Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,53

existed, his death would have predated his legitimate son’s birth, so how could the boy have been a subject for extortion? “We had already concluded that a man called Herron, a local archaeologist, might have been exerting pressure on Lord Michael.” Jonty didn’t add to the statement—they’d all know the logic behind the apparent non-sequitur.

“Your powers of deduction do you credit. I’d hate to be a criminal if you were on my trail.” Fitznagel’s compliment appeared to be genuine.

“Thank you. We’ve been fortunate in the candour of those we speak to and their willingness to help establish the truth.” Orlando waited for their host to turn to face them before asking, “Is there anything you feel able to tell us about Lord Michael’s death? Your mother was clearly a perceptive woman, one who would have missed little. She may have harboured suspicions about what happened that night, suspicions she couldn’t air at the time without exposing you and potentially ruining herself.”

Fitznagel took his chair again. “You mentioned Herron. Let me tell you a story. It’s all I can tell you. Once there was a little boy who couldn’t be taken to church. His mother used to tell him bible stories at home, of which his favourite was Jonah and the whale. She also took him, when he was a bit older, to a ruined chapel, where they would say the paternoster together. She would tell him he was still in God’s house, despite the way that bad men had taken the roof tiles and anything else they could get their hands on. Once when they arrived there, not long before the mother decided they should move abroad, they saw a man there, taking some of the stones. She tried to stop him, but he shouted at her. Shouted terrible things the boy didn’t understand at the time, although he remembered them and when he was grown and knew more about his own life, they made sense. Do you follow me?”

“As clear as were we observing the scene,” Jonty assured him.

“The mother took the boy home, warning him never to speak to the man they’d seen. Herron, the mother said his name was and the boy remembered it because of the herons that would come to steal the fish from the garden pond.” Fitznagel smiled. “It was one of the boy’s pleasures, when he was feeling unwell, to sit and watch the birds in the garden. Much later, when the boy was grown and his mother was nearing the end of her life, they were discussing younger days and the boy happened to ask if she remembered Herron, the man she’d made such a point of warning him about. She said she could never forget the scoundrel.”

Were they at last getting close to some piece of information, however small, that would indicate they’d been right? Jonty waited for Fitznagel to carry on the tale, praying that Orlando would have the sense to wait as well.

“The mother said she never wished to speak of the man again. That he was definitely a blackmailer and possibly a murderer. When the boy asked whom Herron had murdered and how he could have evaded punishment, the mother said it had been the boy’s father. She had no proof on which to base an allegation, other than an object she’d found. She’d…” Fitznagel paused, probably to ensure his words wouldn’t compromise the promise he’d made her, “she’d been to the place where her man had died, to pay her respects. While she’d been sitting there, she spotted something that drew her from her thoughts. A cufflink, such as might have been lost innocently in a fall or—as she later came to suspect—in a scuffle. She picked the item up and took it home, believing it might have been her man’s, but her child’s godfather assured her it hadn’t been.”

“I think we would have got on well with this lady. A woman after our own inquisitive hearts,” Jonty said, meaning every word.

“She’d have been pleased to meet you. She was highly intelligent.” Fitznagel smiled in fond remembrance of the woman who must have been the subject of his tale. “Intelligent and determined enough that over the following weeks and months, as she came to terms with her double blow of grief and could begin to think clearly again, she researched the coat of arms on the cufflinks. Eventually she discovered it was that of Brasenose College. She knew of no connection the dead man had to the