A Suitable Vengeance

“And that was the fight.”


“I went to see him Friday night. I wanted to close the clinic.” He stared across the room at the fire. Its glow was reflected in his spectacles like two points of heat. “Mick wasn’t at all concerned. These weren’t people to him. They were a source of income. Look, just keep the clinic running until we get more of the stuff, he said. So we lose a few? So what? Others’ll come. People pay anything for the chance of a cure. What are you so hot about? You’re bringing the money in hand over fist and don’t pretend you aren’t happy as hell about it.” Trenarrow looked at Lynley. “I tried to talk to him, Tommy. I couldn’t make him see. I couldn’t get him to understand. I kept talking. He kept brushing it off. I finally…I just snapped.”

“When you saw he was dead, you decided to paint it as a sexual crime,” St. James said.

“I thought he was after the village women. I thought it would look like someone’s husband finally got to him.”

“And the money in the cottage?”

“I took it as well. And then made it look like the room had been searched. I took my handkerchief from my pocket so I wouldn’t leave prints. I must have lost the pill case then. I saw it the moment I knelt by his body later.”

Lynley leaned forward. “As black as it is, Mick’s death started out as an accident, Roderick. An assault, an accident. But what about Brooke? You were tied together. What did you have to fear from him? Even if he assumed you’d killed Mick, he’d have kept quiet about it. Bringing you down would only have brought himself down as well.”

“I had nothing to fear from Brooke,” Trenarrow said.

“Then why—”

“I knew he wanted Peter.”

“Wanted—”

“To be rid of him. He was here Friday night when I got home from the play. We’d never actually met, of course, but he had no trouble finding the villa. He said Mick had been talking in front of Peter. He was worried. He wanted me to do something to tighten Mick’s tongue.”

“Which you’d already done,” St. James noted.

Trenarrow accepted the grim statement without reaction. “When he heard about the killing the next morning, he panicked. He came to see me. He thought it was only a matter of time before Peter put together some remarks Mick had made and either went to the police or started sniffing round for someone to blackmail. Peter had a habit to support, he didn’t have money, he’d already threatened Mick. Brooke wanted him dead. I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“God. Oh, God.” Lynley felt the sharp blade of regret pierce through him.

“He said there was no risk involved, that he could make it look like an overdose of some sort. I didn’t know what he intended, but I thought I could stall him. I told him I had a better plan and asked him to meet me on the cliff after the party Saturday night.”

“And then you killed him?”

“I’d taken the knife, but he was drunk. It was easy enough to shove him over the edge and hope it would look like an accident.” For a moment Trenarrow fell silent. He studied a few folders, a magazine, three photographs, a pen that were arranged on his desk. “I didn’t regret that. Not for a moment. I still don’t.”

“But he’d already passed the drug on to Sasha. It was ergotamine and quinine. He told her to give it to Peter.”

“I’ve been too late every way I’ve turned. What a mess. What a blasted horror.” Trenarrow began uselessly to gather a few papers, arranging them in a pile, tapping them together. He fondly looked round the room. He said, “I wanted this for her. I couldn’t offer her Gull Cottage. What a ludicrous thought. But she would have come here. And oncozyme made it possible, so it seemed a double good. Can you understand that? People, who otherwise faced death, would live and be cured, while your mother and I would finally be together. I wanted this for her.” He held the papers in one hand and with the other slid open the middle drawer of his desk. “Had oncozyme existed then, I would have saved him, Tommy. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. No matter what I felt for your mother. I hope you believe me.” He placed the papers in the drawer, rested his hand on top of them. “Does she know about this?”

Lynley thought of his father, wasting away. He thought of his mother, trying to make the best of her life. He thought of his brother, growing up at Howenstow alone. He thought of Trenarrow. It was an effort to speak. “She doesn’t know.”