A Suitable Vengeance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,110

now, so you'll need to come up with an excuse. And I'll want them for a few days."

"Why?"

"Does the name Tina Cogin mean anything to you?" St.

James asked in answer.

"Cogin?"

"Yes. A woman from London. Mick knew her apparently. I think he may have had the key to her flat."

"Mick had the key to half a dozen flats, if I know him."

Cambrey pulled out a cigarette and left him to his papers.

An hour's search through the past six months gleaned him nothing save hands that were stained with newsprint. As far 1; as he could tell, Harry Cambrey's conjecture about gunrun- f ning was as likely a motive for his son's death as was anything else the paper had to offer. He shut the cupboard doors.

When he turned, it was to find Julianna Vendale watching him, a coffee cup raised to her lips. She'd left the word processor, coming to stand near a coffee maker that was bubbling noisily in the corner of the room.

"Nothing?" She put her cup down on the table and pushed a lock of long hair back from her shoulder.

"Everyone seems to think he was working on a story," St. James said.

"Mick was always working on something."

"Did most of his projects get into print?"

She drew her eyebrows together. A faint crease appeared between them. Otherwise, her face was completely unlined.

St. James knew from his previous conversation with Lynley that Julianna Vendale was in her middle thirties, perhaps a bit older. But her face denied her age.

"I don't know," she answered. "I wasn't always aware of what his projects were. But it wouldn't surprise me to find out he'd begun something and then let it die. He'd shoot out of here often enough, convinced he was hot on the trail of a feature he could sell in London. Then he'd never complete it."

St. James had seen that himself in his perusal of the newspapers.

Dr. Trenarrow had said Mick interviewed him for a story. But nowhere in the back issues of the paper was there a feature that in any way related to a conversation the two of them might have had. St. James related this to Julianna Vendale.

She poured herself another cup of coffee and spoke over her shoulder. "That doesn't surprise me. Mick probably thought he was going to get a Mother Teresa piece out of it -

Cornish Scientist Dedicates his Life to Saving Others - only to discover that Dr.

Trenarrow's no more on the path to heaven than the rest of us are."

Or, St. James thought, the potential story was a ploy to get an interview with Trenarrow in the first place in order to gather information, and to pass it along with Trenarrow's phone number to a needy friend.

Julianna was continuing. "That was largely his way, ever since he came back to the Spokesman. I think he was looking for a story as a means of escape."

"He didn't want to be here?"

"It was a step backwards for him. He'd been a freelance journalist. He'd been doing quite well. Then his father fell ill and he had to chuck it all and come back to hold the family business together."

"You couldn't have done that?"

"I could have done, of course. But Harry wanted Mick to take over the paper. More than that, I should guess, he wanted him back in Nanrunnel permanently."

St. James thought he saw the direction Harry Cambrey3 had intended things to move once Mick returned to Nanrunnel.

Nonetheless, he asked, "How did you fit into the plans?"

"Harry made certain we worked together as much as possible. Then, I suppose, he just hoped for the best. He had great faith in Mick's charm."

"And you?"

She was holding her coffee cup between her hands, as if to keep them warm. Her fingers were long, she wore no rings.

"He didn't appeal to me. When Harry saw that, he started having Nancy Penellin come to do the books during our regular office hours instead of on weekends."

"And as to developing the newspaper's stature?"

She indicated the word processor. "Mick made the attempt at first. He started with new equipment. He wanted to update. But then he seemed to lose interest."

"When?"

"Just about the time he made Nancy pregnant." She lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. "After they married, he was gone a great deal."

"Pursuing a story?"

She smiled. "Pursuing."

They strolled across the narrow street to the harbour. The tide was out. Five sunbathers lay on the narrow strand. Near . I them, a group of small children dabbled their hands and feet