The Blue Virgin (25 page)

Chapter Sixty-Three

“Nobody could sleep.”

—
Norman Mailer,
The Naked and the Dead

Thursday

4 AM

Nora tossed and turned on her side of the bed in what should have been a night of comfort. She endured Simon’s coldness as a just sentence, regarding his rigid back throughout the night as her due. She’d been prepared for anger, annoyance, and disappointment. It had taken her until now to figure out he probably felt all of those things in spades but didn’t feel he had the right to express them. What a restrained creature he could be, a cliché for British reserve, but Nora had come to see this as charming. Still, he was kind and thoughtful and always treated her with respect. She had done more than just let him down. She hadn’t taken into account the fact that he might feel betrayed.

  Nora knew she hadn’t handled the situation in the best manner and needed to express that to Simon. She also knew she couldn’t apologize to him or to Declan Barnes for trying to figure out who had killed Bryn Wallace. Perhaps her method needed improvement, but her motives did not, although righteousness was a cold bed companion tonight.

  She felt a surge of loneliness surrounding her like a dark cloud. Simon didn’t stir. Nora thought back to the days in Bowness just before she’d found out she was pregnant, when she’d hoped for more of a relationship with Simon. Weeks of attraction and a growing chemistry between them finally came to a head the night her recurring nightmare brought Simon in to her bedroom.

  She had cried out as she relived the night of her father’s drowning, in a distorted nightmare that had plagued her through the years. Nora had tried to scream but couldn’t take a breath.

  “Nora—wake up!”

  Nora swam out of the darkness, realizing she could fill her lungs with sweet, cool air.

  “It’s Simon. It’s all right, just a bad dream.” He rubbed her back through the thin cotton of her nightdress, soothing the rigidity out of her taut spine until her shuddering stopped. Finally awake, aware he could feel the warmth of her bare skin, Nora pushed away from him. Simon allowed his hands to fall casually.

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake anyone else,” she said.

  “No need to be sorry. I haven’t seen anyone else storming this end of the lodge.” He sat back on the edge of the bed as she got out of it. “Want to talk about it?”

  Simon was in Nora’s way as she tried to tuck in the sheets her thrashing had dislodged. She pulled one corner hard, and he got up and lifted the comforter off the floor. “Get back in bed,” he ordered.

  “I just want to tuck this in right.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Nora, your lips are blue, and your teeth are chattering.”

  “And in case
you
haven’t noticed, you are not my father!” Her words shot through the still room. Nora sucked in the sides of her cheeks to still the huge sob gathering in her chest, but hot, salty droplets were already running over her top lip and into her mouth. She looked down at her toes; they felt like individual icicles applied to her feet.

  Simon waited patiently as Nora climbed into bed. He piled up the pillows and drew the comforter up and over her shoulders, then sat next to her. She sank back into the nest of down pillows and in a hollow voice described the terror of her dream and the reasons that it haunted her, the night she wished above all others she could take back.

  “I learned then that we are who we are by the choices we make,” she ended, weary from confession. “I’m really very tired now.” She was wrung out, firmly shutting her eyes to indicate dismissal.

  Instead the bed creaked as Simon leaned closer until his breath poured down her neck. He whispered into her right ear. “I have two things to say. One, it was not your fault. An accident is something that is not supposed to happen. And two … ”

  His voice stopped, commanding her attention, the warm breath still near her face. She opened her eyes to find his face inches from hers. He touched the tip of his index finger to the tiny scar that chickenpox had left at the corner of her mouth in the second grade. “ … this is the first place I’m going to kiss you.”

   His eyes searched hers, and she saw the question in them she had avoided answering before this. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the scar. “I want you to see I am a man of my word.” His breath on her neck stirred her hair as he planted small kisses there.

  Nora’s core felt warm and liquid as her neglected body responded to him. She tried to suppress a moan that gathered deep in her throat.

  “So lovely—I want to draw you,” Simon murmured, kissing her lightly at first, then with more insistence. “I want you, Nora.”

  “We shouldn’t,” she whispered, telling herself to push away. Instead she helped him pull her nightgown up over her head. He slipped out of his robe and under the covers, bringing his warmth and sturdiness. The shock of his nakedness had her arching toward him. His lips and tongue caressed a lazy trail from her neck, lingering over her breasts, then continuing down her stomach to her apex. She turned off the conventional part of her personality with a quiver of resignation, aborting thoughts of impetuous behavior, and gave herself up to the pleasure they created together.

  Nora shook herself out of the memory, listening to Simon’s regular breathing, trying to distinguish if he slept or not. Carefully, with excruciating slowness, she fit herself along his back, curving into him, grateful for the warmth and solid comfort he gave her. She snaked her arm under the comforter and over his waist, closing her eyes against the dark cloud and settling down for her first real sleep of the night. There was a slight movement then from Simon; Nora thought he was going to push her away and held herself tightly in check.

  But Simon simply moved his arm down, covering hers and the hand that lay against his chest.

*

Val sat at her window, blowing smoke from her spliff out into the night. From her bedroom Janet gave a gentle snore. Bryn’s mother had gone to bed shortly after they’d arrived back at the flat, leaving Val to doze on and off fitfully. Huddled against the window frame in the cool night air, Val swore that one of these days she would give this crap up for good.

  Bryn would never touch the stuff. She had liked coke too much the few times she had tried it and was terrified of becoming addicted, confiding to Val that the easy access to drugs was another reason she’d left modeling. Bryn also always limited herself to two glasses of wine, afraid of any excess. But Val smoked grass the way others had a glass of wine—on occasion for relaxation—and Bryn had never hassled her about it. Oh, hell, Val thought, drawing deeply, we all have our vices.

  Val searched the fingers of moonlight that reached through the leafy trees. She couldn’t shake the feeling someone had been in her flat. At first glance, nothing was missing; it was more a shift in a pile of papers, the lingering sensation of a foreign presence. She hadn’t mentioned it to Janet. She was probably imagining things.

  Where did that leave her? Only confused and tired, she decided, leaving the window for her sofa, plumping up her pillow to get a few hours of rest before the trauma of the inquest.

*

Ted Wheeler got up as the first rays of dawn slid into his bedroom. He crept out of bed trying not to disturb Jess. His wife had been appropriately sympathetic all evening after what she called “the tragedy” of finding Edward Vance murdered in his room. To her anguished husband, it sounded as though she thought it was rude of Edward to have gotten himself killed in Ted’s domain. Ted had avoided telling her it was possible he himself had been the intended victim. The thought had never occurred to her, and he was just as glad it hadn’t.

  Tying his robe against the early morning chill, Ted put the kettle on and sat at the same table where Kath used to do her homework and where they often played Scrabble. He put his head in his hands, wishing he could catapult them all back to those simpler halcyon days.

  When he and that Tierney woman had found Edward’s body, he’d tried to convince himself it was something innocent, a heart attack or an accident. But Declan Barnes had known murder when he saw it and had concluded Ted was the intended victim. It had happened in his room, and it was his usual time to be there. Ted shivered despite the warm robe, wondering how he could stop this craziness without destroying everything he’d worked to attain. There had to be something he could do.

  He tried to steel himself to take action of some kind. If the truth came out, Jess would stand by him, but he hated the thought of her pain and embarrassment. He toyed with the idea of going to Barnes, but his suspicions alone were worthless. Indeed, he might put himself in an even more dangerous position.

  But what could be graver than living a life in which every shadow represented terror, in which he was never safe, not even in his own province? Ted straightened up, resolving what shape that action should take.

Chapter Sixty-Four

“Now that we are cool, he said, and regret that we hurt each other, I am not sorry that it happened.”

—
W. H. Hudson,
Green Mansions

9:15 AM

Simon finished dressing in Nora’s bedroom. They had fifteen minutes until they had to leave for the inquest, and he couldn’t let this awkward silence continue. He tossed around various opening lines, struggling to clarify what he needed to say to Nora. Opening the door, he heard her in the hall talking on the phone.

  “Later today then. Please use my mobile number, thank you.” She turned as she sensed his presence, firing out an apology. “Simon, I’m so sorry I handled things poorly and hurt you in the process. You didn’t deserve that; you’ve been nothing but wonderful to me.”

  Simon was surprised but inclined his head in acceptance of her statement. He walked toward her, wanting to take her in his arms and hold her, but instead he simply took her hand and guided her to the counter. She sat upright on a stool, seemingly prepared to take her medicine like a good girl. He’d never seen her so contrite. He was not the type to yell or scold, but Nora had to understand he was not a pushover. It was the only way to restore the honesty between them.

  “Nora, I respect you for wanting to clear Val, I really do. I thought you knew that I was willing to help you by going with you to see Miles Belcher and by not insisting I accompany you to see Althea Issacs.”

  Nora nodded in agreement, dropping her head almost meekly. Simon continued.

  “So I find it difficult to understand your need to go further without me. I’ve thought perhaps you had to pursue this alone, to feel you’d helped Val yourself. Maybe you have a need to make it right without my help, and if you do, then I shouldn’t stand in your way.”

  Nora remained silent but looked up to meet his eyes.

  He ran his hand through his hair as he continued his soliloquy. “But I can’t wrap my mind around you putting yourself in danger. You seem determined to put yourself and your baby in jeopardy, and I can’t stand by and watch you do that without comment. I love you both too much.”

  She had been following him intently, and he watched her eyes widen as she digested this statement. He hurried to continue.

  “I’m not saying that for you to say it back to me—I’m well aware that unfortunately you find yourself in a completely different place right now—but I’m hopeful that might change if you can see what
I
see about how we are together. In the meantime, I promise not to let my feelings interfere with our collaboration. But you must promise me something in return. You must not put yourself or your child in danger.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling her to him in the embrace he had been aching to give her since last night. He could feel the bulge of the baby pressing into him, her breasts just skimming his chest. She embraced him back, her head curled into his neck. It was a moment of sweetness he hoped would not be their last.

  “You think on all of that, and we’ll talk more on our way back to Ramsey Lodge,” he told her, his lips in her hair. Releasing her, he pointed to his watch. “Come on, Sherlock. Dr. Watson says it’s time to go.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

“The gentlemen of the jury retired to consider their verdict.”

—
Wilkie Collins,
The Evil Genius

10 AM

Nora was impressed by the courthouse, a lovely castellated building. Val told them that around the corner was St. George’s Tower, a small stone keep built in 1074 above the chapel of St. George. That chapel had established the first learning center in Oxford. The sense of history in this town filled Nora with awe; she had lived here for seven years and was still learning things about it.

  As they made their way inside, Nora was surprised to see two television vans parked outside, their tall antennae snaking up into the clear morning air. 

  “That’s how little news there is here, Yankee,” Val said. “Too bad they won’t let them inside. Much more dramatic when I’m carted away.”

  Nora smirked at her friend as they found seats. “Reminds me of
Witness for the Prosecution
,
”
she said. Although a bit shabby and now used only for inquests, the building retained many features of the classic English courtroom. Stairs led down to the gaol cells from a square, elevated prisoners’ dock facing the judge’s bench. There were hard wooden benches for the witnesses and visitors, the better to keep one awake, Nora thought. She hoped Val would hold up in the tiny witness box. Awaiting the start of the inquest, Nora sat wedged between Simon and Val on a bench, with Janet on Val’s other side. “Where’s the wicked stepmum today?” Nora asked Val.

  “I insisted May take Lou away from Oxford for a few days until the funeral, to let her recover from her own ordeal,” Val said. “For once she didn’t give me an argument. They boarded a bus this morning to Stratford for a play and an overnighter.”

  “Complete with the usual shopping tours,” Nora said.

  “What else?” Val said.

  “Now don’t you two be too hard on May,” Janet interjected. They turned to her in surprise. “She’s protective of her daughter.  I can understand that. And shopping is her hobby, just as I get pleasure from a concert.”

  “Oh, Janet, you are too understanding,” Val laughed, but she hugged Janet warmly.

  “All rise for Her Majesty’s Coroner, the Honourable Mr. Gardiner.”

  At the bailiff’s command, the assemblage rose to its feet. The coroner entered the room from the right, behind the judge’s bench, stepping up and taking the elevated judge’s seat situated under a canopy. The man portrayed the same air of brisk seriousness as his father had when he had held the very same position.

  “Detective Inspector Barnes,” the bailiff called. The shuffling and whispering stopped as Declan approached the witness stand, easing his large frame into the box, ignoring the narrow bench and standing upright.

  He gave his rank and described the events following his notification of the death of Bronwyn Wallace, with the subsequent Scene of Crime Operation. Today he wore a well-cut grey suit with a subdued burgundy tie. This, Nora decided, must be his official witness kit. He was a handsome man who, even on the witness stand with his most official professional countenance, exuded dynamic vitality.

  Beside her Simon stirred. Nora looked out of the corner of her eye at the man sitting calmly by her side. She remembered his warm breath in her hair as he had held her against him, the hard edge of his collarbone against her face, the dizzying fact that he’d announced he loved her and the baby. He was right when he said she needed time to think. His pronouncement and the call she’d made this morning when Simon came out of the bedroom caused a knot of anxiety to rise in her chest. Too many things to consider. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her notebook and a pen, making a list of chores left to accomplish before Bryn’s funeral Sunday. If all went according to plan, she and Simon would leave for Ramsey Lodge on Monday. She stopped to listen to Mr. Gardiner clarify a few minor points, then Declan was dismissed and replaced by Charlie Borden in his role as medical examiner.

  Nora glanced over to Janet, who was stoically following the pathologist’s testimony. When he described Bryn’s stab wounds, Janet winced and looked away. Nora distracted herself by turning to a clean page in her notebook.

  If she were going to leave Oxford on Monday, it had to be with the assurance that Val was no longer a prime suspect in Bryn’s murder. Nora wrote BRYN in the center of the page, then drew arrows from the name, listing all the people she knew who’d had contact with Bryn Wallace during the last few days of her life. Davey Haskitt was followed by Miles Belcher. Nora knew Bryn had been at the co-op and added Lottie Weber; then Ted Wheeler because of the note he’d written her. She considered these: Yes, love for Bryn and jealousy at being cast aside for Val could have been a motive for the three men. Could Lottie have been jealous, too, of the time Val dedicated to Bryn? Passion might have played a role in any of these relationships, and Nora knew passion often erupted into anger. But she had trouble imagining a woman being capable of such a violent act.

  In an outer circle, she wrote: Cam Wilson, Unknown Belcher clients, Althea Isaacs, Tommy Clay, and Unknown in the Modeling World. She perused these. Too far-fetched for blind Althea to pull this murder off. The Unknowns were an entire region she could never hope to investigate. Of course, Tommy Clay might have been Bryn’s killer, but that didn’t explain his own death or the murder of Edward Vance. Or, should it really have been Ted Wheeler?

  As the pathologist was dismissed, Nora put her notebook away, waiting to see who would be called next. Her hands grew clammy; beside her, Val stiffened. Mr. Gardiner consulted some papers lying in front of him, and Nora felt the charged atmosphere in the courtroom. Reporters readied tape recorders, and bystanders sat up alertly.

  “In British law, a verdict of homicide can be determined to be either a lawful or unlawful killing. It is my duty to conserve the resources of the court and the Criminal Prosecution Service. Part of this is to prevent a double investigation of the same event where there is the possibility there will be legal proceedings against an individual or individuals. In this case there is the distinct probability and … ” Mr. Gardiner paused and directed his look to Janet. “ … the strong hope this will occur. Therefore I am adjourning this inquest to allow for further investigation and gathering of evidence before I make that determination. Since the independent pathologist has already made his examination in the event of a defense motion, the remains are to be released to the family.” He stood and the bailiff shouted: “All rise!” In the flurry of movement and escaping reporters, Nora realized they were done for the day.

*

“Of course, this was the expected outcome of today’s inquest … ” droned one reporter to his cameraman, recording a sound bite for the noon news, live and direct from the courthouse steps. Nora’s group quickly walked the short distance to the coffee shop at the Museum of Modern Art.

  “That actually was easier than I’d thought,” Val said, glancing at Janet, who remained quiet but appeared in control. They all ordered coffee. As they waited, Nora took out her notebook, asking Janet about the few days she’d spent at home.

  “I had so many kind notes and letters and visitors from my neighborhood and church. The vicar was very kind and helpful, of course. My cousins from Coventry will come down for the funeral, and I made all of the arrangements for Sunday.”

  “And she decided to sort through Bryn’s things without waiting for my help,” Val admonished.

  “There wasn’t much,” Janet protested. “I found a lovely ivory purse that Bryn had hardly used. I thought I might use it in the spring, if you don’t find that too ghoulish,” she asked of the table.

  “Not at all, it’s a lovely tribute,” Nora reassured her.

  “Bryn wouldn’t have wanted it to go to Oxfam if you liked it, Janet,” Simon threw in.

  “I hope you cleaned it out. Bryn could really pack stuff in those tiny things,” Val said as their coffees were placed in front of them.

  They stirred as Janet answered. “Actually, there wasn’t much at all, just some hard candy, a few pence, and three ticket stubs from the movie
Notting Hill
.”

  “We really loved that one,” Val said, “especially the funny bits and the lovely plaque on the garden bench in the end. And that flatmate was such a scream!”

  “Who else went with you, Val?” Nora asked, taking out her notebook and adding “disconnect headboard” to her chore list.

  “Lottie. We went together one night after work, Bryn’s treat. And that reminds me,” Val directed her question to Nora. “Did Simon tell you about possibly going out on a canal boat ride with Lottie tomorrow?”

  “No, but that sounds lovely. We’ll pop around the co-op later and tell Lottie to set it up.”

  “Maybe May will let Lou come with us. Safety in numbers.” Val sipped her coffee. “The co-op’s closing at noon for inventory, but Lottie will be there until 5 or so.”

  Outside the coffee shop window Miles Belcher disengaged himself from a reporter.

  Janet clutched Val’s arm. “Miles Belcher—I never liked that man, and I only met him once. He’s lecherous.”

  “That’s part of his act, Janet,” Val said. “He’s as hetero as Simon—it makes some models feel comfortable to think he’s gay and not a threat. He’s just flamboyant.” Nora flipped a page in her notebook. “Not another list, Yankee!” Val grabbed the notebook from Nora, who lunged for it.

  “Just things left to do,” Nora insisted, holding her hand out.

  “Not so fast, dear pal.” Val held the notebook out of Nora’s reach. “You know our Nora is a bit compulsive with her lists, Janet. We have to keep her honest. Let’s see … Davey, Miles, Lottie, Ted Wheeler.” She glanced at Nora. “Some to-do list here.” Her eyebrows rose in question.

  “Oh, that’s just Nora’s list of people she’s investigating,” Simon chimed in heartily. “She’s been going at it without me, and it seems to have backfired on her.” He proceeded to fill Val and Janet in on Nora’s unexpected find last evening.

  “Another death!” Janet said with dismay.

  “Ted Wheeler, huh?” Val mused. “I wonder how he got mixed up in this.” With a flourish, Val ripped out the page and handed Nora her notebook. “You, dear friend, have enough on your plate without going out on dangerous assignments.” Val stuffed the page into the pocket of her jacket. “I will not have you crusading all over Oxford tracking down dangerous criminals on my behalf. Jeff Nichols assured me as of today I have nothing to worry about. The ‘bloody’ spots on my shirt were fabric dye.” She pointed at Nora’s belly. “You worry about the wee one.”

  Nora bit her lip.

  Simon laughed out loud. “We seem to have ganged up on her in this department, Val. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nora speechless!”

  Nora shook her head at their teasing. Only Janet didn’t laugh.

  Instead, she put her hand on Val’s arm. “I need a favor, dear.” Janet had a steely look.

  “Anything, Janet,” Val replied, exchanging a look with Nora.

  “Take me to see DI Barnes.”