Wexford stirred his coffee, although it was black and sugarless. 'How do you know now?' he interrupted.
'Mrs Dearborn told us herself tonight. She was very frank, very open. When she realised the importance of the inquiry. she told us quite freely that Alexandra named, she believed, after her natural father is a child she and her husband had adopted privately. Two adoption societies had refused to consider them on account of their age, and when the opportunity arose just before Christmas for them to take this baby they jumped at it. Dearborn acted very properly. He intended to adopt legally and through the proper channels. As soon as the child was received into his house in late December, he notified the Children's Department and the court of his intention to adopt. Did you want to say something Mr Wexford?'
'Only that you make it sound very cold. He loves that child passionately.'
'I don't think we should allow our emotions to be involved. Naturally, the whole thing is painful. Let me resume. Mrs Dearborn has never met Rachel Vickers. All she knew about her came from the girl's aunt, her former charwoman, Mrs Foster, and from the guardian ad [item-'
'The girl with the gloves,' said Wexford.
Baker took no notice of this. 'The guardian and Mrs Foster knew the girl as Rachel Vickers, never as Loveday Morgan. Until February 14t4 Dearborn also only knew the girl by her true name, he had never seen her and supposed everything would be plain sailing. On that day he cam, home and told his wife that while he had been showing Alexandra some property he intended to buy in Lammas Grove, Rachel Vickers came out of a shop and recognised her child.'
Baker paused. 'I must admit I don't quite understand that, a man pointing out houses to a babe in arms, but I daresay it's irrelevant.' He glanced at Wexford and Wexford said nothing. 'According to Mrs Dearborn,' he went on, 'Rachel asked him if she might see Alexandra again and he agreed, though reluctantly, giving her his office phone number. Mrs Dearborn says and I believe she is speaking the truth that she knows of no more meetings between Rachel and her husband. As far as she knows, the girl showed no more interest in the child after that.'
'We, however,' put in Howard, 'have been told early in this inquiry that Rachel had an interview at Notbourne Properties sometime after February 14th, and I think we can conclude this interview had nothing to do with an application for a job. What are your views, Reg?'
'Dearborn,' said Wexford slowly, 'wanted to keep the child and Rachel, just as intensely, wanted her back. At that interview in his office she told him she would oppose the granting of his order and he took the highly illegal step of offering her five thousand pounds not to oppose it.'
'How can you possibly know that?'
Wexford shrugged. 'Finish reading my report and you'll know how. Without reading it, you can surely see that this is why Dearborn told his wife no more. He's unscrupulous but Mrs Dearborn isn't. She would never have gone along with him in any scheme to buy the child. When did they expect to get the order?'
'On March 24th,' said Baker with a certain triumph. 'If you don't know that, Mr Wexford, I don't see how . . . But let me get on with my ideas of what happened next. Rachel agreed to take the money some money, we can't say how much and promised to phone Dearborn to fix a date for this transaction. The date she chose was February 25th and she phoned Dearborn from Garmisch Terrace at one fifteen on that day. They met about an hour later in the cemetery.'
'You've identified the scarf as Mrs Dearborn's?'
'Certainly. That's why we went to see her in the first place. She told us she often wears her husband's sheepskin jacket and probably left the scarf in that jacket pocket. Dearborn met the girl as arranged, but when he was about to part with the money, thought how much easier it would be, how much safer he would be, to keep the money and kill the girl. He would never be sure otherwise that she wouldn't oppose the order just the same. So he strangled her with the scarf and put her body in the Montfort tomb.'
'You helped us again there, Reg.' said Howard. 'It was you who pointed out about its being Leap Year. Dearborn forgot that. He supposed that the last Tuesday of the month had gone by and that the tomb wouldn't be visited until after March 24th, by which time he would have his order.'
Wexford reached for his report, fingered it hesitantly and then laid it down again. 'He's confessed all this?' he asked. 'You've talked to him and . . . Have you charged him?'
'He's away from home,' said Baker. 'Up in the north somewhere at some architects' conference.'
'We wanted your Opinion, Reg.' Howard said rather sharply. 'So much of this is conjecture. As you said yourself it's the only possible conclusion, but we thought you might have something more concrete for us.'
'I said that?'
'Well, surely. I understood you to . . . '
Wexford got up abruptly, pushing back his chair so that it almost fell over. He was suddenly frightened, but not of himself, not any more of failure. 'His wife will get in touch with him!'
'Of course she will. Let her. He's due back tomorrow morning.' Howard looked at his watch. 'This morning, rather. Once he knows he's in danger of not getting that order his wife will tell him that the court will suspend all action until the matter is cleared up he'll come hotfoot to us. My God, Reg. she doesn't know we suspect him of murder.'
'But he'll know by now he hasn't a hope in hell of remaining as Alexandra's father?' Wexford gripped the back of the chair. He was shivering. 'Will she have told him that?'
'Unless she's a far more phlegmatic woman than I take her to be, yes.'
He tried to stay calm. He knew his face had grown white, for he could feel the skin shrink and tremble. Baker's face was scornful and sour, Howard's entirely bewildered.
'You wanted my advice. It must be that because you don't want my opinion. My advice to you is to phone Dearborn's hotel now, at once.' Wexford sat down and turned his face to the wall.
'He's in his room,' said Baker, replacing the receiver. 'I don't see the need for all this melodrama. The man's in his room, asleep, but they've gone to check and they'll call us back. I suppose Mr Wexford's idea is they'll find a bundle of clothes under the sheets and the bird flown.'
Wexford didn't comment on that. His hands were clasped tightly together, the knuckles whitened by the strong pressure. He didn't relax them but he relaxed his voice, making conversation for the sake of it. 'What happened about Clements?' he asked, attempting to sound casual.
'He got his order,' Howard said. 'Phoned through to tell us. No difficulty at all.'
'I'll send his wife some flowers,' said Wexford. 'Remind me.' He helped himself to more coffee without bothering to ask permission, but his hand was unsteady and he slopped it on to the desk. Howard didn't say a word.
The phone gave the prefatory click that comes a split second before it rings. Before it rang Wexford had jumped and got the shock over. Three hands went out to the receiver, the other men infected by his dread. It was Howard who lifted it, Howard who said, 'I see. Yes. You've got a doctor? The local police?' He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. His thin face had grown very pale. 'There's a doctor staying in the hotel,' he said. 'He's with Dearborn now.'
'He tried to kill himself,' said Wexford and he said it not as a question but as a statement of fact.
'They think he's dead. They don't know. Some sort of overdose, it sounds like.'
Baker said, attempting a suitable dolefulness, 'Maybe it's the best thing. Horrible, of course, but when you think of the alternative, years inside. In his position I'd take the same way out.'
Howard was talking again, asking sharp questions into the phone. 'What position?' said Wexford. 'You don't still think he did it, do you?'