‘We won’t know that for sure, miss, until the medical examiner has made his report. But yes, it certainly looks that way.’
They took one last look at the policemen still going over Dot’s car and the waiting paramedics, then headed back to Wickersham. Kingston could pick up his stuff tomorrow and they had long ago abandoned the idea of lunch. A mile outside the village they heard the faint wail of a siren as the ambulance took Dot away.
Chapter Twenty
At a quarter to six, David Latimer pulled up to the front door at Wickersham just as Kingston was about to go in. They shook hands, exchanged greetings and went into the house.
With drinks served—a glass of white wine for Jamie, Dewar’s for both Latimer and Kingston—the three of them sat in the living room, Jamie doing most of the talking as they explained how they had found Dot.
‘All things considered, it’s not a bad way to go,’ said Kingston with a sigh. ‘Only have to run the engine for about fifteen minutes or so in a small car like that and you’ve got a lethal level of carbon monoxide.’
‘What an awful thing to have happened, though,’ said Latimer. ‘Had she given you any indications that she might be undergoing stress of any kind? Any unusual behaviour?’
‘No,’ Jamie replied. ‘To the contrary, she’s just been her usual grouchy self.’ Her sorrowful smile was fleeting. ‘With her, that was one thing you could always rely on.’
‘I didn’t know Dot as well as Jamie did, of course,’ said Kingston, ‘but when I was with her the other day, she seemed to be—how can I put it—well, defensive. It struck me as a little odd at the time but I didn’t think too much of it. A bad hair day, maybe.’
Latimer took a sip of his scotch. ‘And Jack Harris. You say it’s still not determined exactly how he died. If it was an accident, or murder?’
‘No,’ said Jamie. ‘Inspector Chadwick thinks that it all had to do with gambling and drugs. He doesn’t think it’s connected to anything here.’ She glanced at Kingston. ‘Lawrence does, though.’
‘You think Jack’s death and Dot’s suicide are connected?’ Shaking his head, Kingston let out a long sigh. ‘God, I don’t know, David. This thing with Dot has really thrown me for a loop. I’m still convinced that Jack had something to do with all of this, though.’
Latimer put his drink down on the table. ‘Really? Do you have any hard evidence that makes you think that?’
‘I have to admit, at this point it’s all hypothetical. But it goes beyond just Jack’s and Dot’s deaths. I’m convinced that all the things that have been going on here are connected in some way: the break-ins, Jamie’s accident, that business with the paintings. Not only that, I’m sure that they all have something to do with Ryder. Something about his past—something that happened a long while ago.’
Latimer frowned. ‘The paintings?’
‘I told you about them,’ said Jamie. ‘The man that showed up saying that Ryder had some paintings that belonged to a French art dealer and they wanted them back.’
Latimer nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. Of course, I remember, now. Did he call again then or come back?’
‘No,’ said Jamie.
Latimer looked at Kingston. ‘So, how do the paintings fit in with all this, then?’
Here we go again, Kingston thought. If he answered, he would probably get the same reaction from Latimer as he had from Jamie. She had already told him that David felt the same way as she did, that the paintings were long gone. He took a long sip of scotch before deciding to dodge the question for the moment, to spare Jamie the embarrassment of having to listen to a long-drawn-out hypothesis that she had heard one time too many already. But it was a good opportunity to ask Latimer the question that he’d been wanting to. He had to tread carefully though, knowing that Jamie wasn’t aware of what had happened in Latimer’s office when Mainwaring had threatened to contest the will.
‘To answer your question, I’m not sure yet how the paintings fit in. But let me ask you something, David—this Mainwaring fellow. I know that after Ryder died he took his inheritance and disappeared but I’m curious—do you know anything more about him?’
‘There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid.’
‘You said that he was in Ryder’s employ for about fifteen years.’
‘Yes, that’s about right.’
‘In his role as butler, major-domo, whatever, how much would Ryder have confided in him? What I’m trying to get at is, how much would he have known about Ryder’s past and his business affairs?’