She turned from the window, he gestured to a chair; she refused with a shake of the head and so they stood like two survivors on a battlefield.
No quarter. Given or requested.
‘Whit do you know of these events?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘A man you share a deal of your waking life with has turned from human form into a murderous beast, and you know nothing about it?’
‘Murderous?’
‘He most certainly killed Gilbert Morrison, was after his brother Walter and then deviated tae me. I’d call that murderous.’
‘I saw no sign of this.’
‘You with all your sensitive ways? Voices? Visions?’
The sardonic streak that underlay his tone struck home and her face tightened the merest fraction.
‘Magnus was a…hidden soul. Secretive.’
‘Surely not tae one of your abilities?’
‘We are all hidden from each other, inspector.’
He acknowledged the truth of that with a nod of sorts then returned to his theme.
‘You saw no sign of the beast he became?’
Into Sophia’s mind flashed an image of Magnus, his face contorted in pain.
Afterwards.
‘One thing. Of late, he…he endured the most terrible agony in his head. A blinding torment. Perhaps he was being split in two.’
‘Whit would cause that?’
‘The past. Everything comes from the past.’
‘I would agree. And you had no influence in all this?’
‘In what way?’
‘To engender this split?’
‘How should I accomplish such a thing?’
‘You talk of the powerful forces that surround you. Could Bannerman have been…distorted by them somehow?’
‘If so, it escaped me.’
McLevy wondered a moment whether to throw a name in her face but decided to hold fire.
Later. Wait for occasion.
‘What were your movements this night?’ he asked instead.
She showed no surprise at the question, almost as if she had been expecting such.
‘In the hotel. Resting. I had early supper sent to my room.’
He would check with the night porter but the man had been half-asleep when McLevy arrived and was no sentinel.
She could have left easily without scrutiny. Front or back. The kitchens below might well have an entrance onto the street. Hotels were like rabbit warrens.
‘Whit about Magnus? Did you see him leave?’
‘He makes – made – his own arrangements. We were not in each other’s pockets. He often went out at night with his own objectives in mind.’
‘Women? Murder? Rapine? Any ideas?’
For a moment the slightest trace of a smile showed on her lips; this man was not predictable.
A pity he suspected her so deeply.
‘It was his concern.’
‘Now it is mine.’
She frowned at something.
‘You have hurt your nose.’
McLevy wiped the damaged organ with the back of his hand, like a child in the playground.
‘Whit’s going tae happen tomorrow night?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, I’m not searching out prediction. The Tanfield Hall. How can you mesmerise without your right-hand man?’
‘I shall think. And make my decision tomorrow.’
‘Thought’s a good thing, right enough.’
But he had a feeling that she had already made up her mind. She would go through with it. The woman had steel.
‘So – you allege not to have been out guising for Halloween?’
‘It is a fact. I have not left this place.’
The inspector began to wander around the room in an idle fashion, whistling a Jacobite tune under his breath; any member of the fraternity would have warned that a wolf was on the prowl.
‘D’ye have such a thing as a red cloak?’ he asked out of the blue.
Her eyes widened a touch but that may have been to do with the random quality of the query.
‘I am afraid I do not. Sorry.’
His eyes switched towards the clothes stand, which stood by the door. It held no cloak, just some scarves and bonnets. Then he looked at the closed wardrobe in a corner of the room.
As if reading his thought, she smiled thinly.
‘Be my guest, inspector.’
As he rummaged through the garments, conscious of her amused eyes on his back, McLevy found of course that there was no sign of such clothing, nor did any of the other coats show any sign of evening damp. So much for that.
He popped out again like a clockwork toy.
‘Whit about Magnus Bannerman – did he have a black cloak of sorts?’
‘Yes. I believe he did. Won it in a poker game. He used to wear it for fun.’
‘Fun?’
That wasn’t McLevy’s recollection of events.
And what Sophia did not add was that the wearing of such apparel and experiencing of such fun was within their bedroom walls.
Poor Magnus.
‘Did he…suffer much?’ she murmured.
‘Two bullets in the chest. As I said. Every bone broken. Blood from his ears. I’d say he suffered.’
She made no reply but nodded gravely as if his bleak description had not touched her. Just words.
McLevy had noted that Sophia had made no question about why he was interested in cloaks and the like.
A lack of curiosity in a suspect betokens many things; one of them is that they’re as guilty as hell and concealing the fact.
For the first time since entering, he walked up and stood close to her, face to face.
Her visage was clear, unlined, composed, and you could drown yourself in those violet eyes.
‘Forgive me for saying,’ he remarked, softly, ‘but ye don’t seem overly grief-stricken by the news I bring.’
‘I regard death as a bridge from life not the end of it,’ she replied succinctly.
‘If so, then Magnus Bannerman has much to answer for in the world of spirits.’
‘That is his doom.’
‘Nothing to do with you?’
‘Nothing at all.’
By now they were near enough that their breaths almost commingled, hers sweet, his fraught with blood.
