Lynley felt a surge of anger at such implacable resolution. "Damn you, St. James. She tried to warn him off! Did she tell you that as well? When he came over the wall, she gave a cry that he heard, and we nearly lost him. Because of Helen. So if she's not ready to see me, she can tell me that herself. Let her make the decision."
"She's decided, Tommy."
The words were spoken so coolly that his anger died. He felt his throat tighten in quick reaction. "She's gone with him, then. Where? To Wales?"
Nothing. Deborah moved, casting a long look at her husband, who had turned his head to the unlit fire.
Lynley felt rising desperation at their refusal to speak. He'd met with the same kind of refusal from Caroline Shepherd at Helen's fl at earlier, the same kind of refusal on the telephone when he spoke to Helen's parents and three of her sisters. He knew it was a punishment richly due him, and yet in spite of that knowledge, he railed against it, refused to accept it as just and true.
"For God's sake, Simon." He felt riven by despair. "I love her. You, above all people, know what it means to be separated like this from someone you love. Without a word. Without a chance. Please. Tell me."
Unexpectedly then, he saw Deborah reach out quickly. She grasped her husband's thin hand. Lynley barely heard her voice as she spoke to St. James.
"My love, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I simply can't do this." She turned to Lynley. Her eyes were bright with tears. "She's gone to Skye, Tommy. She's alone."
HE FACED only one last task before heading north to Helen, and that was to see Superintendent Webberly and, through seeing him, to put a period to the case. To other things as well. He had ignored the early-morning message from his superior, with its offi cial congratulations for a job well done and its request for a meeting as soon as possible. Filled with the realisation of how blind jealousy had governed every step of his investigation, Lynley had hardly wanted to hear anyone's praise. Much less the praise of a man who had been perfectly willing to use him as an unwitting tool in the master game of deceit.
For beyond Sydeham's guilt and Davies-Jones' innocence, there still remained Lord Stinhurst. And Scotland Yard's dance of attendance upon the commitment of the government to keeping a twenty-five-year-old secret out of the public eye.
This remained to be dealt with. Lynley had not felt himself ready for the confrontation earlier in the day. But he was ready now.
He found Webberly at the circular table in his office. There, as usual, open fi les, books, photographs, reports, and used crockery abounded. Bent over a street map which was outlined heavily in yellow marking pen, the superintendent held a cigar clenched between his teeth, filling the already claustrophobic room with a malodorous pall of smoke. He was talking to his secretary, who sat behind his desk, cooperatively nodding and note-taking and all the time waving her hand in front of her face in a useless attempt to keep the cigar smoke from permeating her well-tailored suit and smooth blonde hair. She was, as usual, as close a replica of the Princess of Wales as she could make herself.
She rolled her eyes at Lynley, wrinkled her nose delicately in distaste at the smell and the clutter, and said, "Here's Detective Inspector Lynley, Superintendent."
Lynley waited expectantly for Webberly to correct her. It was a game the two of them played. Webberly preferred mister to the use of titles. Dorothea Harriman ("call me Dee, please") vastly preferred titles to anything else.
This afternoon, however, the superintendent merely growled and looked up from his map, saying, "Did you get everything, Harriman?"
His secretary consulted her notes, adjusting the high scalloped collar of her Edwardian blouse. She wore a pert bow tie beneath it. "Everything. Shall I type this lot up?"
"If you will. And run thirty copies. The usual routing."
Harriman sighed. "Before I leave, Superintendent?...No, don't say it. I know, I know. 'Put it on the tick, Harriman.'" She shot Lynley a meaningful look. "I've so much time on the tick right now that I could take my honeymoon on it. If someone would be so good as to pop the question."
Lynley smiled. "Blimey. And to think I'm busy tonight."
Harriman laughed at the answer, gathered up her notes, and brushed