questions there.
“Four: Alexandra. She’s scared of his temper, she’s afraid that he’s not going to let her go without a very unpleasant fight. And she’s had enough of him, she wants Stanhope. Personally, I’m disinclined to suspect her, though she seems to have no alibi. She did genuinely seem too taken aback by the gun to be a real candidate.” She paused to gather her thoughts.
“Go on,” Deborah prompted.
“Five: Carlton Stanhope. Alexandra undoubtedly told him of Crabtree’s reaction. He may have figured that making an enemy of as powerful a bastard as Crabtree was not a good move and that murder might even have been preferable. Or it may have been that he felt the one sure way of keeping Alexandra was to get rid of the opposition. Depends how badly he wants Alexandra. I have to say that the bias I feel in her favour operates in the opposite direction as far as he’s concerned. I took a real dislike to him, and he’s got no alibi either.
“And finally, our two prize beauties from RABD. Mallard might have thought, knowing what a fair man Crabtree was, that his peculations would die with his chairman. And Warminster sounds dotty enough to opt for violence as a means of securing his takeover of RABD. What do you think, Debs?”
Deborah thought for a moment. “You realise you haven’t established opportunity for any of them?”
“That is a bit of a problem. I know the police have been pursuing their own enquiries. Maybe I can persuade Rigano that it’s in the best interests of his investigation to swap that info for what I’ve got. Such as it is. Mind you, by the time I’ve flammed it up a bit, maybe he’ll buy it as a fair exchange.”
“You also left me off the list of suspects. I should be on it.”
Lindsay laughed. “Even though you didn’t do it?”
“You don’t know that because of facts. You only know it because of history and because we’re lovers again. Don’t discount the theory that I might have seduced you in order to allay your suspicions and get you on the side of my defense. So I should be on that list till you prove I didn’t do it.”
Lindsay looked horrified. “You wouldn’t!”
“I might have. If I were a different person.”
“Okay,” Lindsay conceded with a smile. “But I don’t reckon that you had put Rupert Crabtree into such a state of fear that he was carrying a gun to protect himself. He must have been armed because he feared a murderous attack.”
“Or because he intended to kill the person he was meeting.”
Lindsay threw a quick glance at Deborah, caught off guard by this flash of bright logic. She forced herself to examine Deborah’s fresh insight.
Eventually, she countered it, tentatively at first and then more assuredly as she reached the end of the motorway and followed the route to Camden Town. “You see,” she concluded, “he didn’t need to kill you. He was going to get all the revenge he needed in court.”
Deborah pondered, then blew Lindsay’s hypothesis into smithereens as they approached Rubyfruits. “Not necessarily,” she said thoughtfully. “Everyone says he was a fair man. He also had a degree of respect for the law, being a solicitor. Now, supposing in the aftermath of the shock of the accident, he genuinely thought I had attacked him, and on the basis of that genuine belief he gave the statement to the police that triggered the whole thing off. In the interim, however, as time has passed, his recollection has become clearer, and he’s realized that he actually tripped over the dog’s lead, and I had nothing to do with it. Now, what are his options? He either withdraws his evidence and becomes a laughing-stock as well as exposing himself to all sorts of reprisals from a libel suit-”
“Slander,” Lindsay interrupted absently.
“Okay, okay, slander suit, to being accused of wasting police time, all thanks to me. Or he perjures himself, probably an equally unthinkable option for a man like him. His self-esteem is so wounded by this dilemma that he becomes unhinged and decides to kill me in such a way that he can claim self-defense. So he starts carrying the gun, biding his time till he gets me alone. Think on that one, Lin. Now, we’re here. Let’s go eat.” And so saying, she jumped out of the car.
Lindsay caught up with her on the cobbled road outside the restaurant which occupied the ground floor of a narrow, three storey brick building in a dimly lit side street near the trendy Camden Lock complex of boutiques, restaurants and market stalls. It stood between a typesetting company and a warehouse. A red Ford Fiesta turned into the street, and they both stepped back to avoid it as it cruised past the restaurant. Lindsay grabbed Deborah’s arm. “As a theory, it’s brilliant,” she blurted out. “But in human terms, it stinks. You didn’t do it, Debs.”
Deborah smiled broadly and said, “Just testing.” She pushed open the door and moved quickly into the restaurant to avoid Lindsay’s grasp. They were greeted by a young woman with short blonde hair cut in a spiky crest.
“Hello Lindsay,” she said cheerfully. “I kept you a nice table over in the corner.”
“Thanks Meg.” They followed her, Lindsay saying, “This is Debs, Meg. She’s an old friend of mine.”
“Hi Debs. Nice to meet you. Okay. Here’s the menu, wine list. Today’s specials are on the blackboard, okay?” And she was gone, moving swiftly from table to table, clearing and chatting all the way to the swing doors leading into the kitchen.
Deborah looked around, taking in the stripped pine, the moss green walls and ceiling, and the high photographs ranging predictably from Virginia Woolf to Virginia Wade. She noticed that the cutlery and crockery on each table was different and appeared to have come from junk shops and flea markets. The background music was Rickie Lee Jones turned low. The other tables were also occupied by women. “I can just see you and Cordelia here,” Deborah commented. “Very designer dyke.”
“Cut the crap and choose your grub,” Lindsay ordered.
“Get you,” muttered Deborah. They studied the menus and settled for Avocado Rubyfruits. (Slices of ripe avocado interleaved with slices of succulent Sharon fruit, garnished with watercress, bathed in a raspberry vinaigrette) followed by Butter Beanfeast. (Butter beans braised with organically grown onions, green peppers and chives, smothered in a rich cheese sauce, topped with a gratinee of stoneground wholemeal breadcrumbs and traditional farm cheddar cheese) with choose-your-own salads from a wide range of the homely and the exotic colorfully displayed on a long narrow table at the rear of the room. To drink, Lindsay selected a bottle of gooseberry champagne.
“My God,” Deborah exploded quietly when Meg departed with the order, “I hadn’t realized how far pretentiousness had penetrated the world of healthy eating. This is so over the top, Lin. Are there really enough
