Enter Pale Death(123)
Adam grinned. “All correct but for one detail, Joe. He didn’t wake up of his own accord. I woke him. I take no chances. Dish out no injustices. I offered him his life in return for the truth. He confessed that he’d dragged Phoebe to the moat and drowned her in a rush of carnal lust that was repulsed. She threatened to shop him to Sir Sidney. She said she’d tell the old man his pet Spirit of the Woods had raped her and was the man responsible for her condition. Thereby incriminating him and exonerating the young master. A version that would have been much more palatable to the old man. I told you she was quick-witted. But it got her nowhere with that brute. The man condemned himself out of his own mouth. His sins, in the end, found him out.”
The old-fashioned phrasing recalled to Joe Mrs. Bolton’s estimate of the man’s character. She’d mentioned, in approving tones, his “righteousness.” Joe replied in kind. “You wanted him to see the face of Retribution looming over him before the lights went out?”
“He recognised me all right. Killing him gave me more satisfaction than accounting for a whole squadron of the Hun.”
“You put on the breastplate of judgement, reneged on your offer of his life for the truth and pulled the trigger.”
“So? What would you have done, Sir Gawain? Slapped him on the wrist and handed him over to a bunch of his drinking cronies for a decision on his fate, going by present form! My word against his on an uninvestigated death that happened a quarter of a century ago—that doesn’t get attention from any police department in the land and you know it. You are only here, looking more closely because you had strong personal, present-day reasons to do that.” Less angrily, he added, “I’m not ungrateful—never think it. You’ve done your job. But—let’s be clear—I’m glad he’s no longer on the face of the earth, festering and spreading his malice.”
“Too late. It’s already spread. It’s touched you, Adam. Take care you don’t pass it on like the flu.”
“What are you going to do about it? They say you’re a man who takes a hard line when it comes to ethics in the Force. You’ve fined coppers on the beat for drinking, sacked officers for taking bribes … I’m ready to hear what you propose for a superintendent who commits murder.”
“Tricky.” Joe paused to marshal his thoughts and took a moment, as he often did in a tight spot, to select a diplomatic formula of the kind his old friend Sir George Jardine would have used to oil an unpalatable response. “I don’t give a shit,” he said finally. He picked up the bullet and tossed it over to Hunnyton. “Stand off! I suggest you do with that what I did with the letter.
“Now, Adam. It’s been a long day one way or another and I’m turning in. Early start for Cambridge in the morning and I have to get a young lady onto the ten o’clock London train.”
“Then I’d better drive you. Um … If it’s no bother, Adelaide’s expressed a wish to spend a day or two in Cambridge. Hope you don’t mind, Joe, but I sort of suggested it myself. Your Dorcas was more hurt than you supposed by that charade. She may well have agreed to it but it still knocked her back to find the man she … um … respected …”
“Loved,” Joe corrected. “I’m not a fool.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you. Not ready yet to forgive you. She’s rather clinging to sensible Adelaide for support. In fact I think she’s hiding from you behind Adelaide’s skirts. She senses this is a moment when she needs a doctor rather than a detective and if the doc’s another woman who’s very ready to agree with her that Joe Sandilands is a complete arsehole—all the better. There’s a fence there that, just for once, you may not be able to mend with charm and a glib tongue. It’s got a dirty great hole right through the middle of it.”
“You’ll be glad to see Tommy again? Does Adelaide like dogs?” This was the feeble attempt of a tired man to change the subject and extract information and Adam was not deceived.
“Adelaide? No idea. The woman’s a mystery to me. She doesn’t have a dog of her own, though her father has the usual pair of Labradors,” he said genially. “Tommy’ll be waiting behind the door when I get back to Maid’s Causeway. There’ll be eggs and bacon and a basket of mushrooms on the kitchen table and Mrs. Douglas at the hob. You’re very welcome to stay for breakfast. Hannah would insist. I told you my landlady was the best cook in Cambridge—she’s also the handsomest. In fact—she’s a corker! I’d make an honest woman of her tomorrow if she’d have me but she’s waiting for something better to turn up. When I’m feeling cheerful, I tell myself it must be that she prefers the spice of an illicit affair.”