off," Havers told Stewart, undeterred. "Guv, there's more to be looked into in the New Forest. This bloke Whiting ... ? Something's not right about him. There're contradictions all over the place."
"Such as?" Isabelle asked.
Havers began leafing through her disaster of a notebook. She shot a look at Winston, saying Get involved here, mate. Winston stirred and came to her aid. "Jossie's not what he seems, guv," he said. "He and Whiting are connected somehow. We've not got to the root of things, but the fact that Whiting knew 'bout Jossie's apprenticeship suggests to us - to Barb an'
me - that he was behind Jossie getting it in the first place. An' that suggests he forged those letters from the technical college. We can't see who else might've done it."
"For God's sake, why would he do that?"
"Could be Jossie's got something on him," Nkata said. "We don't know what. Yet."
Havers said, "But we could find out if you'd let us - "
"You'll stay here in London as you've been ordered."
"But, guv - "
"No." And to Lynley, "It's just as easy to work this the other way round, Thomas. She meets Matsumoto in the cemetery. She goes with Matsumoto into the chapel annex. They have their words, he uses the weapon on her, and he flees. The other, wearing a yellow shirt, sees this.
He goes into the annex. He comes to her aid but she has a wound that's beyond aid. He gets her blood on him. He panics. He knows how this is going to look once his history with Jemima comes to light. He knows the cops look hard at whoever first comes upon the victim and reports it, and he can't afford that. So he runs."
"And then what?" John Stewart asked. "He puts that shirt in McHaggis's Oxfam bin?
Along with the handbag? And what about the handbag? Why take it?"
"Could be Matsumoto took the handbag. Could be he put it in the bin. He'd want to cast blame, to muddy the waters."
"So," Stewart said acerbically, "let me get this straight. This Matsumoto and the other bloke - damn well unbeknownst to each other - both put a piece of incriminating evidence in the very same bin? In an entirely different area of London from where the crime was committed?
Bloody hell, woman. Jesus God. What exactly d'you think are the odds of that?" He blew out a derisive breath and looked at the others. Idiot cow, his expression said.
Isabelle's face was perfect stone. She said to Stewart, "In my office. Now."
Stewart hesitated just long enough to signal his scorn. He and Isabelle engaged in a moment of locked gazes before the acting superintendent strode out of the room. Stewart rose in a lazy movement and followed her.
A tight silence ensued. Someone whistled low. Lynley approached the china board for a closer look at the photo of the yellow shirt. There was a movement next to him, and he saw that Havers had come to join him.
She said to him in a low voice, "You know she's making the wrong decisions."
"Barbara - "
"You know. No one wants to kick his arse into the next time zone as much as I do, but he's right this time."
She meant John Stewart. Lynley couldn't disagree. Isabelle's desperation to bend the facts to fit what she needed to believe about Matsumoto was truncating the investigation. She was in the worst position possible: her temporary status at the Met, her first investigation and its deterioration into a welter of inconceivable circumstances with a suspect in hospital because he'd done a runner, that suspect the brother of a famed cellist with access to a fiery solicitor, the press taking up the story, Hillier involved, and the abominable Stephenson Deacon on board to attempt to manipulate the media, and evidence pointing in every possible direction. Lynley wasn't sure how things could get worse for Isabelle. Hers was turning out to be a baptism not by fire but rather by conflagration.
He said, "Barbara, I'm not sure what you'd have me do."
"Talk to her. She'll listen to you. Webberly would've and you'd've talked to Webberly if he'd been going at things like this. You know you would. And if you were in the same position as she is just now, you'd listen to us. We're a team for a reason." She drove her hands into her ill-cut hair in typical fashion, pulling on it roughly. "Why did she call us back from Hampshire?"
"She has limited resources. Every investigation