A Suitable Vengeance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,80
the main cause for suspicion, they said. Someone had heard about it in the village today."
"I don't see what this has to do with my brother."
"Everything, I'm afraid. Mick Cambrey didn't have an argument with Penellin. Or if he did, it didn't compare with the row he had with Peter."
Lynley stared at the man. He felt a sudden urge to throw him from the room and recognised how closely the desire was tied to an incipient dread and to the unwanted realisation that somehow this piece of information was not a surprise to him.
"What are you talking about? How do you know?"
"I was with him," Brooke replied. "And it was after Penellin. Cambrey said that much."
Lynley reached for a chair. "The story, please," he said with marked courtesy.
"Right." Brooke nodded his approval. "Sid and I had a bit of a blowup yesterday. She didn't much want to see me last night. So I went into the village. With Peter."
"Why?"
"For something to do, mainly. Peter was low on cash and he wanted to borrow some. He said he knew, a bloke who'd be dealing with money that night, so we went to see him. It was Cambrey."
Lynley's eyes narrowed. "What did he need money for?"
Brooke tossed a look in St. James' direction before he replied, as if he expected a reaction from that quarter. "He wanted some coke."
"And he took you with him? Wasn't that rather shortsighted?"
"It was safe enough. Peter knew he could trust me."
Brooke seemed to feel a more direct revelation was in order.
"Look, I'd a stash with me yesterday, and I'd given him some. It was gone. We wanted more. But I didn't have any more money than he did, so we were on the look for it. We wanted to get high."
"I see. You've managed to get to know my brother with remarkable ease this weekend."
"People get to know others when their interests are the same."
"Quite. Yes." Lynley ignored the need to clench his fist, to strike. "Did Mick lend him money?"
"He wouldn't hear of it. That's what started the row. Peter could sefe it - I could see it -
right there on his desk in six or ten stacks. But he wouldn't part with as much as two quid."
'What happened then?''
Brooke grimaced. "Hell, I didn't even know this bloke. When Mick and Peter started in, I just left the place. I would have liked the dope, yes. But I didn't want to get into a brawl."
"What did you do when you left?" *
"Wandered round a bit till I found the pub. Had a drink and hitched a ride back later."
"Hitched a ride? With whom?"
"Farmer and his wife." Brooke grinned and added unnecessarily,
"By the smell of them. Dairy, I'd guess."
"And Peter?"
"I left him arguing with Cambrey."
Where was Sasha all this time?" Here. She and Peter'd gone round about a promise he'd made in London to get her some dope on his own. I think she was waiting for him to make good."
"What time did you leave the cottage?" St. James asked.
His expression was stony.
Brooke looked at the room's white cornice, fixated upon its egg and dart pattern.
Thinking, remembering, or playing at both. "It was ten when I got to the pub. I remember that. I checked the time."
"And did you see Peter again that night?"
"Didn't see him until this evening." Again, Brooke grinned. This time it was a just-between-us-boys sort of look, one that claimed camaraderie and understanding. "I came back here, made it up with Sid, and spent the night occupied in her room. Fairly well occupied, as a matter of fact. Sid's that way." He pushed himself to his feet and concluded by saying,
"I thought it best to tell you about your brother, rather than the police. It seemed to me that you'd know what to do. But if you think I should ring them ..."
He let the statement slide. All of them knew it was meaningless.
Nodding at them both, he left the room.
When the door closed behind him, Lynley felt in his pocket for his cigarette case. Once it was in his grasp, however, he looked at it curiously, saw how it winked in the light, and wondered how it had come to find its way into his hand. He didn't want to smoke.
"What shall ..." The two words emerged hoarsely. He tried again. "What shall I do, St.