To Track a Traitor, page 39
Terrell had fished out the remains of the burned rucksack, and he told Ames that he’d been about to leave when he looked back at the boathouse. He knew it was a whim, but he’d gone back in and found the box with the oarlocks. “I saw that there were two different kinds. Some newer brass ones, and some rustier iron ones. I counted them. The brass oarlocks were in pairs, but there was a missing iron one.” Terrell had also told him that he’d noticed this time that there was only one bracket for an engine. And there was one engine hanging there. Had she lied about their having two?
Not proof, Ames thought, but something. Maybe the lawyer had found something that would be the final proof. Or perhaps he’d found something that would deepen her justification for having killed her husband—maybe it was just what Terrell had said: jealousy.
“Thank you for coming, Sergeant Ames. I should have contacted you earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, especially in light of the poor man’s murder. Please, sit down.”
The law office fit every imagined idea Ames had of a law office. Dark bookcases full of leather-bound volumes, a thick carpet, a hushed atmosphere, a plump and officious secretary of uncertain years outside the inner office. He sat and, even at his height, felt small in the deep chair opposite the lawyer’s desk.
“I was reviewing the dossier this morning and making a few concluding notes. Mrs. Arden came in yesterday to ask about the terms of the will. It was a bit later than is usual because of the circumstances of the man’s death, and she had asked me to wait until she felt she could cope. And now I’ve been contacted by a realtor with regard to the house, and it reminded me of something that occurred early in December. I made notes and I can give you the gist. On December 5, Mrs. Benjamin Arden came in to inquire about the ownership of the home. She wondered, she said, if it were in both their names, as she had contributed toward its purchase. I was very surprised to see her, I can tell you. Her husband, as is usual, conducted all such business. I was able to tell her that it was in her husband’s name, but that as his wife, she was, in effect, a partner, as it were, in the ownership of the house, and that if he predeceased her, the house would, of course, revert to herself.”
“I see. Did she say why she was concerned about this suddenly?”
“You use the right word, Sergeant. It felt a bit sudden to me. As I said, I’d never laid eyes on her before. She asked me further, if she were to come into the house, as it were, would she be at liberty to do anything she liked with it—sell it, for example? I assured her that the property would be entirely, under the circumstances outlined, at her disposal.”
Ames made a few notes. “Did she ask you anything else?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact. She asked me about his will, if he had made one. I said he had. Though I could not read her the full contents—he was my client, not she—I said that it contained nothing surprising and that the bulk of the property went to herself and then to the children, should she herself die, with a couple of legacies left elsewhere. She commented about what she termed the ‘twilight’ existence of a wife, who has legal rights, but not the ones that matter, and then asked me who the legacies were for. I felt put on the spot; I couldn’t divulge the details, of course, but I did say they were left to his mother and to an old friend. At which point she said something like ‘Have you told her?’ I asked if she meant Mr. Arden’s mother, and she said, ‘No, the friend.’ I could answer that in the negative as well. I wished immediately I hadn’t answered at all.”
“Who was the friend?”
“Oh, yes, I see. Of course, I may divulge that now. It was Mrs. Philippa Bentley.”
“But you didn’t give that name to her?”
“No, but I wonder if it alarmed her that he should have a female friend to whom he was leaving something in the event of his death. She demanded to know how much, but of course I couldn’t give her an exact number. Instead, I said she’d nothing to worry about as she would be coming into over seventy-five percent of his assets.”
“And what was he leaving Mrs. Bentley?”
“He left her something on the order of twenty percent of his assets. There is a child involved, you see,” the lawyer added with a little clearing of his throat. “He did not say in so many words that the child was his, you understand, but one was led to assume it must have been. I believe that explains the size of the portion he wished to leave Mrs. Bentley.” The lawyer clamped his hands together on his desk and looked down. Finally, he said, “I really wish I hadn’t said even as much as I did. She left here very angry.”
Ames was very little acquainted with the legal profession, never having cause to use its services, but the size of the portion surprised him, even with a child involved. “Twenty percent? Isn’t that a little high, considering he had a wife and two children? And I also wonder what he would leave, after all. It was my understanding that the only real money in the family was money she’d brought in from her own inheritance. Surely, he would not be entitled to give away twenty percent of the money that was hers?”
“I’m afraid so. Money that comes into a matrimonial union can become joint property, unless it is specifically protected. He could, I regret to say, have been entitled under our current system to give the whole lot away on his death. As his legal adviser, I strongly advised against such a move, but he was insistent. And there would possibly be some basis for a legal appeal if he had left all his money away from her, should Mrs. Arden wish to pursue it.”
“It’s moot, I suppose,” Ames said, “because there is very little money left. He was being blackmailed and handed the lot over to his blackmailer.” He did not tell the lawyer that they had recovered most of the money and that she herself was at that moment in a police station cell.
“It’s an appalling state of affairs, Sergeant Ames. Appalling. I feel very sorry for Mrs. Arden. I’m afraid the laws do not always protect women as they ought. She told me about it on this last visit, and while she was upset that there was no money, she was satisfied that neither Mr. Arden’s mother nor his other legatee was to receive a dime, and that she retained control of the family home as the one solid asset.”
* * *
“i think,” ames said to Terrell on their drive to the school to collect the children, “that not only did she commit the murder, but she’d been planning it for some time. Jealousy, just like you said.”
They were approaching the school, perched just above the road. It had a fenced gravel playground surrounded by slender maples and black birch, with a grassy area on the north side of the school and pine forest on the south. Terrell took a deep breath. “I hope it’s not too much of a shock to them. I did call Mrs. Robinson to tell her. I thought she’d be happy, after the fuss she made this morning, but she seemed resentful that she was going to be put upon. I wanted to tell her it was temporary, but there’s no guarantee of that, the way things stand.”
“None at all,” Ames agreed.
* * *
when ames and Terrell and their prisoner were settled in the interview room, the first thing Ames did was reassure Mrs. Arden that her children were safely with their grandmother. Terrell expected her to protest, to demand she be let go so that she could go to them, but she did neither. She sat completely still, her hands folded in front of her as if her whole being were locked in a battle that immobilized her.
He pushed a glass of water toward her.
Ames waited for her to drink and then said, “Can you tell us what happened, Mrs. Arden?”
She finally looked up, wiped her mouth where water had dribbled down the side of her chin. “You can’t know what he was like,” she managed.
* * *
“this was one of those arrests that gives me no pleasure,” Ames said later, when they were leaning against O’Brien’s counter, looking out at the street. People were going home, and Baker Street was busy with homeward-bound cars and the streetcar competing for space, and pedestrians piling up at corners, waiting to cross.
“She did kill her husband,” O’Brien said complacently. “I find it hard to believe she couldn’t have found another way. His paramour had no intention of running away with him.”
Ames shrugged regretfully. “I know. But she didn’t know that, and then she learned he had a child with Mrs. Bentley. She saw that he’d taken some of his clothing and assumed the worst. She took his revolver out of his desk and followed him, in the second boat. She knew where he was going the minute she saw the direction he was headed. She rowed out to the cove where the cabin is, certain she’d catch him with Philippa Bentley, only he was alone. I don’t think he even knew she was behind him when she shot him. Of course, she threw us off in the first place by saying he’d taken the gun.
“She panicked at what she’d done and grabbed his rucksack and ran back down to the beach. She pulled the oars out of the boat she’d come in and tossed them into the boat he’d used with the motor, and then pulled the second boat into the middle of the lake so it would drift off. She threw the gun into the deepest part of the lake and motored home. She must have been horrified to see that boat float practically back to her own dock.”
“I wonder why he even went there?” Terrell asked. “And why just then?”
Ames sighed and shook his head. “I expect he knew he was down to his last two hundred dollars and didn’t want to meet his blackmailer as usual. He decided to run away. I suppose he thought no one would find him. He could lie low, wait till any search died down, and come up with a plan. I suppose he had ideas of maybe changing his name and just starting all over again somewhere. Mrs. Arden probably would have done away with him anyway, when she found out he’d been doling out all his money to a blackmailer, even if he hadn’t run off. He turned out to be a lot worse than even she knew.”
“Has anyone told her all the rest? About the stolen medal and the murder of his co?” Terrell asked.
Ames shook his head. “Paget’s with her now. We’ve filled him in. I imagine it will be part of his defence. He seems a little sweet on her.”
“Or, like you, he feels sorry for her. No, I’m sorry. If we let wives off every time they did in their husbands, where would we be?” O’Brien asked. He had very firm views about this sort of thing.
* * *
it was a subject Ames discussed later with Tina. She’d invited him to dinner, and they’d left her father cleaning up, at his insistence, while they walked down to the water and sat on the picnic table, enjoying the warm spring evening. “O’Brien is pretty adamant that she is a murderess and should be treated as such. I feel kind of sorry for her. She married someone she thought was sweet and loving, and he turned out to be an absolute cad. Worse, a murderer.”
“That’s the trouble, isn’t it? The way things are, everyone expects women to be looked after by men. If the man is good, they’re lucky. If he’s bad, they have little recourse,” Tina said disgustedly.
“Divorce?” Ames suggested. “She could have divorced him.”
“Ha! Have you tried to get a divorce lately? A woman has to have grounds or it’s nothing doing.”
“He was having an affair,” Ames pointed out.
“A lawyer would argue he wasn’t. That he’d had the affair before and had reformed since his children were born. Nuh-uh. The judge would look at that charming man, saying how much he loved his children, and either wouldn’t grant a divorce—or worse, would grant it and give the children over to him because the lawyer would have argued that she was a harridan who made his life miserable. If she tried to leave, she’d lose her children. The laws do nothing for us.”
“Are you saying she had no alternative?” he asked with growing alarm.
She laughed and punched him gently on the arm. “Don’t be an idiot! I’m not planning to murder you. And I’ll tell you why.” She was serious again. “Because I intend to make sure I don’t have to.”
“And how will you do that?” he asked, risking putting his arm around her. In her current mood, she might not like it.
“I’ll make sure that I have resources. This may sound a little mercenary, but I have my job, I have my savings. I’ll keep my own bank account. I’ve handled the banking in this family since I got back from overseas. I know how things work. If any husband of mine tries to pull any stunts, I won’t have to kill him; I can just leave him and be perfectly fine.” She leaned in and kissed him.
“Charming, I’m sure,” Ames said. The truth was, he’d never thought about what marriage might entail in the way of legalities.
“I know it’s not very romantic,” she said, “but it’s practical.”
“It would make that husband a bit redundant,” he said regretfully, bending over to pick up a rock and toss it into the lake.
“Well, if his only function is to make money to clothe and feed a wife, then yes. But if the idea is that husband and wife could be friends together, and companions, and, you know . . . then neither one has to be redundant.” She shook her head. “I’ve often wondered about straying men. My mother always had some friend who was having that sort of trouble. I will say my dad wasn’t at all inclined, and he and my mother always seemed to have a laugh, even over the ironing. I would say they were real friends. I think it outlasts everything, even death. Dad would never marry again. He once told me that no one would seem right after Mom.”
“I never thought of marriage as having anything to do with friendship. I wouldn’t have said my parents were friends. I guess they might have been once, but Dad was a bit of a mess after the war.” He wondered if he should ask his mother about this.
“The goggle-eyed romantic bit can’t last forever, can it?”
“Well, no, I suppose not. But you are making it sound like a business arrangement when all is said and done.”
“Just think about how alluring it is to kiss a woman who has her own money.” She turned, pulled him close, and kissed him again in a way that made his breath catch.
* * *
“you must be very proud of them,” Lane said, her head resting on Darling’s shoulder. They were on a bus, taking the winding road to Seaforth. There was a light rain, but the sky out at sea had a late afternoon luminescence that uplifted the heart. Darling had called Nelson and learned about the outcome of the Arden case.
“They’re police officers. They do their job. It is surely the least one can expect. Anyway, I’m not their father. It’s not my office to be proud of them.”
“I knew it! You are proud of them!”
He kissed her. “You’re talking nonsense, but it is rather endearing. What’s not so endearing is your insistence on a forced march across the countryside.”
“You’ll love it. All that fresh air. Anyway,” she said, suddenly thoughtful, “I’d like to see where Diana’s lover died.”
“My God. Fresh air and unhealthy curiosity. I certainly hit the jackpot.”
“Quit fussing. We’ll have a lovely night in a tiny room in the pub in Seaforth and awake ready to tackle anything. Remember, Eastbourne by tea time. You like tea. It will motivate you.”
Lane woke early and went to look out the little window in their upstairs room. It was a magnificent morning. The sun had set the sea to sparkling, and she felt herself almost giddy with anticipation.
“Upsy upsy, darling!” she said, sitting next to her husband and giving him a gentle shake. “Time and tide wait for no man!”
“Do they not? I’d heard that in some circumstances they do.” He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck.
She kissed him and pulled herself back upright. “And our breakfast is waiting for us. I asked for it to be ready at eight.”
“Breakfast? Why didn’t you say so at once?”
* * *
by the time they were on the first rise and looking out to sea, Darling had begun to feel the attraction of fresh air. “Chalk cliffs,” he said, looking along in the direction they were going. “Even at night, coming back from raids, they seemed to glow. I never lost the elation I felt that we’d defied death yet again when they came into view on the homeward journey.”
“I know.” She hesitated.
He cut in. “I’m pretty sure you do know. How old will we be when you finally tell me? In our seventies? We’ll be like the Armstrongs with a Westie and our gardening and baking, our house falling into decrepitude around us.”
“Never mind that. Let’s push on.”
When they had reached Beachy Head, sometime past lunch, Lane went as close to the edge as she dared and looked down at the lighthouse. Darling had thrown himself onto the ground at a safe remove from the precipice and was eating the remains of a sandwich.
“Seven Sisters?” he said. “More like eleven! I’ve never been up and down so much in my life. I feel dizzy. Come away from that edge, you’re giving me vertigo.”
“You should get more exercise,” she called back. “This is a terrible place to die, or maybe I mean it’s a lovely place but a terrible way to die.”
“I mean it, Lane. Please don’t demonstrate by going over yourself.” He was sitting up now, looking anxiously at where she stood, peering over the edge of the cliff. “These cliffs are chalk. Chunks just fall off. I’m sure people are always going over—now come back.”
Realizing that she was feeling slightly dizzy, Lane went to join Darling, accepting the biscuit he offered her. “Our appetite will be spoiled for tea in Eastbourne,” she said.
“My appetite is spoiled with not enough to eat. How long have we been walking?” He looked at his watch. “Four hours. Never mind tea when we get there. I’ll want a massive plate of fish and chips.”
“Just imagine Diana here, in the dead of night, expecting to see her lover and instead having to watch him being thrown over that appalling cliff. It’s no wonder she’s a mess. I do hope she’s going to be all right.”
