“One of the school flats. On St. Mary’s grounds.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Alone.” Metcalfe looked longingly at Rebecca Charters, who stared down into her wineglass.
“What time did Mr. Charters leave?” Banks asked.
“Around ten to six. He didn’t stay more than five minutes. He could see I wasn’t interested in what he had to say.”
Which meant that Charters was unaccounted-for during the crucial period around six o’clock. Banks could see Rebecca frowning at this information. She had lied for her husband, only to have someone give him what seemed like an alibi, then immediately snatch it away again. Did she know where he had been between ten to six and whenever he got back home?”
And, Banks realized, this also left Patrick Metcalfe without an alibi. Rebecca, too, for that matter; he only had her word that she had heard something like a cry around six o’clock.
“What were you wearing?” Banks asked Charters.
“Wearing? A raincoat.”
“Color?”
“Beige.”
“May I see it.”
Charters went and brought the raincoat in from the hall closet. Banks examined it closely but could see no traces of blood or earth. “Do you mind if I take this for further testing?” he asked. “I’ll give you a receipt of course.”
Charters looked alarmed. “Should I call my lawyer?”
“Not if you’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. Go ahead. Take it.”
“Thank you.”
“Where did you go after you left Mr. Metcalfe?”
“Nowhere in particular. I just walked.”
“Where?”
“In the school grounds. By the river.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“There were a few people about, yes.”
“What about on or near the bridge?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, come to think of it, I did see someone. When I came out of the main school gate and crossed the road, there was a man in front of me walking along Kendal Road towards the bridge.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“No. He stopped on the bridge and I walked past him. He was about my height-six foot two-and he was wearing an orange anorak. I could see that much from behind. His hair was dark and rather long.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
“Certain. Even in the fog I could tell by the way he walked. There’s something…I don’t know how to explain it…but I’m certain it was a man.”
Another sighting of the mysterious stranger that Stott and Hatchley had unearthed in the Nag’s Head. Interesting. “Can you tell me anything more about him?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Charters. “I had other things on my mind.”
“Could it have been a red windcheater rather than an orange anorak?”
Charters frowned. “I suppose it could have been. I wasn’t paying really close attention.”
“I hope you realize, Mr. Charters, that if you’d continued lying to us you would also have been withholding what could be an important piece of evidence.”
Charters said nothing.
“Where did you go next?” Banks asked.
“I walked up to North Market Street, carried along there for a while, then took Constance Avenue back down to the river path and home.” He looked at Rebecca, then looked away again. “But when I got here I…I…didn’t want to go in and…Not just yet. So I kept on walking for a good ten minutes or so, then turned back and came home.”
“Is that everything?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go into the churchyard at any time?”
“No. I wish I had. I might have been able to prevent the poor girl’s murder.”
“What time did your husband get home, Mrs. Charters?”
“He was home when I got back from the graveyard.”
“And that was about a quarter to seven?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do after Mr. Charters left your flat?” Banks said to Metcalfe.
“Nothing much. Heated up my dinner. I considered coming over here and putting an end to the ridiculous charade, but decided against it.”
“What ridiculous charade?”
They were all silent for a moment, as if someone had finally gone too far and they were deciding how to cover up, then Daniel Charters spoke up. “I went to talk to Metcalfe,” he said, “to try to persuade him to stop seeing my wife.”
Banks looked at Metcalfe. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“And what was your response?”
Metcalfe sneered at Charters. “I told him I wasn’t interested, that it was too late. Rebecca and I are in love and we’re going away together.”
Banks looked towards Rebecca. She had lowered her head, so he couldn’t see her expression, only the mass of auburn hair hanging down to her knees. Her glass of wine had sat untouched for several minutes on the table.
“Tell him,” Metcalfe urged her. “Go on, Rebecca. Tell him it’s true. Tell him how this marriage is a sham, how it’s stifling you, destroying your true nature. Tell him you don’t love your-”
“No!”
“What?”
Rebecca Charters held her head up and stared directly at Metcalfe. Her dark eyes flashed with angry tears. “I said no, Patrick.” She seemed to gain control of the situation; the welling tears remained at the edges of her eyes. She spoke quietly: “I tried to tell you before, but you wouldn’t listen. You didn’t want to understand. I’m not defending myself. What I’ve done is wrong. Terribly wrong.” She looked at her husband, who showed no expression, then back at Metcalfe. “But it’s my guilt, my sin. If I wasn’t strong enough to stand by my husband when he needed me most, if I let a hint of scandal and suspicion poison our marriage, then it’s my mistake, my fault. But I won’t compound it with lies.”
She turned to Banks. “Yes, Chief Inspector, I had an affair with Patrick. I met him at a social evening we put on for the staff and upper sixth of St. Mary’s School around the middle of last month. He was charming, interesting, passionate, and I became infatuated with him. Daniel and I were already going through a difficult time, as I think you know, and when I should have been strong, I was weak. I’m not proud of myself, but I want you to know that’s why I lied to you, because I was afraid that too many questions would lead to exactly this kind of situation. Now it’s happened, I’m glad, believe me, though I’ve been trying to avoid it at all costs. There’s been far too much distrust and suspicion around this house lately. I can’t believe that my husband had anything to do with this murder, any more than I can believe he’s capable of doing what that vile man accused him of.”
She turned back to Metcalfe, tears still hanging on the rims of her eyes, dampening the long, dark lashes. “I’m sorry, Patrick, if I misled you. I didn’t intend to. Just put it down to a foolish woman seeking temporary escape. But you were only a distraction. I didn’t mean for you to fall in love with me. And, if you’re honest with yourself, I think you’d have to admit that you’re not in love with me at all. I think you’re in love with the idea of being in love, but you’re far too self-absorbed to ever love anyone but yourself.”
Metcalfe stood up. “It’s not true, Rebecca. I do love you. Can’t you see how you’re blinding yourself? If you
