In Pursuit Of The Proper Sinner (88 page)

“What?” Barbara breathed the word, astounded. “Still be alive? What happened to him?”

Lynley told her. He spared himself nothing, Barbara saw. But then, that was his way.

He concluded with “It was a judgement call on my part not to talk directly about Nicola's prostitution when her mother was present. It was what Andy wanted and I went along. Had I simply done what I should have done …” He gestured aimlessly. “I let my feelings for the man get in the way. I made the wrong call, and as a result he died. His blood is on my hands as indelibly as if I'd wielded the knife.”

“That's being a little rough on yourself,” Barbara said. “You didn't exactly have time to ponder the best way to handle things once Nan Maiden barged into your interview.”

“No. I could see that she knew something. But what I thought she knew—or at least believed—was that Andy had murdered their daughter. And even then I didn't bring the truth to light because I couldn't believe he'd murdered their daughter.”

“And he hadn't,” Barbara said. “So your decision was right.”

“I don't think you can separate the decision from the outcome,”

Lynley said. “I'd thought so before, but I don't think so now. The outcome exists because of the decision. And if the outcome is an unnecessary death, the decision was wretched. We can't twist the facts into a different picture no matter how much we'd like to do so.”

It sounded like a conclusion to Barbara. She treated it as such. She reached for her seat belt and pulled it round her. She was about to fasten it, when Lynley spoke again.

“You made the right decision, Barbara.”

“Yeah, but I had the advantage over you,” Barbara said. “I'd talked to Cilia Thompson in person. You hadn't. I'd talked to King-Ryder in person as well. And when I saw that he'd actually bought one of her gruesome paintings, it was easy for me to reach the conclusion that he was our man.”

“I'm not talking about this case,” Lynley said. “I'm talking about Essex.”

“Oh.” Barbara felt herself grow unaccountably small. “That,” she said. “Essex.”

“Yes. Essex. I've tried to separate the judgement call you made that day from its outcome. I kept insisting that the child might have lived had you not interfered. But you didn't have the luxury to make calculations about the boat's distance from the child and someone's ability to throw a life belt to her, did you, Barbara? You had an instant in which to decide what to do. And because of the decision you made, the little girl lived. Yet given the luxury of hours to think about Andy Maiden and his wife, I still made the wrong call in their case. His death's on my shoulders. The child's life is on yours. You can examine the situations any way you want to, but I know which outcome I'd prefer to be responsible for.”

Barbara looked away, in the direction of the house. She didn't quite know what to say. She wanted to tell him that she had lain awake nights and paced away days waiting for the moment when he'd say he understood and approved what she'd done that day in Essex, but now that the moment had finally come, she found that she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Instead, she muttered, “Thanks. Inspector. Thanks,” and she swallowed hard.

“Barbara! Barbara!” The cry came from the flagstone area in front of the ground floor flat. Hadiyyah was standing there, not on the stones but on the wooden bench in front of the french windows to the flat she shared with her dad. “Look, Barbara!” she crowed, and danced a little jig. “I got my new shoes! Dad said I didn't have to wait till Guy Fawkes. Look! I got my new shoes!”

Barbara lowered her window. “Excellent.” she called. “You're a picture, kiddo.”

Kiddo whirled and laughed.

“Who is that?” Lynley asked next to her.

“The child in question,” Barbara replied. “Let's get going, Inspector Lynley. We don't want to be late for work.”

Those familiar with Derbyshire and the Peak District will attest to the fact that Calder Moor does not exist. I ask their pardon for the liberties I've taken in molding the landscape to fit the needs of my story.

I extend my most sincere thanks to the people who assisted me in England during my research for and my writing of In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner. Without them I would not have been able to take on the project. In the North, I thank Inspector David Barlow in Ripley and Paul Rennie of Outdoor Pursuits Services in Disley for putting me in the picture with regard to Mountain Rescue; Clare Lowery, at the police forensic science lab in Birmingham, for a crash course in forensic botany; Russell Jackson of Haddon Hall for a behind-the-scenes look at a fourteenth-century architectural jewel. In the South, I thank Chief Inspector Pip Lane in Cambridge for his assistance in enhancing my understanding of virtually every area of policing, from the Criminal Reporting Information Service to search warrants; James Mott in London for the helpful background on London's College of Law; Tim and Pauline East in Kent for information on and a demonstration of modern archery; Tom Foy in Kent for a lesson in arrow making and a heightened understanding of the crime in this novel; and Bettina Jamani in London for the most extraordinary sleuthing skills I've ever encountered. I would also like to thank my editor at Hodder & Stoughton in London, Sue Fletcher, for enthusiastically embracing a project set in her own backyard and for lending me Bettina Jamani whenever I needed her. And I extend my gratitude to Stephanie Cabot at William Morris Agency for her willingness to crawl through Soho sex shops with me.

In France, I am indebted to my French translator, Marie-Claude Ferrer, not only for the additional written and visual information she supplied me on S & M but also for her willingness to find a dominatrix—Claudia—who would consent to an interview.

In the United States, I thank Dr. Tom Ruben for the medical information he always supplies; my longtime editor at Bantam, Kate Miciak, not only for throwing down the gauntlet of challenge with four simple but maddening words, “I see two bodies,” but also for her willingness to talk through endless plotting sessions as I brought those two bodies to the written page; my wonderful assistant, Dannielle Azoulay, without whose myriad services I could not have spent the hours I needed to spend at the word processor; and my writing students for keeping me sharp and honest in my approach to the craft.

Last, I extend my gratitude to Robert Gottlieb, Marcy Posner, and Stephanie Cabot of William Morris Agency: literary agents extraordinaire.

ELIZABETH GEORGE is the author of award-winning and internationally bestselling novels, including Deception on His Mind, A Traitor to Memory, and A Place of Hiding. Her novels have been filmed for television by the BBC and broadcast in the United States on PBS's Mystery!

She lives in Seattle and London.