‘Of course,’ said Creswell, with a seen-it-all-before smile.
Toby was angry and she could see it. He did trust Alice and he was glad he hadn’t told her or Prestwitch about Pat Greenwald, just as Alice had asked him.
‘How is the investigation going?’ Toby asked.
‘A man was seen walking rapidly through the pine woods right after the shooting. Similarly vague description to the one you gave: above-average height, woolly hat, rucksack, which was probably carrying the weapon. We think he may have been driving the silver car you saw in the car park. Otherwise, nothing.’
She paused. ‘Nothing beyond the Guth family, that is.’ She leaned forward. ‘I know that you were the one who was shot at. We don’t know who did this, but there has to be a chance it was one of the family.’
‘Justin?’
‘Too early to say. But yes, maybe. Keep your eyes and ears open, and let us know if you learn anything else that might be helpful.’
‘You know Alice isn’t responsible for Sam Bowen’s death now, right?’
DI Creswell just shrugged.
FORTY-SIX
Alice set to work on the kitchen. With so many people in the house, it needed cleaning. And rearranging.
Megan was helping. Megan rarely helped, which irritated Alice minorly, but it turned out that it was much worse when Megan helped properly. She wasn’t great at the cleaning, but that didn’t matter too much – Tara from the village would go over everything again when she came for her regular visit.
The real problem was that Megan didn’t understand how important it was that everything be put back in exactly its proper place. Seven years on, and the kitchen, Mom’s kitchen, was still exactly as she had left it. Soon after her mother’s death Alice had noticed how her father, who previously couldn’t care where anything was kept, now quietly ensured everything was where it should be. They had never discussed it, but Alice had been happy to go along with it, and in a ridiculous way she was proud that between the two of them they had managed to preserve her mother’s order for so many years.
Of course Megan knew nothing of this, and Alice wasn’t about to tell her. Megan’s view on cupboards was: if it fits, shove it in.
‘So who do you think killed Sam?’ said Megan as she pushed the flour jar back on the wrong side of the toaster. She tried to make it sound casual, but Alice recognized the tension in her sister’s voice.
‘I have no idea,’ said Alice, as she sorted the spice jars.
‘Do you think it’s connected to Lars’s death?’
‘I said, I have no idea.’
‘But you must have been thinking about it,’ Megan protested. ‘In jail.’
Alice wanted to scream at her sister. But she didn’t. She turned to face her. ‘Megan. Can you leave the rest to me? Please.’
Alice was ready for a barbed comment, or even a hurled insult. But Megan just looked hurt.
‘OK,’ she said, and she was gone.
As Alice rearranged the flour jar and the toaster, she felt guilty. She knew she was being unfair: for once, Megan was genuinely trying to help her. She was pulling her weight, and Alice knew she should appreciate it.
But it worried her. Megan was smart. The brain that had been able to untangle fiendishly complicated math problems may well be capable of figuring out what was happening at Barnholt.
Toby was smart too, and, unlike Megan, he understood people. He understood her. The two of them made a dangerous combination.
Alice stood by the sink staring out at the naked pear tree and the brown and orange saltmarsh beyond. She could feel the pressure building up on her shoulders to the point where it was almost more than she could bear.
She buckled. She lowered her head and sobbed, tears dropping into the kitchen sink.
But then she straightened up. Wiped her eyes. Sniffed. Tried and succeeded to pull herself together.
With her slippery solicitor’s help she had handled the police. She had handled her father. She had done her best, her very best, to hold her family together.
And now her sister and her husband were threatening to undermine it all.
Maybe she should trust them. She could sense the change in Megan, habitually her most untrustworthy sister. And Toby?
She had always relied on Toby. She had begged him not to ask her questions and, by and large, he had obliged. But she knew he was asking other people.
Toby was trustworthy. He was absolutely honest. He could always be relied on to do the right thing.
But could he be relied on to do the wrong thing?
FORTY-SEVEN
It was lunchtime when Toby returned to Barnholt.
Alice was waiting for him in the hall. ‘Well?’
‘I didn’t say anything about Pat Greenwald.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘But now they seem to think you are having an affair with Justin.’
‘Justin?’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, great.’
‘Yep. I think they still think you killed Sam Bowen, and Justin killed Lars.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Wonderful.’
Toby put his arm round her. ‘We’ll figure it out.’
Alice made everyone a lunch of cold turkey sandwiches, everyone being Toby, Bill and Megan.
The Guth family’s response to the pressure of the weekend’s events was to revert to type. Despite his suspicion of his daughter, Bill was perfectly polite to her, solicitous even. He offered to help with the sandwiches, and Alice let him. But she was in charge.
Megan was surly. And Toby? He had no idea how to behave. He was on Alice’s side, that was all he knew. He retreated to politeness.
They all sat down. In that stilted, artificial atmosphere, it was Megan’s role to ask the direct questions.
‘So who do the police think killed Lars?’
‘Hard to say,’ said Toby. ‘But I know Justin is on their list.’
‘That’s good for Alice, right?’ said Megan.
Alice sighed. ‘Not necessarily. The police think Justin and I are having an affair.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ spluttered Bill, flinging down his sandwich in contempt.
‘Is it?’ said Megan.
Toby glared at her.
‘Of course it is,’ said Alice. ‘He and I had dinner together in San Francisco in September. Otherwise, I’ve scarcely seen him.’
‘And, you may have noticed, Alice is married,’ Toby said. ‘To me.’ He was keen to dismiss Megan’s suggestion without fuss. He didn’t want to think about it; he didn’t want to doubt his wife. Because he knew he could if he let himself.
Megan looked at the two of them. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, Alice. And Toby.’
‘OK,’ Alice said. There were a number of different ways Alice could say ‘OK’. The three others around the kitchen table knew that she meant to forgive Megan.
‘Did Justin mention Sam Bowen at all when you saw him in San Francisco?’ Toby asked.
‘No,’ Alice replied. ‘It was a few months ago. October, I think. I guess it may have been before Sam had started asking questions.’
‘We don’t know when that was,’ said Megan, glancing at her father. ‘Sam must have been researching the book for several months at least.’
Bill shrugged.
Alice hesitated. ‘But he did start talking about Craig – you know how Justin has always been obsessed with him. He asked me whether I knew what had really happened on the submarine, how Craig had died. He couldn’t believe it was just an accident, and he said Brooke had told him I knew more than she did. Which was true.’
‘Did you tell him?’ said Bill.
‘No,’ said Alice. She hesitated. ‘Although I kind of implied that Craig had been in favour of launching the missiles. I didn’t really mean to – what I said was that Dad and Lars were the only officers on the sub who didn’t want to launch. Justin got upset at that and asked me for details. I backtracked and said I didn’t really know what happened, it was just an impression. But it was clear he took it badly.’