The Lost Gardens(52)

Over the years Kingston had got to know a number of Americans, a few of whom had become more than nodding acquaintances. Jamie was certainly not a ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’ type, who thinks nothing of reciting their entire life and medical history at first introduction. She was the opposite. But over the last weeks there had been a noticeable shift in her reticence: her candour in telling him about her job and her garden, confiding in him about her parents that night at dinner, and the education she was giving him about winegrowing.

Every now and then, he detected what he thought was a flicker of mutual attraction. It struck him as curious, too, that a woman as attractive and intelligent as Jamie should not have a boyfriend. Surely that couldn’t be the case? There was the chap she worked with—the one that was coming over—what was his name? Matthew. But from what little she had said, that was strictly an office relationship. Of course, there could be any number of explanations. For no particular reasons, he guessed that she’d never been married. If she had she would surely have mentioned it by now. And if it were recently ended, she would probably still be wearing a wedding ring. Women did that, he’d noticed. Maybe she had just had a bitter break-up with a boyfriend, a broken engagement? That would certainly explain why it was not so hard for her to drop everything and travel halfway around the world to start a new life.

Why was he so concerned about her personal life? Why didn’t he just do what he came down to do? He knew the answer but wasn’t prepared to dwell on it. In his mind he wasn’t willing to accept the simple truth that he was growing very fond of Jamie—perhaps too fond.

He picked up the book. ‘Christ,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘What are you thinking of?’





Chapter Fifteen

‘That’s very disturbing news,’ said Kingston, a sombre look on his face, the hard lines around his jaw accentuated by the shafts of sunlight deflecting through the nearby window. Jamie said nothing, her face, too, registering concern and noticeably drained of colour.

Minutes earlier, a breathless Dot had found Kingston in the vegetable garden saying that Jamie wanted him up at the house right away.

Facing Jamie and Kingston, Detective Chief Inspector Chadwick, in a dark grey pinstripe suit, sat leaning back into the sofa, his arm stretched casually along the back. ‘We’re not treating it as a homicide yet,’ he said. ‘But there’re sufficient reasons for us not to rule it out entirely.’ He had just informed Jamie and Kingston that, late the previous afternoon, Jack Harris had been discovered face down on the kitchen linoleum of his rented house, dead. His landlady had called the police after several unsuccessful attempts to serve him final notice on his rent that was two months in arrears.

‘What was the cause of death?’ Kingston asked.

‘Don’t know yet,’ Chadwick replied. ‘There were a number of contusions around the head and on the hands and wrists, suggesting that he was warding off an assault of some kind, but according to the medical examiner some of those were caused earlier.’

Kingston nodded. ‘Yes, he had bruises on his face the other week. Swore he’d got them falling off his motorbike. I’d give you even money he was lying, though.’

Chadwick leaned forward. ‘When was that, doctor?’

Kingston told Chadwick about Jack not showing up for work and his visit to Jack’s house. ‘He did return to work the following Monday, though,’ said Kingston. ‘I know he was here last Friday. He took off early as a matter of fact.’

Chadwick got up from the sofa. ‘Anything else?

‘There was, actually,’said Jamie, giving Kingston a sideways glance first. ‘He wanted me to loan him some money. Said he was strung out on his credit cards.’

‘How much?’

‘Two thousand pounds.’

‘Hmm—not exactly small change. We’ll soon find out, though, if that’s the real reason why he wanted the money.’

Chadwick didn’t stay long. He asked again about the stolen books and papers, Kingston telling him that none had turned up. Standing in the courtyard, the talk was mostly about progress on the restoration project. Kingston dutifully answered a question from the inspector about using Epsom salts to feed roses. Before getting in his car, Chadwick cautioned them to make sure that their security devices were all in good order and to be vigilant. They were experiencing a higher than usual incidence of burglary and break-ins, he said. Kingston’s mind flashed to the hooded figure then to his ransacked cottage. ‘Now he tells us,’ Kingston said aside to Jamie as Chadwick was closing the car door.