‘We cannot reveal that.’
Hal stares at the man, trying to understand. And then he thinks he might be able to guess. He looks at the man’s cheap watch, the elderly, scuffed shoes. But he cannot voice his suspicion outright: to do so would be to turn them absolutely against him.
‘I think you need,’ he says, carefully, ‘to question him again. The last time I saw her, she was with him …’
‘We do not feel we have any need to speak to Mr Truss again.’
‘Look,’ Hal says, ‘I don’t know what he’s said to you. I don’t know what he has done to … persuade you.’
He has got it wrong, he knows, the second that the words leave his mouth. The policeman’s face colours ominously.
‘The only thing,’ the man says, slowly, dangerously, ‘that will persuade me, that will convince us of anything, is evidence. And there is nothing to suggest that Mr Truss has anything to do with the disappearance of his wife.’
‘I’ve shown you the evidence!’ Hal realizes vaguely that he is shouting, but he is beyond trying to reason with them. He pulls the collar of his shirt down again to reveal the marks. ‘I’ve told you that she was planning to leave – with me.’
‘There is no proof of that, either,’ the man says, ‘only your own words.’ He spreads his hands, and says, in a reasonable tone, ‘Another way of seeing it, of course, would be as the work of a jealous imagination. You are lucky that you yourself have an alibi, in the form of Mr Morgan, otherwise we would be asking a different set of questions.’
Hal is standing up. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Mr Jacobs,’ the man says, ‘sit down.’
‘No,’ Hal says, ‘this is absurd. I’m going to find him myself. I’m going to make him talk to me.’ He has visions of taking Truss by the neck in retaliation: forcing the confession from him.
But the policeman is standing too. And when Hal turns, he sees that two further men have entered the room behind him.
‘Mr Jacobs,’ the man says, ‘I’m afraid I am going to have to arrest you on suspicion of the murder of Stella Truss.’
He paces the cell. He knows the guard is watching him, and that his agitation is the reason. He is aware that the important thing is to try and stay calm: that shouting and raging won’t help him get out faster; won’t enable him to help her. He has to believe that he will be able to help her.
Eventually, he lies down on the hard cot, in an attempt to clear his head. Something bruises itself against his hip and he reaches into his pocket to find the journal and compass. Incredible, that they didn’t take them when they had searched him. He finds himself opening the journal, as though he hopes to find some clue there.
PART FIVE
40
IF HE CANNOT have her … well, he will not let anyone else do so.
He comes for her in the night. The housekeeper meets him at the door, bleary-eyed. When he tells her that he has come to take the girl, she makes to protest – and stops herself. He follows her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud. She cannot afford to forget her position.
He makes his way quickly up to Luna’s chamber. She looks at him in confusion when he enters, blinking away sleep.
He tells her that he has come to take her somewhere. She is in her nightshirt, and asks if she may get dressed, but he shakes his head. ‘It won’t be necessary.’
He thinks he sees a faint shiver of fear pass through her at this, but then she sheds or conceals it. She climbs from the bed and walks towards him. He tries not to notice how her body is revealed by the thin fabric. She cannot have any power over him now – he cannot let his mind be turned from what he must do. She is taking her robe from her seat, and he lets her do it. It will be cold, after all. Before they pass out into the street he catches the looks that pass between her and the housekeeper. From her: entreaty. From the other woman: apology, sympathy … dread. He takes her arm and pulls her on, out into the waiting carriage. They move through the sleeping streets, pressed close together in the dark confines. The night outside is blue, not black. The moon is almost full, and he has planned it like this. He will need the light to guide him.
‘Sire,’ she says – her voice a surprise in the silence.
‘Yes?’
‘Where are we going?’
He doesn’t answer her. He doesn’t want her to become difficult.
There is silence for a little while, and then she says, ‘I wanted to ask you about my dog, sire.’