“That’s easy enough,” said Gemma. “If he’d been in trouble with the law before, especially if he and his wife were unjustly accused, he’d not want to call attention to himself. That’s understandable.”
Babcock looked at the two women, wondering why they seemed to be defending a man Gemma had not even met. “Well, he’s going to regret it,” Babcock said crossly. He dropped the pencil on the desk and watched it bounce, his visions of an easily solved case evaporating. “We’re going to talk to him again.” Turning to Rasansky, he added, “Kevin, I’ll need you to stay here to liaise with the fraud team. I’m not giving up on Dutton yet.” Then, to Larkin,
“Sheila, you’ve met Wain; you’d better come with me.” He eyed his friend. “And I suppose the two of you want to tag along?”
Kincaid met his eyes with no trace of humor. “Ronnie, I want to see this case solved as much as you do. Maybe more.”
“All right,” Babcock agreed, against his better judgment. It would be a wonder if Wain didn’t make a run for it when he saw four coppers descending on him like storm troopers. “We’ll make a bloody party of it.”
Kincaid realized he’d seen the boat, both on Boxing Day and on the following morning, after Annie Lebow’s murder, but he’d paid no attention other than to notice the trickle of smoke from the chimney.
Now he noticed that it was an old boat, perhaps even prewar, and painted in the traditional style, although it looked as though it had been neglected recently. But a wisp of wood smoke spiraled from a chimney whose brass rings still gleamed, and the scent was sharp on the still, damp air.
They crossed the bridge and stepped down to the towpath single file, with Babcock leading, but when they reached the boat, it was obvious that the four of them couldn’t crowd into the well deck.
Babcock stood back and nodded at DC Larkin. “You’ve met him, Sheila. You make the contact.”
Larkin glanced at him, and whatever passed between them seemed to give her confidence. Although it must have been awkward, with everyone watching, she climbed from the towpath into the well deck nimbly enough, then squared her shoulders and rapped at the cabin door.
“Mr. Wain,” she called out, “it’s DC Larkin. I—” The cabin door swung open before she could say more.
The man who stepped out, blinking in the gray light, was tall and well built, with the sort of musculature that comes from hard physical labor rather than time spent in a gym. His dark hair was
still thick, but flecked with silver, and his cheeks were sunken, his dark eyes hollow, as if he’d suffered a recent illness, or grief.
Yet his stance, as he surveyed them, was defiant, and he answered Larkin brusquely. “I know who you are, Constable. I thought we’d finished our business.”
“So did I, Mr. Wain, until I found out you lied to me.” There was a note of personal injury in Larkin’s voice that made Kincaid think of the way Gemma sometimes made an intense connection with a suspect. “You said you only met Annie Lebow when she scraped your boat,” continued Larkin, “but in fact you knew her very well.”
Kincaid saw the shock ripple through the man’s body, saw him tense with the automatic instinct to flee, then saw him force himself to relax.
“This is my boss, by the way.” Larkin gestured at Babcock, reinforcing her position. “Chief Inspector Babcock. And this is Superintendent Kincaid, from Scotland Yard, and Inspector James.”
At the mention of Scotland Yard, Wain rested his fingertips on the top of the boat’s curved tiller, as if for support, but when he spoke his voice was steady. “I knew her, all right, I’ll admit that. But this is why I didn’t say.” His gaze took in all the gathered officers, and Kincaid thought he saw a flash of recognition as his eyes passed over Gemma, but the man didn’t acknowledge it. “I knew, when I heard she was dead, that you’d pick me out. I’ve had dealings with the police before.
I know you lot go for the easiest target, and you don’t care about the truth.”
“Why don’t you try me and see,” said Larkin, resolute as a bull terrier. “What did you argue with Ms. Lebow about on Christmas Day?”
“I don’t know any Lebow. She was Annie Constantine to me. I hadn’t seen her in years, since she got the case against us dismissed.
That day, I think she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
She seemed pleased, asked after the children, wanting to see how they were doing.
“But I couldn’t have that, do you see? It brought it all back, that terrible time. When she came back the next morning, I’m ashamed to say I shouted at her, and she was hurt. She said she’d never done anything but help us, and it was true. I’d take the words back, if I could.”
Wain’s words rang with sincerity. Still, Kincaid had the sense that he was somehow skirting the truth.
“And she didn’t ask you what you knew about the infant found in the wall of the dairy barn where you worked?” asked Larkin.
Kincaid knew instantly Larkin had made a mistake, that the timing was wrong. Juliet had only found the child’s body on Christmas Eve. It was highly unlikely that Annie could have learned about the baby by Christmas morning. In fact, they had no proof that she had ever known.
“What?” Wain looked stunned. “What are you talking about?”
Taking a step nearer the boat, Babcock intervened. “The body of a female infant was found mortared into the wall of the old dairy just down the way.”
“The Smiths’ place?” Wain asked, and seeing Babcock’s nod of confirmation, went on, “I did some work for them, yes, but I didn’t—
you can’t think—” He stopped, shaking his head, as if speech had deserted him.
“I don’t know what to think,” Babcock said conversationally. “It seems a bit much to believe that someone else did mortar work in that barn without Mr. Smith noticing. Or that someone else took advantage of your work to add a little of their own and you didn’t twig to it.”
Gabriel Wain’s face hardened. “You can’t possibly know that this”—he stopped, swallowing—“this child was put there during the time I did the work for the Smiths. I was only there a few days.”
He was right, and Kincaid could see that Babcock knew it.
They had no physical evidence that could link Wain directly to the body, nor any explanation as to why or how Wain could have acquired the child. Not only that, but Kincaid had dealt with a good
number of perverts over the course of his career, and while they sometimes presented a very plausible persona, there was always something just slightly off about them. He’d developed radar of a sort for the unbalanced personality, and he didn’t read the signs in Gabriel Wain.
Babcock, apparently realizing that he couldn’t push further without more to back up any accusations, changed tack. “Where were you night before last, Mr. Wain?”
“Here. With my wife and children.”
“The entire night? Can your wife vouch for you?”
“You leave my wife out of this,” Wain said, angry again. “I won’t have you hounding her. She’s been through enough.”
“Mr. Wain.” Gemma’s voice was quiet, gentle almost, but it held everyone’s attention. “Where are your children?”
Kincaid realized that he’d not heard a sound from the boat, or seen a twitch of the curtains pulled tightly across the cabin windows.
“Gone to the shops.”
“And your wife? ”
He hesitated, looking round as if enlightenment might appear out of thin air. “Resting,” he said at last.
“And the doctor who visited you yesterday, she’s treating your wife? That would be Dr. Elsworthy, I think?” Gemma glanced at Babcock for confirmation.
Babcock stared back. “Elsworthy? Here?
This was a train wreck, Kincaid thought, looking on in horror, a massive miscommunication. Neither Babcock nor Gemma could have known the doctor’s patient and Gabriel Wain were connected.
Babcock, however, made a recovery that any good copper would have envied. After a muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath, he turned to Wain and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I think you’d better start by telling me exactly how you know our forensic pathologist.”
Babcock waited until he was in the privacy of his office before he rang Althea Elsworthy. He tried the hospital first, but was not surprised to be told she’d called in, pleading illness, an occurrence apparently so noteworthy that
