Believing the Lie

Interesting bit is when he did it. Prepare for a drum roll: He signed the will one week before he drowned.”

“That’s telling,” Lynley agreed. “Although one would have to wonder at a murderer so dimwitted as to kill someone one week after a will was signed in his favour.”

“There is that,” Havers admitted.

“Anything more?”

“Oh, I’m the early bird, all right. Getting up at ungodly hours of the morning also allows one to make international phone calls whose recipients are easy to reach because they’re still in bed.”

“Argentina?” Lynley guessed.

“In a pie tin. I managed to get through to the home of the mayor of Santa Maria di all the et ceteras. I tried his office first but that turned out to be a case of someone at one end saying quien and que and me on this end shouting, ‘Let me talk to the bloody mayor for God’s sake,’ before I finally worked out the time difference and twigged I was talking to the cleaner. I had to give up that idea, but I did get to the house. And let me tell you, that was not an easy task.”

“I’m all admiration, Barbara. What did you uncover?”

“The fact that no one speaks English in Argentina. Or that everyone pretends not to speak English. Have it either way. I did manage to corner someone I think was Dominga Padilla y del Torres de Vasquez, though. I kept repeating the name and she kept saying si when she wasn’t saying quien. I went with Alatea’s name, then, and this Dominga started babbling. There was a lot of Dios mios and dondes and graciases. So I wager this bird knows who Alatea is. What I need just now is someone who can talk to her.”

“Are you onto that, then?”

“Like I said before, Azhar’s got to know someone at the university.”

“There’ll be someone at the Yard as well, Barbara.”

“With some fishing. But I go that route, and the guv will be all over me like groupies on a rock star. She’s already asked me — ”

“I’ve spoken to her. She knows I have you doing some work for me. Barbara, I’ve got to ask this. Did you tell her?”

Barbara felt deeply affronted. They had years of history, she and the inspector. That he would think she’d betray those years made her back go up. “I bloody well did not.” For that was the God’s truth of the matter. The fact that she’d allowed Isabelle Ardery to work it out for herself without sidetracking her with some sort of red herring was not Barbara’s problem.

Lynley was silent. Barbara had a sudden anguished feeling that they were heading towards a her-or-me moment. This was the very last thing she wanted since if it came down to the superintendent or herself, she knew how unlikely it was that Lynley would make the choice that would put him at odds with his own lover. He was, after all, and she had to face it, a bloke.

So she went back to where they’d gone off track, saying, “Anyway I’d planned to speak to Azhar. If he can come up with someone adept at Spanish, we’ve solved that problem and we’ve got the key to Alatea Fairclough.”

“As to that, there’s something else.” Lynley told her a tale about Alatea Fairclough’s modeling career in her pre-Nicholas Fairclough days. He ended with, “He told Deborah it was ‘naughty underwear’ and said she’s embarrassed and afraid she’ll be found out. Naughty underwear hardly being a crushing issue to anyone but a nun or someone marrying into the royal family, we’re thinking it might be pornography instead.”

“I’ll see what I can do with that as well,” Barbara told him.

They exchanged a few more words during which Barbara tried to read him through his tone. Did he believe what she’d said about Isabelle Ardery and his presence in Cumbria? Did he not? And was it important, in any case, what he believed? When he ended the call, she had no answers. But she had no love for her questions, either.

CHALK FARM LONDON

Barbara heard the sound of raised voices as she approached the ground-floor flat at the front of the property. She was already crossing the patch of lawn to the terrace in front of the flat’s front doors when the unmistakable voice of Taymullah Azhar shouted furiously, “I will take steps, Angelina. I promise you that.” Barbara froze at once. Angelina Upman cried, “Are you actually threatening me?” and Azhar returned at top volume, “You can ask me that? This matter is settled.”

Barbara spun on her heel to beat a quick retreat, but she was too late. Out of the door Azhar strode, his face as black as she’d ever seen it. He clocked her, for there was no place for either of them to hide. He turned away and hurried off the property, setting off down Eton Villas in the direction of Steeles Road.

It was a damn-and-blast moment that got worse immediately. For Angelina Upman came dashing out of the flat as well, as if going after her partner, and she clasped a fist at her mouth when she saw Barbara. They locked eyes. Angelina spun and retreated.

That painted things badly for Barbara. She was caught. Angelina had shown her friendship. Barbara could hardly slink off without asking if she could be of help. This was actually the last option she wanted to choose from the list of alternatives that she rapidly considered. She chose it anyway, however.

Angelina answered immediately when Barbara knocked on the French windows. Barbara said to her, “Sorry. I was coming to ask Azhar…” She ran a hand through her hair and was all at once aware of how different it felt since the previous choppiness of it was gone. This fact seemed to define what she had to do next. She said, “Bloody hell, I’m dead sorry I overheard the row. But I didn’t hear much, just the last bit. I was coming to ask Azhar for a favour.”

Angelina’s shoulders slumped a bit. “I’m terribly sorry, Barbara. We should have kept our voices down but we’re too hot tempered. I brought something up better left unsaid. There are topics Hari won’t discuss.”

“Triggers for a row?”

“Just that, yes.” She blew out a regretful breath. “Anyway. This’ll blow over. It always does.”

“C’n I do anything?”

“If you don’t mind a mess, you might come inside and have a cup of tea with me.” Angelina then grinned and added, “Or a glass of gin, which I could bloody do with, let me tell you.”

“I’ll go for the tea,” Barbara said. “Save the gin for next time.”

Inside the flat, Barbara saw what Angelina had meant by a mess. It looked as if Azhar and his partner had resorted to hurling a few objects at each other in the midst of their row. This seemed so utterly unlike Azhar that Barbara looked from the sitting room to Angelina and wondered if she’d done all the hurling herself. There were scattered magazines, a broken figurine, an upended lamp, a shattered vase, and flowers lying on the floor in a pool of water.

Barbara said, “I c’n help you put this in order as well.”

“Tea first,” Angelina said.

The kitchen was untouched. Angelina made the tea and took it to a small table that sat beneath a high window through which a patch of sunlight gleamed. She said, “Thank God Hadiyyah’s in school. She would have been frightened. I doubt she’s ever seen Hari like that.”

Barbara took the inference. Angelina herself had “seen Hari like that.” She said to her, “Like I said, I was on my way to ask his help.”

“Hari’s? How?”

Barbara explained. Angelina lifted her teacup as she listened. She had lovely hands like the rest of her, and their tapered fingers bore shapely nails of a uniform length. She said, “He’ll know someone. He’ll want to help you. He likes you enormously, Barbara. You mustn’t think that this” — she tilted her head in the direction of the sitting room — “is an indication of anything but two similar temperaments crashing into each other. We’ll both get over it. We usually do.”

“That’s good to know.”