“You have actual parties like that there?” Upton asked. Hugo thought he was trying very hard not to sound judgmental.
“Yes,” Merlyn said. “I know it’ll sound weird to you, but no one ever got hurt.” That little smile again. “In a bad way, I mean.”
“Which is why you wondered about Ginny Ferro’s death being an accident. Seems kind of … unlikely, doesn’t it?”
“Which part?” Hugo said with a smile.
“Well,” said Upton, stroking his chin. “I can see now that she might get something out of a rope and a real cemetery. But the night of her release from prison?”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” said Hugo. “But think about it this way. She gains a certain emotional and physical satisfaction from mock incarceration, right? Well, if she’s incarcerated for real yet treated well, which she was by all accounts, then she may have been on a high coming out of there. She may have wanted to extend the experience by acting out another fantasy in a real environment.”
“But who with?” asked Upton. “Wouldn’t she need someone else?”
“Not necessarily,” Merlyn said. “All she needed was a ladder and the rope, pretty much. But she also had friends down there, friends into this. A quick phone call would have had a dozen people running out there to play with her.”
“Play?” Upton said.
“Yeah, we call it playing. Because that’s what it usually is.” Merlyn took a swig of her whisky. “Look, the point is, she could have had someone meet her there in a matter of an hour, less. She’s a famous movie star for fuck’s sake, anyone in the scene, men and women alike, would have given their left nut to play with her.”
“Literally, eh what?” Pendrith chortled, then stuck his nose into his glass when he saw he was the only one laughing.
They sat in silence for a moment, then Hugo looked up. “Shit, what about Walton?”
“Who’s that?” Upton asked.
“Pain-in-the-arse reporter who followed us here,” said Pendrith.
“He knows about Harper?” Upton asked.
“Yes,” said Hugo. “Unfortunately, he does. He’s agreed not to say anything if we help get him an interview when we get Harper.”
“Very kind of him,” Upton said. “Where is he now?”
“Hard to say,” Pendrith chortled again. “We gave him the slip earlier, sent him on some phony errand. Probably crying in his fish soup. I’ll trot upstairs and see if the bugger’s still here.”
“Good idea,” said Hugo.
As soon as he disappeared through the door, Upton turned to Hugo. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s His Lordship’s role in all this?”
“I don’t mind at all,” said Hugo. “I think he has a crush on Harper, for one thing. Also, Pendrith’s been a friend of the United States, as the ambassador put it, for some years. I’m told his background is in intelligence, which could sure be useful right about now.” Hugo smiled when he saw the frown on Upton’s face. “Don’t be fooled by the upper-class-twit routine, Chief Inspector.”
“All for show?”
“No, actually I think the upper-class bit is real. He’s no twit, though, that bit is just to fool you.”
“Well, we could use all the help we can get,” Upton said, “though I see why you were so bloody evasive back at the farm.”
Hugo nodded. “If it gets out that Harper is running around England, possibly armed and maybe dangerous …” He shook his head. “I was worried before when I thought maybe he’d just get mobbed to death by fans, or possibly strung up by a few villagers here. But now, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Agreed,” Upton said. “Every man, woman, and child in the county would grab a flaming torch and go looking for him.”
They looked up as Pendrith reappeared. “All’s well,” he said. “Walton is sleeping like a baby.”
“Good.” Upton looked into his glass but didn’t take a sip. “So we need to figure out who shot Drinker, what the hell Harper is doing, and whether or not we raise the alarm. And I think we’re all agreed that there’s no need for a public announcement just yet.”
“Certainly not,” said Pendrith. He turned to look at Hugo. “You said before you didn’t think he shot Drinker. Still think that?”
“I’m not quite sure what to think.” He turned to Upton. “Did the paramedics indicate whether Drinker is going to make it?”
“No. He was unconscious by the time we got to him. All we know is what he said to you chaps. I’ll call in and see if there’s been any change, but right now what he said points straight to Harper. Let me call.”
Upton stood and moved away from the table, and they sat in silence as the policeman connected with an underling at the station. He asked about Drinker and listened quietly for a moment. Then he said, “Are you sure he was there? You’re sure it was him?” He nodded at the response and hung up, then came back to the table.
“News?” asked Pendrith.
“Most definitely,” said Upton, wrapping his fingers around his glass. But this time he took a swig. “He was conscious for a few minutes before they went into surgery. Conscious and coherent enough to tell his escort what he told you: Harper was in that house tonight.”
“And?” pressed Pendrith.
“And then Drinker died during surgery,” said Upton.
In the silence that followed, every glass was emptied.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The call that Hugo had dreaded came at six the next morning.
He was already up and in the parking lot, looking for a public footpath that might take him on a walk of a mile or two before the world awoke, a moment to let the country air run through his system and a chance to either escape or help resolve the mystery that had captured him.
He answered without thinking and without checking to see who was calling. “Hugo Marston.”
“DCI Upton here. Where are you?”
All hopes of a morning walk vanished when Hugo heard his tone. “At the pub. Everything OK?”
“No, not by a long chalk. You know where the Weston Church is?”
Hugo almost smiled. It’s where Jack O’Legs is buried, he thought. But he just said, “Yes.”
“Good. I’m on my way there now, meet me.”
“Sure, I’ll grab Pendrith, though he may be sleeping still.” Hugo looked at his watch and saw it was just after six.
“No time,” said Upton. “Just get over here as soon as you can, I’ll send a car for him later.”
“What’s going on, Clive?”
“This fucking situation is getting out of hand, that’s what’s going on. So do me a favor and hurry.”
Hugo patted his pockets. Wallet and keys, that’s all he’d need. He glanced back at the pub, a little guilty at leaving Pendrith behind and half hoping to see him at a window, gesturing for Hugo to wait. But the cottage-like pub slumbered in the morning mist, soundless and still.
Hugo turned right out of the parking lot and drove slowly toward the church, which he remembered being about two miles away. The road seemed windier and narrower than before, and twice he had to brake as rabbits darted in front of him, heading for safety in the roadside hedgerow, their breakfast foraging interrupted by the purring behemoth that was Hugo’s car.
A small signpost warned Hugo of the turn toward his destination and he swung the car onto Church Lane, which angled sharply upward. He drove for forty yards and then saw the police cars, their rooftop lights curiously off considering this was, seemingly, an emergency. As Hugo found a place to park, he saw an ambulance in his rearview mirror, following him into the gravel lot. Two policemen detached themselves from the iron gate that was the entrance to the church, one heading for him, the other for the ambulance.