A Traitor to Memory

He wasted no time in small talk once Havers had shut the door and placed herself in front of it, notebook in hand. He took the seat behind the desk, gestured Georgia Ramsbottom into the chair in front of the desk, and brought out the photograph of Katja Wolff. Had Mrs. Ramsbottom seen this woman in the vicinity of the Sixty Plus Club or anywhere else in Henley, for that matter, in the weeks preceding Mrs. Davies' death?

The production of the photograph seemed to prompt Georgia to say, “The killer …?” in the sort of reverential tone that would have done service in an Agatha Christie novel. She was suddenly all helpfulness, perhaps altered by the realisation that the police were not seeking the killer among the over-sixty crowd. She hastened to add, “I do know it was deliberate, Inspector, and not just an arbitrary hit-and-run. Dear Teddy told me when I rang him last evening.”

Across the room, Havers mouthed Dear Teddy. Thwarted love among the ruins, her expression implied. She did some furious scribbling in her notebook. Georgia heard the sound of her pencil scritching across the paper. She glanced over her shoulder.

Lynley said, “If you'd have a look at the picture, Mrs. Ramsbottom …”

Georgia did so. She studied the photo. She held it close to her face. She held it at arm's length. She tilted her head. But no, she said at last, she'd never seen the woman in the picture. Not round Henley-on-Thames, at least.

“Somewhere else?” Lynley asked.

No, no. She didn't mean to imply that. Of course, she might have seen her in London—a stranger on the street, perhaps?—when she went up to visit her darling grandchildren. But if she had done, she couldn't remember.

“Thank you,” Lynley said, and he prepared to dismiss her.

But he found that Georgia wasn't inclined to be so easily disposed of. She crossed her legs, ran a hand along one of the pleats in her skirt, reached down to smooth her tights, and said, “You'll want to talk to Teddy, of course, won't you, Inspector?” It sounded more like a suggestion than a question. “He lives near Eugenie, dear Teddy does—but I expect you already know that, don't you?—and if this woman was hanging about or perhaps paying calls on her, he might well know. Indeed, Eugenie might have told him herself because they were great friends, weren't they, the two of them, Teddy and Eugenie. So she might have confided in him should this woman have …” Then Georgia hesitated, a heavily ringed finger tapping against her cheek. “But no. Nooo. Perhaps not, after all.”

Lynley sighed inwardly. He wasn't about to engage in the information game with the woman. If she wanted to enjoy the power of playing out what she knew like a fishing line, she was going to have to find someone else to swim in her river. He bluffed her with, “Thank you, Mrs. Ramsbottom,” and he nodded at Havers to usher her from the room.

Georgia showed her hand. “All right. I spoke to dear Teddy,” she confided. “As I said earlier, I phoned him last night. After all, one does want to offer condolences when someone loses a loved one, even in situations in which the scales of devotion aren't as evenly balanced as one would hope to see in a dear friend's love life.”

“The dear friend being Major Wiley,” Havers clarified with some impatience.

Georgia treated her to an imperious glance. She said to Lynley, “Inspector, I do feel you might benefit from knowing … not that I wish to speak ill of the dead … But I don't think we can call it speaking ill, can we, if what I say is simply a fact?”

“What are you getting at, Mrs. Ramsbottom?”

“It's just that I'm wondering if I should tell you something if it may not actually be germane to your case.” She waited for some sort of reply or reassurance. When Lynley said nothing, she was forced to continue. “But then again, it may be germane. It probably is. And if I hold back … It's poor dear Teddy I'm thinking of, you see. The thought of something becoming public knowledge, something that might hurt him … That's difficult for me to bear.”

Lynley thought that unlikely. He said, “Mrs. Ramsbottom, if you have information about Mrs. Davies that might lead to her killer, it's in your best interests to tell us directly.”

It's in our interests as well, Havers' expression said. She looked as if she'd have liked to throttle the maddening woman.

“Otherwise,” Lynley added, “we have work to do. Constable, if you'll assist Mrs. Ramsbottom in organising the others for interviews …?”

“It's about Eugenie, then,” Georgia said hastily. “I hate to say it. But I will. It's this: She didn't reciprocate, not completely.”

“Reciprocate what?”

“Teddy's feelings. She didn't share the strength of his feelings for her, and he didn't realise that.”

“But you did,” Havers said from the door.

“I'm not blind,” Georgia said over her shoulder to Havers. And then to Lynley, “I'm also not a fool. There was someone else, and Teddy didn't know. He still doesn't know, poor man.”

“Someone else?”

“Some people might argue that there was something permanently on Eugenie's mind and that's what kept her from getting close to Teddy. But I say it was someone on her mind and she hadn't yet got round to dropping the bomb on the poor man.”