A Suitable Vengeance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,89

A group of men stood in hushed conversation round it, among them Inspector Boscowan and the plainclothes sergeant who had accompanied him to pick up John Penellin on the previous evening.

Boscowan was talking to the group in general, issuing some sort of instructions to two crime-scene men whose trouser legs were muddy and whose jacket shoulders bore large wet patches from the rain. The police pathologist was with them, identifiable by the medical bag at her feet. It was unopened, and she didn't look as if she intended to do any preliminary examining of the body. Nor did the crime-scene men seem prepared to do any work at present. Which led Lynley to the only conclusion possible: Wherever Brooke had died, it hadn't been in the schoolroom. He saw St. James standing in one of the window embrasures, giving his attention to what could be seen of the garden through the rain-streaked glass. "Jasper found him in the cove." St. James spoke quietly when Lynley joined him. He did not turn away from the window. His own clothes had had a recent wetting, Lynley saw, ||

and his shirt bore streaks of blood which the rain had elongated like a waterwash of paint. "It looks like an accident. It seems there was slippage at the top of the cliff. He lost his footing." He looked past Lynley's shoulder at the group round the body, then back at Lynley once again. "At least, that's what Boscowan's considering for now." I St. James didn't ask the question that Lynley heard behind I the final guarded statement. He was grateful for the respite, however long his friend intended it to be. He said, "Why was the body moved, St. James? Who moved it?

Why?" "Your mother. It had begun to rain. Sid got to him before the rest of us. I'm afraid none of us were thinking too clearly at the moment, least of all myself.'' A yew branch, struck by a gust of wind, scratched against the window in front of them.

Rain created a sharp tattoo. St. James moved farther into the embrasure and lifted his eyes to the upper floor of the wing opposite the schoolroom, to the corner bedroom next to Lyn ley's own. "Where's Peter?"

The respite had been brief indeed. Lynley felt the sudden need to lie, to protect his brother in some way, but he couldn't do it. Nor could he say what drove him to the truth, whether it was priggish morality or an unspoken plea for the other man's help and understanding. "He's gone."

"Sasha?"

"As well."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

St. James' reaction was a single word, sighed more than spoken. "Great." Then, "How long? Was his bed slept in last night? Was hers?"

"No." Lynley didn't add that he'd seen as much at half past seven this morning when he'd gone to speak to his brother^

He didn't tell him that he'd sent Jasper out to search for Peter at a quarter to eight. Nor did he describe the horror he'd felt, seeing the police cars and ambulance lined up in front of Howenstow, thinking Peter had been found dead, and recognising in his reaction to that thought a small measure of relief behind the dread. He saw St. James reflectively considering Brooke's covered body. "Peter had nothing to do with this," he said. "It was an accident. You said that yourself."

"I wonder whether Peter knew that Brooke spoke to us last night," St. James said.

"Would Brooke have told him so? And if he did, why?"

Lynley recognised the speculation that drove the questions.

It was the very same speculation he was facing himself.

"Peter's not a killer. You know that."

"Then you'd better find him. Killer or not, he has a bit of explaining to do, doesn't he?"

"Jasper's been out looking for him since early this morning."

"I did wonder what he'd been doing at the cove. He thought Peter was there?"

"There. At the mill. He's been looking everywhere. Off the estate as well."

"Are Peter's things still here?"

"I . . .no." Lynley knew St. James well enough to see the reasoning that came upon the heels of his answer. If Peter had run from Howenstow with no time to lose, knowing his life was in danger, he'd be likely to leave his belongings behind.

If, on the other hand, he had left after committing a murder that he knew wouldn't be discovered for some hours, he'd have plenty of time to pack whatever possessions he'd brought with him to Howenstow. That done, he could steal off into the