A Place of Hiding

“China’s innocent,” Cherokee added. “The truth...It’s there. Somewhere. And China needs—”

“Which means someone else is guilty,” St. James interrupted. “Which makes the situation inordinately delicate and dangerous as well.” He didn’t add what he wanted to add at this point. I forbid you to go. They didn’t live in the eighteenth century. Deborah was—if anything—an independent woman. Not financially, of course. He could stop her there by tightening her purse strings or whatever it was that one did to cut a woman off financially. But he liked to think he was above that kind of machination. He’d always believed that reason could be employed more effectively than intimidation. “How will you locate the people you want to talk to?”

“I expect they have phone books on Guernsey,” Deborah said.

“I mean how will you know who to talk to?” St. James asked.

“Cherokee will know. China will know. They were at Brouard’s house. They met other people. They’ll come up with the names.”

“But why would these people want to talk to Cherokee? Or to you, for that matter, once they learn of your connection to China?”

“They won’t learn of it.”

“You don’t think the police will tell them? And even if they do speak to you—to Cherokee as well—and even if you manage that part of the situation, what will you do with the rest?”

“Which...?”

“The evidence. How do you plan to evaluate it? And how will you recognise it if you find more?”

“I hate it when you...” Deborah swung to Cherokee. She said, “Will you give us a moment?”

Cherokee looked from her to St. James. He said, “This is making too much trouble. You’ve done enough. The embassy. Scotland Yard. Let me head back to Guernsey and I’ll—”

Deborah cut in firmly. “Give us a moment. Please.”

Cherokee glanced from husband to wife then back to husband. He looked inclined to speak again, but he said nothing. He took off to inspect a list of trial dates that was hanging from a notice board. Deborah turned on St. James furiously. “Why are you doing this?”

“I just want you to see—”

“You think I’m bloody incompetent, don’t you?”

“That’s not the truth, Deborah.”

“Incapable of having a few conversations with people who might just be willing to tell us something they haven’t told the police. Something that could make a difference. Something that could get China out of gaol.”

“Deborah, I don’t mean you to think—”

“This is my friend,” she persisted in a fierce low voice. “And I mean to help her. She was there, Simon. In California. She was the only person—”

Deborah stopped. She looked ceilingward and shook her head as if this would shake off not only emotion but also memory.

St. James knew what she was recalling. He didn’t need a road map to see how Deborah had traveled to her destination. China had been there as soul mate and confessor during the years that he himself had failed Deborah. Doubtless she had been there as well while Deborah fell in love with Tommy Lynley and perhaps she had wept along with Deborah during the aftermath of that love. He knew this but he could no more bring it up at that moment than he could undress in public and put his body’s damage on display. So he said, “My love, listen. I know you want to help.”

“Do you?” she asked bitterly.

“Of course I do. But you can’t crash round Guernsey just because you want to help. You haven’t the expertise and—”

“Oh thank you very much.”

“—the police aren’t going to be the least bit cooperative. And you have to have their cooperation, Deborah. If they won’t divulge every bit of their evidence, you’ll have no way of truly knowing whether China is actually innocent.”

“You can’t think she’s a killer! My God!”

“I don’t think anything one way or another. I’m not invested as you are. And that’s what you need: someone who’s not invested either.”

Even as he heard his own words, he felt himself becoming committed. She hadn’t asked it of him and she certainly wouldn’t ask it of him now, after their conversation. But he saw how it was the only solution. She needed his help, and he had spent over half his lifetime extending his hand to Deborah, whether she reached out for it or not.





Chapter 6