A Traitor to Memory

“We're only done for if there's something useful to the investigation on the computer,” Lynley pointed out as he nosed the Bentley into the heavy evening traffic of Rosslyn Hill. “And there isn't, Havers.”


His utter calm rubbed against the sore of Barbara's apprehension. Their progress to his car had been so rapid after leaving Leach's office that she hadn't had a chance for a cigarette, and she was itching for a hit of tobacco to steady her nerves, which made her irritable along with afraid. “You know that, do you?” she asked him. “And what about those letters? From the superintendent to her? If we need those letters to build a case against Richard Davies … for why he went after Webberly … for why he made it look like Wolff was after people …” She ran her hand through her hair and felt it bristle. She needed to cut it. She'd do that tonight, take the nail scissors to it and do a proper job. Maybe she'd hack it all off and punk it up with hair goo. That should serve to distract AC Hillier from the r?le she'd played in evidence tampering.

“You can't have it all ways,” Lynley said.

“What's that s'posed to mean when it's home with its mother?”

“He can't have killed Eugenie because she threatened Gideon's career, Havers, and then gone after Webberly because he'd been harbouring jealousy over his affair with Eugenie. If you go that direction, where does that put Kathleen Waddington?”

“So maybe I'm wrong about Gideon's career,” she said. “Maybe he ran down Eugenie because she'd taken up with Webberly.”

“No. You're right. His objective was Eugenie, the only person he killed. But he went after Webberly and Waddington as well to focus our attention onto Katja Wolff.” Lynley sounded so certain, so completely unfazed by the danger they were in, that Barbara wanted to smack him. He could afford to be unruffled, she decided. Out from New Scotland Yard on his ear, he'd just motor down to the family pile in Cornwall and live out his days like the landed gentry. She, on the other hand, didn't have that option.

“You sound dead bloody sure of yourself,” she groused.

“Davies had the letter, Havers.”

“What letter?” she demanded.

“The letter telling him Katja Wolff was out of prison. He knew I'd suspect her once he showed me that letter.”

“So he knocks down the superintendent and this Waddington bird to make it look like Eugenie's death was for revenge? Katja going after the crowd who sent her away?”

“That's my guess.”

“But maybe it is revenge, Inspector. Not Katja's but his. P'rhaps he knew about Eugenie and Webberly. P'rhaps he's always known but just bided his time and eaten himself up with jealousy and vowed that someday—”

“It doesn't work, Havers. Webberly's letters to Eugenie Davies are addressed to Henley. They all postdate her separation from her husband. Davies had no reason to be jealous. He probably never even knew about them.”

“So why choose Webberly? Why not someone else from the trial? The Crown Prosecutor, the judge, another witness.”

“I expect Webberly was easier to locate. He's lived in the same house for twenty-five years.”

“But Davies has to know where the others lived if he found Waddington.”

“What others do you mean?”

“The people who testified against her. Robson, for instance. What about Robson?”

“Robson served Gideon. He told me that himself. I don't see Davies doing anything that might hurt his son, do you? Your entire scenario—the one you came up with in Leach's office—depends on the contention that Davies acted to save his son.”

“Okay. All right. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's all to do with Eugenie and Webberly and their affair. Maybe the letters and the computer are pieces of evidence we could've used to prove it. And maybe we're buggered.”

He glanced over at her. “Barbara, we're not.” Lynley looked at her hands, and she realised she was actually wringing them, like the unfortunate, impotent heroine in a melodrama featuring Simon Legree. He said, “Have one.”

She said, “What?”

“A cigarette. Have one. You're owed. I can cope.” He even punched in the Bentley's cigarette lighter, and when it popped out, he handed it over, saying, “Light up. This is a situation you're not likely to find yourself in again.”

“I bloody well hope not,” Havers muttered.

He shot her a look. “I was talking about smoking in the Bentley, Barbara.”

“Yeah. Well, I wasn't.” She dug out her Players and used the hot coil of the lighter against one. She inhaled deeply and grudgingly thanked her superior for humouring her vice for once. They inched their way south along the high street, and Lynley glanced at his pocket watch. He handed his mobile over to Barbara and said, “Phone St. James and ask him to have the computer ready.”

Barbara was about to do as he asked, when the mobile rang in her hand. She flipped it on and Lynley nodded at her to take the call, so she said, “Havers here.”

“Constable?” It was DCI Leach, speaking not so much in a tone as in a snarl. “Where the hell are you?”