Head down, arms folded, leaning against his desk, he listened closely while Gideon described the incident. "And," he said, "did anyone overhear him make this appointment with you?"
"I don’t think so. We were out in the open, and no one was around. Well, Nate Marcus saw us talking-he came looking for Randy-but he couldn’t have heard what we were saying. At least I don’t think so."
"And what was his reaction.?"
"None, as far as I remember. Or, on second thought, maybe he seemed a little irritated. He asked if it was a private discussion."
"Ah. And did anyone else overhear you?"
Gideon thought for a moment. "We walked by the trench together. I suppose that any of the three of them- Sandra, Barry, Leon-could have seen us, or maybe heard us. But we were just chatting at that point. Randy waited until we were out of sight before he got serious."
"As if he didn’t want anyone else to hear?"
"That was the impression I got."
"And Professor Frawley? Where was he during all this?"
"We left him in the shed. He couldn’t have heard us."
"Ah," Bagshawe said again, with more relish. "So of them all, only Professor Marcus might have overheard, and he seemed…irritated, I believe you said?"
"Wait a minute, Inspector. Nate sounds irritated most of the time. You’re not implying that he killed Randy to keep him from telling me something, are you?"
"Implying?" Bagshawe pointed incredulously to himself with the stem of his pipe. "Me? No, no, just collecting data. Implications come later. As in anthropology, no doubt." He smiled. "By the way, you wouldn’t happen to remember if Professor Marcus is left-handed, I suppose?"
Was he? Were any of them? Gideon couldn’t remember.
"No matter," Bagshawe said kindly. "I’ll just have to look into it myself."
"Look, Inspector Bagshawe, I’m not trying to protect Nate. I don’t think for a minute he did it, but whoever did, I’m as interested in seeing him caught as you are. I guess I feel, well…"
Responsible was what he felt, like it or not. And guilty. He had self-righteously put Randy off with conditions that were no more than ploys to keep himself out of the Stonebarrow mess, and now Randy was dead, killed that very day, it appeared.
"Well, personally involved," he concluded weakly. "But are you saying that Nate is a serious suspect?"
Bagshawe stopped in the process of relighting his pipe. He took it from his mouth, tipped his big head, and grinned, showing square, complacent teeth. "Now what sort of copper would I be if I answered that?"
THE resolutely amicable Andy Hinshore served Julie and Gideon a plentiful late lunch of roast chicken and fried potatoes while Gideon gave Julie a nongraphic summary of his morning’s experiences at the mortuary, having decided that Bagshawe’s proscription did not apply in her case.
He was just concluding when the telephone in the reception hall rang. After a few seconds they heard Hinshore shouting into it. "I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you… Could you speak a little slower? Sir…?"
The conversation continued in this vein, and then, as Gideon was pouring more tea from the pot on the table, Hinshore’s voice caught his attention more sharply.
" Skeleton detective, did you say? Did you say skeleton detective? Sir, this is a hotel…"
"Oh-oh," Gideon said, the pot poised above Julie’s cup, "maybe we should make a break for it before Andy figures out who that’s for."
Julie smiled wryly at him, a what-have-I-gotten-myself-into grin. "Gideon, dear, is this the way it’s always going to be? Are you really in this much demand? When do you find time to teach?"
"Honestly, I only work on a few cases a year. I don’t usually get calls every day."
"Except in Charmouth, England, incognito."
"A puzzlement." He went ahead and poured the tea just as Hinshore came in, frowning.
"Professor, I’ve got a bloke on the telephone; some kind of foreigner. Seems to want to speak with you. If you want me to-"
"No, Andy, I’ll take it, thanks. Did he say who he is?"
Hinshore spread his hands. "I think he said his name’s Ebb."
Ebb. No one he knew. "I promise," he said to Julie, "no new cases." He tossed back a quick gulp of tea and went to the telephone. As he picked it up, he heard Hinshore’s awed whisper to Julie: "They call him the skeleton detective?"
"Hello," Gideon said into the receiver. "This is Gideon Oliver."
"Hello, Gideon! This is Ebb!" The voice was elderly, excited, happy.
"Ebb?"
"Ebb, Ebb. How many Ebb’s do you know?"
"Abe!" Gideon shouted. "Abe Goldstein!"
"Finally, the dawn breaks. That’s not what I said? Abe?"
"Abe…where are you calling from?"
"London. I just got here. I’m coming right away to Charmouth." The old man’s thin voice was so recognizable, so full of its familiar, creaky zip and sparkle, that Gideon couldn’t understand how he'd been even momentarily confused.
"I’ll come and get you. I can be there in a few hours."
"Come and get me? What am I, breakable? I can’t take a train? I love a train ride."
"Okay, let me check on the schedules, find out which station you leave from. Give me your number and I’ll call you right back."
There was a cheerfully exasperated sigh over the telephone. "Listen to him. I can’t find this out myself? I leave from Waterloo, but, for your information, there’s no train station in Charmouth. The nearest one is Axminster, a few miles away, you know where? I’ll be on the…" Gideon heard paper rattle. "The train that gets in at five-fifty-eight."
"Fine, I’ll book you a room here and I’ll meet you at the station."
"That I’ll accept with pleasure."
"Abe, is everything all right? This is kind of a surprise, isn’t it?"
"With me, all right? Of course, why shouldn’t it be all right? No, I’m coming because of this thing with Nathan. You know I’m on the Horizon board of directors? So I’m coming, but unofficially, just to talk a little with him. Maybe I can help him see straight. The man knows how to run a dig, believe me, but he doesn’t know when to stop talking. Still, it’s ridiculous what’s happening. Who wants an inquiry? Listen, have you been up there yet, to Stonebarrow?"
"Yes. Things are pretty messy."
"Messy? What messy?"
"Well, it’s not just the inquiry. One of the students has been murdered-"
" Murdered? God in heaven, you’re telling me that-" Abe’s voice was drowned in a squeal of telephonic pip-pip-pips. "Gideon, I got no more coins for this telephone. They make you crazy the way they eat up the money in front of your eyes. I’ll see you at five-fifty-eight. Give my love to Julie-"
The line pipped again, gave one imperious, terminal cluck, and went dead.
TEN
Gideon and Julie had the afternoon to themselves, and they spent it walking east over the deserted, rocky beach from Charmouth toward Golden Cap, along the base of the blue lias cliffs. It was the kind of time they had dreamed of when they planned the trip: mesmerized into a tranquil stupor by the sound of the surf, they wandered aimlessly along the shore in the thin November sunlight, talking now of one subject, now of another-all of it desultory and haphazard, and lost as soon as the next thundering wave washed their minds clean. Now and then they kissed gently or simply embraced without a word. They held hands most of the time and paused frequently to look at the sea, or so that one of them could show the other some small, perfect spiral of a petrified sea creature embedded in the rocks at their feet.
"Gideon, is that Stonebarrow Fell up there?" Julie said suddenly.
"Where?"
"Up there, where you’ve been staring for the last five minutes."
"Have I? Yes, I guess Stonebarrow would be up there, just about straight above us."
She squeezed his hand. "Don’t think unpleasant thoughts; it’s too lovely here." She moved closer to him and made a little motion with her shoulders. He was barely conscious of it, and couldn’t have described it, but he knew what it meant: Hug me.