Lessons in Power (12 page)
“We’ve been asked to find some information for them. As you’re not actually suspects, they felt it
would be more apt if we dealt with things.” Wilson glanced from one man to the other, a look in his eye that was now more beseeching than inquisitorial. “Dr. Stewart, Dr. Coppersmith, will you share with us what you know, so that we can instruct our colleagues?”
Orlando looked at his friend, who nodded agreement without a second thought. They told the police
all they’d found out on their two journeys to London, omitting only the personal connection that the two victims had to their investigators. While mentioning Taylor’s desire to confess some sin, they left the nature of the misdemeanour unqualified.
They emphasised that everything had been passed on to Collingwood, who’d promised to bring any
matter of importance to the notice of the local police force. “And, I might add, the constabulary in Surrey would have saved themselves a lot of trouble if they’d been interested in what Mr. Cartwright had to say.”
There was a hint of relish in Orlando’s voice. “Including what’s quite possibly the arrest of the wrong man.”
“I cannot comment officially on my opinion regarding the handling of this case. But strictly off the
record I will tell you that I, we, aren’t impressed.” The tone in Wilson’s voice left no one in any doubt that, if he’d been in charge of the officer who’d so carelessly disregarded such vital information, the man would have found himself blacking boots or sweeping chimneys. There was a renewed glint in his eye. “I
wouldn’t mind getting one up on that snooty lot down in Surrey. It’s as well that you
were
called in or else no one would have sought to connect the two crimes, unless they somehow found out about that argument the two men had. If the crimes are linked, then the fact that Alistair Stafford couldn’t possibly have 58
Lessons in Power
committed the second murder might shed doubt on his being guilty of the first.” All present nodded their agreement.
“Jardine and Taylor have a lot more in common than arguing in a club and being murdered within
weeks of each other. Something that goes a long way back.” Jonty’s words cut the air like a knife. They’d reached a turning point in the case. He was nervous, nauseous, determined—having taken another step in what had been an unavoidable journey, inevitable once someone had killed Christopher Jardine. He
respected and trusted both these officers, even if they’d appeared, at least fleetingly, to suspect him. “Do you remember that unfortunate lad at St. Bride’s and why he did what he did?”
The inspector and sergeant nodded in unison. Who could forget the poor benighted young man who’d
suffered terrors at school at the hands of one of his masters, and who’d taken terrible revenge years later, not on the perpetrator, but on men of a similar inclination?
“I had a comparable experience at school. I was used, abused, hurt, and there were two perpetrators.
Taylor and Jardine.” A silence lay over the room, broken only by the deafening ticking of that bloody clock. Jonty looked defiantly from one officer to the other. Orlando watched his lover, Cohen studied his shoes.
Wilson contemplated his steepled fingers then sighed. “Dr. Stewart, I appreciate the candour with
which you’ve addressed us—it can’t have been easy to make such an admission. I assume you understand
this gives you a motive for wanting revenge on both these men?”
“I do realise. And I also know that I’m wholly innocent, as is my friend.” Jonty’s fists clenched and unclenched. “We have, as you pointed out, an immaculate alibi for yesterday and also one for the first of February, when we were at High Table in the presence of the vice chancellor.”
“You’re lucky that you move in such notable circles, although I seem to remember that you’re the one
who has no time for alibis.” Wilson was well aware of the belligerence beneath Jonty’s smooth exterior.
“I’m grateful, nonetheless, that you can be vouched for. I was never convinced you were implicated in these deaths, although you do have an annoying habit of being in the vicinity of murders. Please, for all our sakes, let us know in future when you’ve been consulted.”
“We will.” Orlando was less cantankerous now that the police recognised his and Jonty’s professional
involvement. “I have something that might interest you, if you have a hankering for Taylor’s fingerprints.
We got them on Saturday and were going to bring them to you tomorrow. Even your Surrey colleagues
might want to see if he’d been at the scene of Jardine’s murder.” Orlando, with great relish, explained how he’d obtained the little gems.
“Very ingenious, Dr. Coppersmith; I shall have to try that.” Wilson took the case, he and Orlando
drifting into a discussion on the arcane art of fingerprinting, then moving on to Bertillon and his
measurement system.
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Jonty may have found this a relief from the interrogation but it was equally tiring. He really needed his bed, his lover and some peace—his nerves were feeling shot to pieces again, to the point of wondering how much more of this wretched case he could take.
All the time one step forwards and two steps back.
Orlando—dear, kind Orlando—noticed and immediately whisked the police away with many
promises about telling all once Mr. Cartwright had provided the goods.
When he returned from the door, Jonty had already gone upstairs. He was to be located bundled up in
his lover’s bed, no glasses and no book, just waiting to talk.
“Orlando, I’m so glad we didn’t tell Mama about this case.” Jonty snuggled into his lover’s arms, still uneasy, as he’d been since the police had knocked on the door.
Orlando swallowed hard, a wave of guilt starting to move up his spine. “Why’s that, pup?”
“Because if she knew why we’d been to visit Taylor, the
whole truth
I mean, and the police knew that she knew, we’d never have been able to keep it secret from them. She’d be under suspicion, too.” Jonty shivered, even though the evening wasn’t yet that cold and the rain which murmured against the windows suggested it might stay mild.
Orlando held his lover tighter, wishing this wretched case had never come along to disrupt their
blissful existence. “Jonty, don’t worry. She has an alibi for Sunday morning, as we do.”
“If anyone could arrange to appear to be in two places at once it would be my mother. And you know
as well as I do that she’d be quite capable of smashing in my tormentor’s head, then sailing off to confess it all and receive absolution.” Jonty sighed, lay back, rubbed his head as if trying to make all the unpleasant thoughts disappear. “If I didn’t feel entirely loved and cherished by her she’d scare the pants off me.”
“Jonty…” Orlando swallowed hard. “She knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That the case we’re working on involves one of those boys from school.”
Jonty shot bolt upright, shaking with emotion both in body and voice. “How? Did you tell her? Oh,
how could you?”
Orlando addressed the bedspread, far too unsettled and guilty to face his lover. “She found you, Jonty, when there was the storm in London—she found you when you’d
gone elsewhere
. It frightened her silly. I had to explain, there were no means by which I could leave her in doubt. You do know that I wouldn’t just betray your secrets?”
“I do. And I can well believe that she wangled as much of the detail out of you as she could. She’s a sly old puss at times. I’m sorry for upbraiding you.” The tension in Jonty’s shoulders began to dissipate, only to return with a vengeance. “Oh Lord, does Papa know as well?”
“Not unless your mother has told him and I did ask her not to. If your blessed father had Jardine’s
name he’d have a starting point in looking for Taylor and Rhodes. Not that it would make any difference to the Honourable Timothy now. Lucky your papa was at church too.”
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“He has the best alibi of all. Someone could perhaps impersonate me or you but the royal family have
known father since he was a mere slip of a lad and couldn’t be hoodwinked.” Jonty sighed, burying his face in his lover’s shoulder. “I just want this case to be finished as soon as possible. I was sure that Taylor had some involvement in Jardine’s death, but now it looks as if there’s at least one unknown party who might have killed either or both.”
Orlando reached for the notebook he always kept by his bed. One by each bed,
just in case
. “Let’s work this through then—we’ll both feel the better for it. Matthew asked us to clear Alistair Stafford’s name by solving Jardine’s murder. Now Taylor is dead and Stafford couldn’t possibly have done that deed. While we have to consider the possibility that the two deaths are no more than a coincidence, we should pursue both cases in the belief that they’re likely to be related.”
Jonty nodded, a broad, unexpected grin lighting up his sapphire blue eyes. “I do like your best, stuffy
‘let’s study the case’ tones. Find them ridiculously exciting, really, although I suppose that will have to wait. Let’s keep our eyes firmly on what we know and not go off on the track of idle speculation, unless we have enough cause to go along a siding as ’twere. I mean I know you have your suspicions about Angela Stafford, but we’ve no reason to connect her to Timothy Taylor, so we must discount her at present.” Jonty stabbed at his lover’s chest. “And yes, I know that secretly you’d love it to be her. We must leave it to Collingwood’s men to see whether that’s a hare worth coursing.”
Orlando sighed. For some reason he’d got it into his head that he rather wanted Angela to be guilty. It would take all the pressure off Jonty, for one thing, so when the case came to court there could be no mention of Jardine’s argument with Taylor and the man who was the subject of it. “Fine. We know there’s a connection between the men—not just the rather attractive one who’s at my side looking outrageously seductive, but the fact that they were at school together and had obviously kept in touch. We know that milord was planning to leave the country and that Taylor was unhappy about it. Was someone else equally aggrieved with both of them?”
“Like another victim, do you mean? The timing of the deaths being a coincidence rather than linked to Jardine’s proposed flight? It might work.” Jonty ruffled his hair, lost in thought.
Orlando hastily studied his notes, or else nothing would get discussed. It was distracting enough
having someone so attractive at your side while you were trying to think. When they were making
themselves look young and helpless it made things almost impossible. Especially when you had the
memory of a failed attempt at lovemaking to contend with. “Either a victim or another enemy they’d both made?”
Jonty tapped the notes his lover had written. “There is another way the deaths could connect. Jardine had a family, he didn’t just emerge from the primeval swamp. I’ve met his mother once and while she
doesn’t strike me as likely to take up a poker to avenge her son’s murderer, assuming Taylor was the
murderer…”
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“You’re blethering again.”
“Am not.” Jonty slapped his lover’s arm. “Listen. It’s not inconceivable that one of milord’s family
felt the need to
do in
his killer.”
“That’s a point.” Orlando noted it down. It had struck him from the start that it was a valid theory, but he was feeling incongruously frisky and wanted to niggle Stewart a bit. It often had desirable
consequences, the sort of consequences he greatly desired at present. “Any other possible connections?”
Now Jonty found the bedspread to be of immense interest. “There is someone I could name who
would have been very interested in what was said between those men at Platt’s.”
Orlando screwed up his nose, unable to see where the line of reasoning was going. “Who?”
“Oh, you are being so obtuse, do I have to spell it out? The master of St. Vincent house, Rhodes. We
need to find him and know what he’s been up to. While I don’t look forward to it, it has to be done.” Jonty picked at the coverlet, his wan face etched with discomfort.
“We’ll set Collingwood onto getting an address. In the morning.” Orlando laid down his book and
pen, freeing hands to take his lover back into his arms. “Tonight we’ll forget about it.”
“You might be able to, but I can’t. It’s going to be with me all the time now, like a shadow at the back of my mind. It’ll be there until the matter’s all cleared up.” Jonty’s blue eyes looked dim, all the
joie de
vivre
he normally showed hidden. Lost, like the evening sun had been as the rain clouds gathered. “Hold me tight and tell me things will get better one day.”
While Orlando obliged to the best of his ability, he wasn’t sure that either of them believed it.
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Chapter Seven
“A mathematical whattery?”
“A mathematical conclave. It’s been called at short notice to discuss a revolutionary theory before it gets published.” Orlando waved his arms, recreating integral signs, or some such nonsense, in the air. It certainly enlivened the atmosphere of the breakfast table, even if it threatened to send the coffeepot flying.
Jonty laid his head to one side. His lover really wasn’t a good liar and the truth would come out
sooner or later, but if Orlando wanted to have a few days away then that suited him very well. He had his own fish to fry and an admirable co-fryer in the shape of his father. “When will you be back?”
“Oh, in a couple of days. Definitely by the twentieth. Plenty of time to get this case wrapped up.”
Orlando hid his nose in his coffee cup, trying to cover up his guilty expression. “And I notice you’ve got the calendar down to scrutinise. What are you up to? Checking when my suit’s ready so that you can put me on a plinth and have the whole thing unveiled in the Old Court?”