Believing the Lie

how deliciously atmospheric it is, Tommy in order to excuse the hideous carpets, the layer of dust on the wall-mounted deer heads, and the tattered condition of the sofas and armchairs. For a moment, Lynley missed his wife with a crushing force. He breathed through it as he’d learned to do. Everything passes, he thought. This also would.

St. James stirred in his armchair and said, “There were perfect crimes at one time, of course. But today, it’s so difficult that virtually no one can carry one off. Forensic science is too advanced, Tommy. There are ways to pick up trace evidence now that were unheard of even five years ago. Today a perfect crime would have to be one in which no one thinks there was a crime at all.”

“But isn’t that the case here?”

“Not with a coroner’s investigation having been completed. Not with Bernard Fairclough coming to London and getting you involved. A perfect crime now is one in which there’s no suspicion that there could have been a crime. An investigation is neither ordered nor needed, the coroner signs off on the death on the spot, the victim is conveniently cremated within forty-eight hours, and there you have it. But with the situation you’ve got here, all the bases were covered and there was ultimately nothing to suggest Ian Cresswell’s death was anything other than what the coroner decided: an accident.”

“And if Valerie and not Ian was the intended victim?”

“Exactly the same problem, as you know.” St. James took up his coffee. “If this was intentional, Tommy, and if Valerie and not Ian had been the intended victim, you’ve got to agree there are far better ways to be rid of her. Everyone knew Ian used the boathouse as well as Valerie. Why risk killing him if she was supposed to die? And what’s the motive anyway? And even if there is a motive for her death, trying to go at this problem through forensic data isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“Because there is no forensic data.”

“None that suggests this wasn’t what it appears to be: an accident.”

“Something other than that filleting knife could have been used to dislodge the stones, Simon.”

“Of course. But the stones themselves would have borne the marks of a tool being used on them. And they had no marks. You saw that. Beyond that, look how many others were loose. That boathouse has doubtless been an accident waiting to happen for years.”

“No case to present, then.”

“That’s my conclusion.” St. James smiled regretfully. “So I’d have to say to you what I’ve said — quite unsuccessfully — to Deborah. It’s time to go back to London.”

“What about a crime of intent?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning one wishes another dead. One hopes for it. One even plans it. But before the plan can be put into action, an accident supervenes. The intended victim dies anyway. Could we have that here?”

“We could, of course. But even if we do, the point is in this case no guilt can be established, and no one’s behaviour is suggesting guilt.”

Lynley nodded thoughtfully. “Still and all…”

“What?”

“I have the nagging feeling — ” Lynley’s mobile rang. He glanced at the number then said to St. James, “Havers.”

“Could be something new, then.”

“I can only hope.” Lynley answered the call with, “Tell me something, Sergeant. At this point, anything will do.”

CHALK FARM LONDON

Barbara had placed the call to Lynley from her home. She’d been into the Met long before the crack of dawn to engage in some further investigating using the vast resources there. Afterwards, not wishing to be anywhere near the place when acting Detective Superintendent Ardery showed her face, she’d scarpered home. Twelve cups of coffee had seen her through the early morning, and at this point she was so lit up by caffeine that she doubted she’d be able to sleep for days. She was also smoking like a steam engine going full throttle. Her head felt as if her brain were about to begin sending out torpedoes.

The first thing she told Lynley was, “There’s a kid, Inspector. This may be important. This may be nothing. But turns out Vivienne Tully’s got an eight-year-old daughter called Bianca. I think she also knew I was going to show my mug on her doorstep. Her flat was swept clean of everything personal, and she didn’t exactly swoon with shock when I told her I was from the Met. I only found out about the kid because I’m bonding with the building’s porter in a very big way. Expect an announcement soon in that quarter.”

“You got inside, then.”

“My talents, sir, know not a single bound. I live to impress you.” Barbara went on to tell Lynley what she’d learned from Vivienne. She gave him everything from the woman’s education to her employment to her intention to return to New Zealand, land of her birth. “Didn’t deny a thing about Fairclough: knowing him, acting as a board member of his foundation, seeing him regularly for meals and such at Twins. But she threw up a roadblock when it came to why he has a key to her digs.”

“This child, Bianca. Could she be Fairclough’s?”

“Possibly. But she could also be his son’s, Ian Cresswell’s, the prime minister’s, or the Prince of Wales’s for that matter. She could be a wild night on the town, a little whoops, if you know what I mean. Anyway, this Vivienne hasn’t worked for Fairclough for years. She hasn’t worked for him since before she even had the kid. It’d be hard to believe she’s maintained a long-distance romance with him, wouldn’t you say, a long-distance romance enduring enough to have had his kid?”

“Perhaps it’s not a romance that’s been maintained for years, Barbara. Perhaps Bianca’s the result of a chance encounter that brought Vivienne back into Fairclough’s life at some point.”

“What? Like they find themselves in a lift somewhere, lock eyes on each other, and the rest is Bianca? I s’pose that’s possible.”

“He established a foundation,” Lynley pointed out. “He needed board members, and she’s one of them.”

“Can’t be that. Foundation’s been around long before Bianca was a gleam in anyone’s eye. Anyway, accepting a position on the foundation board’s one thing. Getting involved with Fairclough and staying involved with him is another. Why would she want to do that? He’s decades older. I’ve seen his picture as well and believe me, they’re not close to being a physical match. Wouldn’t she have preferred a bloke nearer to her own age and also available? Getting enmeshed with a married bloke is generally boarding a train to nowhere and she seems far too clever for that.”

“In a sensible world she would have understood your point and made a different sort of decision. But if she didn’t, you’ll have to agree that there’re always things making people far less than sensible, Sergeant.”

Barbara heard the murmur of someone’s voice in the background. Lynley identified the voice with, “Simon’s saying that vast amounts of money make people less than sensible all the time.”

“Okay. Right. But if the kid’s Fairclough’s, and if he’s been doing the horizontal rumba with Vivienne Tully for God only knows how long, then why bring in a Scotland Yard investigation into his nephew’s death, which has already been called an accident? He’d have to have known that everyone would be looked into, including himself. What the hell sort of risk is he taking?”

“If it’s unrelated to Cresswell’s death, he may be reckoning on my keeping a lid on this particular aspect of his private life.”

“If it’s unrelated,” Barbara said. “But if it is related, that bloody well explains why Hillier picked you for this particular job, doesn’t it? The earl covering up for the baron. He’d like that touch, Hillier would.”

“I can’t disagree. He’s done it before. Anything else?” Lynley enquired.

“Yeah. I’ve been busy. Kaveh Mehran’s not lying about ownership of that farm. Cresswell left it to him.