Believing the Lie

But as swiftly as Nicholas had entered Ireleth Hall, just as swiftly he left it.

LANCASTER LANCASHIRE

Deborah’s two hours in a parked car with Zed Benjamin were broken only by a single call on her mobile. She thought it might be Simon, and she glanced to see, rapidly assessing whether she should answer or let it go to her voice mail rather than risk something less than an “official” conversation in the presence of the journalist. It was Tommy, though. She reckoned she could work with that.

She said to Zed, “My guv,” and when she answered she said, “Inspector Lynley. Hullo.”

“That’s a formal touch.”

“All due respect,” Deborah told him cheerfully. She felt Zed’s eyes on her. She kept her own fixed on the disabled soldiers’ home.

“If only I received that at work,” Tommy said. Then, “I’ve met up with Simon.”

“I thought you might have done.”

“He’s unhappy with both of us. With me for getting you into this. With you for not getting out of it. Where are you now?”

“Still in Lancaster.”

“How did you get there?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Deborah, Simon’s rung me from your hotel.”

“You said you saw him.”

“This was afterwards. He went back to the hotel, you were gone, but your hire car’s there. He’s obviously concerned.”

“Not enough to ring me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Deb. Have some pity on the man. He knows you’re in a temper. He knows you won’t answer the phone if you see he’s the caller. How did you get to Lancaster?”

She had no choice, but she did need to be careful with her phrasing. “Mr. Benjamin from The Source is working with me at the moment, sir.”

She heard his mild curse so she quickly went on. “I’m waiting to speak to the woman who was with Alatea. They paid a call upon someone at the Faculty of Science and Technology and we need to know why.”

“Deb.” She could hear in his voice that he wasn’t sure what approach to take with her just now. What would work? he was wondering. An appeal to her wiser nature? A veiled reference to their own past as lovers? It was an interesting position for him to be in, she reckoned.

He said, “You know Simon wants you back in London. He’s worried.”

“I don’t think London’s wise at the moment. I’m very close to something here.”

“That’s exactly what he’s worried about. You’ve been too close to a murderer once before.”

Guernsey, she thought. Like Bogart and Bergman when it came to Paris, she and Simon would always have Guernsey. All right, she’d been hurt. But she hadn’t died. She hadn’t even been close to dying. And this was different since she had no intention of ending up inside an earthen chamber with someone in possession of an antique hand grenade. She said, “This is important somehow. A loose end needing to be tied.”

“It’s hard to disagree with the science behind someone’s death, Deb. Simon’s conclusions are sound.”

“Perhaps. But there’s more here than his conclusions,” she said.

“I don’t disagree. You’re obviously finding Alatea Fairclough one of them. I have Havers on her in London, by the way.”

“So you see — ”

“As I said, I don’t disagree. It’s Simon I’m concerned about, frankly.”

“So you do think he could be wrong?”

“He’s far too preoccupied with you. That sometimes blinds someone to what’s right in front of them. Still and all, I can’t allow you — ”

“No one’s allowing anything.”

“Dreadful choice of words. I can see we’re going to go round and round. If nothing else, I do know you. All right, have a care. Will you do that much?”

“I will. What about you?”

“There are a few loose ends on my end as well. I’ll be doing some tying. You will ring me if there’s any reason at all, won’t you?”

“Definitely, Inspector.” She rang off at that. She glanced at Zed Benjamin to see if she’d carried off the conversation without raising his suspicions. But he was in the process of sinking down into his seat as best as he could. He nodded in the direction of the soldiers’ home. Alatea Fairclough and her companion were just making the turn into the car park.

Deborah and Zed remained where they were, and in less than a minute, the other woman came round the side of the building and went inside. Shortly thereafter, Alatea drove out of the car park, heading off in a direction that suggested she was going to retrace her route to Arnside. This was well and good, Deborah thought. It was time to see what she could get from this other woman.

She said to Zed, “I’m off.”

He said, “Quarter of an hour and I’m ringing you on your mobile.”

She said, “You can do that, of course. But do consider you’re my ride back to Milnthorpe so I’m hardly likely to jeopardise that.”

Zed grumbled a bit. He said at the least he was getting out of the bloody car and having a stretch because two hours of waiting in, virtually, a doubled-up position had taken their toll. Deborah said this was fine with her, it was a good idea, she’d be in contact with him should he wander far while she was inside the soldiers’ home.

“Oh, don’t,” Zed said, “worry your head on that score. I’ll be close by.”

Deborah had little doubt about that. He’d lurk in the bushes if he could do so, one ear pressed to a convenient window. But she knew this was as close as she was going to get to a compromise with the man, so she said she’d be as quick as she could, and she crossed the street.

Inside the Kent-Howath Foundation for Disabled Veterans, she decided on a direct approach, having very little other choice in the matter as she didn’t possess police identification. She approached a reception desk and worked upon her most pleasant smile. She said to the receptionist — an antique soldier himself, by the look of him — that she’d just seen a woman come into the building: “rather tall, brown hair tied back, long skirt, boots…?” She was certain this woman was a schoolmate of her own elder sister, and she would very much like to have a moment to speak with her. She knew this was a silly request. After all, the woman might turn out to be a total stranger. On the other hand, if she was who Deborah thought she was …

“You mean Lucy, I expect,” the elderly man said. He was wearing a military uniform. It hung upon him like a bride to her husband on her wedding night. His neck rose from its collar, corrugated with flesh. “She’s our social lady. Games and exercises and groups and the like. Going to the pageant at Christmas. That sort of thing.”

“Lucy, yes. That was her name indeed,” Deborah said. “Is there any chance …” She cast a hopeful look at him.

“Always a chance for a pretty gel,” he said. “Where’d you get all that lovely hair, eh?”

“Grandmother on my father’s side,” Deborah told him.

“Lucky you. Always had an eye for the ginger, me.” He reached for a phone and punched in a number. He said, “Gorgeous woman out here asking for you, darling,” and then he listened for a moment and added, “No. Someone new this is. How’d you get so popular, eh?” He chuckled at something she apparently said, rang off, and told Deborah that she’d be right out.

Deborah said confidentially, “This is terrible of me, but I can’t exactly recall her surname.”

“Keverne,” he said. “Lucy Keverne. That’d be what she was then and what she is now as she’s not married. Doesn’t even have a boyfriend. I keep trying, but she says I’m too young for her, she does.”

Deborah pooh-poohed this idea as was expected of her and went to wait on a wooden bench across from the receptionist’s desk. She gave scattered thoughts to what on earth she was going to say to Lucy Keverne, but