JIMS GAVE VERY little more thought to what Zillah had told him of the police’s intention to call on him on Monday morning. He’d be at home, so of course he’d see them, it was his duty as a citizen; he’d answer their routine questions and later he’d stroll across to the Commons. Unaccustomed to spending much time at home, he found this Sunday evening almost unbearably tedious. Leonardo had invited him to a gay club, the Camping Ground in Earl’s Court Square, and Jims would have loved to accompany him but knew where to draw the line. Instead, with Eugenie sitting beside him making critical comments, he watched as much of a Jane Austen costume drama on television as he could bear and went to bed early.
Something woke him at four o’clock in the morning. He sat up in bed in his solitary and rather austere bedroom, remembering that he hadn’t spent the entire weekend in Casterbridge and Fredington Crucis, as last evening he had taken for granted and sent to the back of his mind. Now it resurfaced, but in a different form. On Friday afternoon he’d driven back to London to recover the mislaid notes for his hunting speech. And he couldn’t simply tell the police that, because the notes hadn’t been in his own home in Abbey Gardens Mansions but in Leonardo’s house in Chelsea. A faint but consistent sheen of sweat broke out across Jims’s face, down his neck, and across his smooth golden chest. He switched the light on.
They would want to know why those papers were in Glebe Terrace and even if he could somehow satisfy them on that point, would inquire why, having recovered them, he failed to go home and spend the night with his new wife in Westminster. It wasn’t as if she was away somewhere-they knew she was at home because they had phoned her there, as she’d told him last night. They’d want to know why, instead, he’d passed the night under the same roof as Leonardo Norton, of the well-known London and Wall Street stockbrokers Frame da Souza Constantine. Various options presented themselves. He could omit to tell them he’d returned to London. Or he could tell them he had returned in the afternoon, had found Zillah asleep, and-unwilling to disturb her-had recovered the papers and gone straight back to Dorset. Or he could say he’d come home late in the evening, found the papers, spent the night with Zillah, and left again very early in the morning before the police came. This would necessitate Zillah’s lying for him. He thought it likely she’d agree, and the children didn’t count since they’d both have been in bed asleep.
Jims hadn’t much in the way of morals; he was generally unprincipled and unscrupulous and quite capable of telling a “white lie” to the police. But when he thought of asking his wife to lie for him, to tell a detective inspector of the murder squad (or whatever they’d changed its name to) that he had been here when he hadn’t, his blood ran cold. He was a member of Parliament. Last week the leader of the Opposition had smiled on him, patted his shoulder, and said, “Well done!” Other MPs referred to him in the Chamber as the honorable member for South Wessex. The
What he’d do was forget all about having come home for those notes. Between now and nine when the police were arriving, it would slip his mind. After all, he hadn’t really needed them and could easily have delivered a successful speech without them. It was only that he disliked going unprepared to any function at which he had to speak. He made an effort to get back to sleep but he might as well have tried to turn time back a couple of days, which he would also have liked to do. At six he got up and found that Eugenie and Jordan had already destroyed the peace of his living room by switching on the television to a noisy and very old black-and-white Western. By the time the police came he was cross and moody, but he contrived to sit on the sofa beside Zillah, holding her hand.
The detective inspector was the same woman who had gone with Zillah to the mortuary. She had another plainclothes officer with her, a sergeant. Zillah asked her if she minded Jims’s wife being present and she said not at all, please stay. Zillah squeezed Jims’s hand and looked lovingly into his face, and Jims had to admit to himself that sometimes she could be an asset to him.
He was asked about the weekend and he said he’d spent it in Dorset. “I went down to my constituency on Thursday afternoon and held my appointments in Casterbridge on Friday morning. At the Shire Hall. After that I drove back to my house in Fredington Crucis and worked on a speech I was making on Saturday evening to the Countryside Alliance. I spent the night there and the following day, made my speech later on, and dined with the alliance. I drove home here on Sunday morning.”
The sergeant took notes. “Is there anyone who can confirm your presence in your Dorset house on Friday, Mr. Melcombe-Smith?”
Jims put on an expression of incredulity. It was one he’d often worn in the House of Commons when some government member made a remark he thought it would become him to regard as ludicrous. “To what are these questions tending?”
He knew the answer he’d get. “They are a matter of routine, sir, that’s all. Is there someone who can confirm your presence? Perhaps a member of your staff?”
“In these degenerate days,” drawled Jims, “I do not have a staff. A woman comes up from the village to clean and keep an eye on things. A Mrs. Vincey. She provides food in the fridge for the weekend when I’m going to be there. She wasn’t there that day.”
“No one called on you?”
“I fear not. My mother spends part of the summer there but mostly she lives in Monte Carlo. She was here, of course, for our wedding”-Zillah’s hand received a squeeze-“but she went back a month ago.”
The police officers looked rather puzzled by this unnecessary information, as well they might. “Mr. Melcombe- Smith, I’m not questioning what you say, but isn’t it rather odd for a young and active man like yourself, a very busy man and newly married, to pass what must have been about thirty hours indoors with nothing much to occupy him but the sort of speech he was well used to making? It was an exceptionally fine day and I believe the countryside around Fredington Crucis is beautiful, yet you didn’t even go out for a walk?”
“You certainly are questioning what I say. Of course I went for a walk.”
“Then perhaps someone saw you?”
“I am unlikely to know the answer to that.”
Later in the day Jims was walking across New Palace Yard toward the members’ entrance. He felt reasonably satisfied with what had happened and was sure he’d hear no more. After all, they couldn’t possibly suspect him of making away with Jeffrey Leach, not
When Michelle told her the murdered man in the cinema was Jeff, Fiona had suffered that momentary loss of consciousness once apparently common in women but now rare. She fainted. Michelle, who a few weeks ago couldn’t have got down to the floor, did so with ease, sat beside her stroking her forehead and whispering, “My dear, my poor dear.”
Fiona came to, said it wasn’t true, was it? It couldn’t be true. Jeff couldn’t be dead. She’d seen a paper which said it was someone called Jeffrey Leach. Michelle told her the police were coming. Would she feel able to see them? Fiona nodded. The shock had been so great, she couldn’t take much else in. Michelle got her onto the sofa, helped her put her feet up, and made milky coffee with plenty of sugar in it. A better remedy for shock than brandy, she said.
“Was he really called Leach?” Fiona asked after a moment or two.
“It seems so.”
“Why did he tell me he was called Leigh? Why did he give me a false name? He’d been living with me for six months.”
“I don’t know, darling. I wish I knew.”
At her interview with the police-the same woman who had taken Zillah to the mortuary and would speak to Jims the next morning-Fiona suffered the beginnings of disillusionment to add to the pain of her loss. That his name was truly Jeffrey John Leach was confirmed, that he was in touch with his former wife, and that he appeared to have had no employment for several years, not perhaps since his student days. The police asked her where she’d been on Friday afternoon and to that she gave very little thought. She could easily name half a dozen people who
