The Greenstone Grail (39 page)

‘It says he
drowned
.’

‘It was raining.’

‘No one drowns in the rain! Do you take me for an idiot?’

‘Look, there was water in his lungs. The rain may have caused a small flood; at ground level, it wouldn’t need to be much. If his face was covered for long enough …’

Pobjoy made an impatient gesture.

‘You can’t argue with the facts,’ said the pathologist. Smugly.

Pobjoy looked as if he could, and would, argue with any facts they wished to provide. He dismissed the pathologist before another body was added to the roster and sat studying the autopsy report and brooding savagely. He had two people who had (allegedly) drowned, one under circumstances that were merely suspicious, while the other in ones that were definitely bizarre. Surely it was impossible to drown in a wood? Could the corpse have been moved after death? Improbable, according to the report. Of course, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable,
must
be the truth. God, he hated Sherlock Holmes. A man who had oozed smugness – a cokehead – a conspiracy theorist with paranoid tendencies. The trouble was, this whole case reeked of Sherlock Holmesness. A quiet village, a stolen chalice, two bodies who had – against all the odds – died naturally. And a dwarf. No doubt there was some fiendish super-criminal behind it all, with uncanny powers of disguise and a
penchant for drowning his victims even if there was no water to hand …

He jerked his mind back to reality and tried to focus on more credible options.

‘I seem to have missed all the excitement,’ said Michael. ‘Rianna and I spent the weekend near Oxford – an old friend of mine was having a barbecue. It rained there, too. Funny thing: you can have the best summer for a decade and if you organize a barbecue it’ll
always
rain.’

‘Your alibi?’ asked Rowena. She had dropped in to talk things over with Annie and found Michael there, ostensibly on the same errand.

‘I don’t want an alibi,’ Michael said with a faint grimace. ‘I wanted to be where the action was.’

‘Too much action,’ said Rowena. ‘One dead body and a major theft. Police are bloody useless. Trying to tell me I imagined things! There’s enough going on now without anyone throwing in imagination. Didn’t see the thief too clearly – dark in there when the lights went out – but he was short, quick, and hairy.
Really
short – like four feet. Not a performing animal, no chance. Moved like a person. Had to be a dwarf.’

‘Why should a dwarf steal the Grimthorn Grail?’ Annie said. She was talking on autopilot, her thoughts elsewhere. Rianna Sardou was in London (or at least, something that looked like Rianna Sardou
might
be in London). Michael hadn’t renewed his dinner invitation, but he was here.

‘Don’t know,’ said Rowena. ‘Whole thing’s a complete mystery. Tell you this much, though: I’m going to get it back. Got my ear to the ground already. Anyone tries to fence it, I’ll know. Got a lot of contacts in the trade.’

‘Surely it would be impossible to sell?’ Michael said. ‘It’s
main value must be as a historic artefact. That would mean a very specific market.’

Rowena made a gloomy noise, possibly affirmation. ‘Eric’s got some strange ideas about it,’ she remarked. ‘Alternative realities and all that. Explains a few things, but … Good man, though. Trustworthy. Wherever he’s from.’ She flicked Annie a sharp look, but her hostess missed it. ‘Anyway,’ she concluded, ‘I’ll be off now. Got calls to make. If you think of anything –’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Annie assured her.

She was left with Michael.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I didn’t really come to talk about all that. I know it’s a bit of a thrill – the kids must have had a ball, chasing the thief, and getting covered in mud, and stumbling over a body – not such a great experience, that last one. I hope they weren’t upset.’

‘Nathan’s okay,’ Annie said.

‘It’s not as though they knew him, thank God – where was I? Oh – hedging. I came to talk about something else.’

Annie looked a question.

‘Rianna. I tried to ask her what happened, the other afternoon, but she denied even seeing you. And her clothes – the clothes she was wearing when I left – they were on the bedroom floor, and they were
wet
. She’s acting very odd lately – I can’t put my finger on it – but she’s not herself. Last weekend, my friends asked if she’d been ill. It’s as if she’s had some sort of a personality change. There are illnesses that take you like that, brain tumours, that kind of thing. I suggested she might see a doctor but she flared up. Annie, I don’t know what to do. It isn’t the best marriage in the world, but if she’s ill I must stick by her.’

‘Yes,’ Annie said, since something was clearly expected of her.

‘Of course, it could be purely mental – schizophrenia, for
instance. It
can
develop later in life, though it usually starts in adolescence. If she’s evolving a dual personality …’

You could say so, Annie thought.

‘Oh bugger,’ Michael said, his mouth wry. ‘I’m making a mess of this. Look, I wanted to say … Whatever happens with Rianna, I want to see you. I was still hoping we could do dinner … this week? I’m sorry: this all sounds so irrational. I’m saying in the same breath that I’m worried about my wife and I want to be with you. You must think me such a cad.’

‘No,’ said Annie. She was feeling very short of words.

‘If she is going mad, maybe I could lock her in the attic, go all dark and brooding, and you and I could … Sorry. Sorry. I sound flip and shallow. It’s just that I’m upset. I always act flip when I’m upset. About dinner –’

And at that moment – of course – the shop door opened.

This time, it was Inspector Pobjoy, with Belinda Hale in his wake and an official expression on his face. Annie’s pang of irritation evaporated into nebulous anxiety.

‘Where’s your son?’ Pobjoy asked without preamble, paying no attention to Michael.

‘He went into the woods – walking. He’s not much of a one for computer games and things – fortunately. He likes to get out. The other kids haven’t broken up yet, so …’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Michael demanded. He had got to his feet, and his attitude was a shade protective, with a hint of challenge.

‘I’m afraid that’s my business,’ said the inspector. ‘I’d like a word with you alone, Mrs Ward.’

‘I’m staying,’ Michael said flatly. And to Annie: ‘I don’t like the look of this. You may need some advice. I can fix you up with a lawyer if necessary.’

‘Are you going to arrest me?’ Annie said, baffled and almost laughing.

‘No, Mrs Ward. Just a few questions.’

‘Sit down,’ she said, looking round at a shortage of chairs. ‘I mean – question away.’

Chairless, the inspector proceeded. ‘Your son and his friends helped in the search for Mrs Thorn’s missing injunction, didn’t they? The one you found?’

‘Yes.’

‘I expect they were very keen. It was a bit of an adventure, right? They got
involved
.’

‘Er … yes.’

‘They’re good kids,’ Michael said sharply. ‘No criminal tendencies. Especially Nat.’

‘I daresay they were fairly partisan,’ Pobjoy pursued in a fairly relaxed manner. ‘They knew Mrs Thorn – they supported her. They wanted her to have the cup – of course they did. It was a family heirloom: the Luck of the Thorns. They must have found it all rather romantic. When they heard the Grail was being brought to Thornyhill, naturally they wanted to see it. They hid outside the house to spy on the meeting.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ Michael snapped. Annie laid a hand on his arm, restraining him, though he had hardly moved. She too was standing, staring at the policeman. Her face was very pale.

Pobjoy continued remorselessly. ‘The cup was stolen, according to witnesses, by a mystery dwarf. I don’t believe in mystery dwarfs. I think it was just a short person. Maybe a child.’

‘Nat’s tall for his age,’ Michael said instantly.

‘Taller than me,’ Annie said softly. Horrible doubts were fomenting at the back of her brain.

‘The girl isn’t,’ Pobjoy rejoined. ‘She’s on the small side – five foot or less. She could have worn a mask. Something left over from Halloween, or a fancy-dress party. It’s the kind of
thing a kid would have. The lights went out, and she seized her opportunity. Got the cup, and they ran off into the woods. Then they hid it somewhere, intending to come back and claim they’d chased the real thief.’

‘Bollocks,’ Michael said. ‘Utter bollocks from start to finish.’

‘I don’t suppose they thought it was wrong,’ Pobjoy went on, ignoring him. ‘They thought the cup was Mrs Thorn’s by right, and they were stealing it for
her
. They probably plan to give it to her as soon as the fuss has died down. I expect they see themselves as heroes,
rescuing
the cup from the bad guys.’

‘Nathan’s not that naïve.’ Annie spoke at last, conscious of a growing certainty. ‘Anyway, he would never,
ever
let Hazel take the risk. He’s not bossy, but he’s the leader among his friends, the dominant one. He wouldn’t allow anyone, least of all Hazel, to take the dangerous role. He just wouldn’t. Even if his morals got twisted up the way you suggest, he’d always insist on doing the risky part himself. And he’s much too tall for a dwarf.’

‘I hate to spoil a good idea,’ Michael added sarcastically, ‘but so’s Hazel. Rowena Thorn was in here earlier. She said specifically that the thief couldn’t have been more than four feet tall.’

‘People get confused in the dark,’ said Pobjoy. ‘I prefer the obvious explanation. Contrary to popular fiction, it’s usually true.’

‘Do you think they murdered the Graf as well?’ Annie asked quietly.

‘According to the autopsy report,’ Pobjoy almost sighed, ‘his death was an accident.’

‘
Accident
?’ Michael and Annie demanded in chorus.

‘They seem to think he could’ve been struck by a rebounding branch, knocked out with his face in the leaf-litter, and drowned in mud and rainwater.’

‘Drowned …’ Annie echoed, in a whisper.

‘There are too many people getting drowned round here lately,’ Michael said in a suddenly shaken voice.

‘But …’ Annie’s face changed as a thought struck her. ‘I understood he died around lunchtime. That’s what you said before. It didn’t start to rain until much later.’

Pobjoy swore to himself. She was right, and he hadn’t spotted it. The path lab had conveniently forgotten – or failed to check – what time the rain started. And before that, the ground would have been dry as a bone.

‘When your son comes back, Mrs Ward,’ he said, ‘I’d like to talk to him. Please call me on this number.’ He handed her a card. ‘And don’t worry too much about what the children did. They’re underage, and although the act was criminal, the motives weren’t. Once they’ve returned the cup, I’m sure the court will take a lenient view.’

‘They don’t have the cup to return,’ Annie said when the police had gone. ‘I
know
.’

‘Me too,’ said Michael. ‘We need a lawyer.’

‘I must warn Lily,’ Annie said. And: ‘Thank you. Thank you for standing by me. Us.’

‘I’ll always stand by you,’ Michael said. His tone was abrupt and almost cold, free from sentiment. She looked up at him with the hint of a question in her face.

His arms went round her as though of their own volition, and he kissed her – not a quick peck on the cheek but a real kiss, opening her mouth with his. But the moment of intimacy was swift, and swiftly over. He drew back, looking as shaken as she felt. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have …
Very
bad timing. I’ll sort out the lawyer, I promise. Call you tomorrow.’ And then he went, letting the door slam behind him, leaving her in such a state of emotional upheaval she almost forgot to phone Lily Bagot.

Hazel and Lily were taken to the police station in Crowford for a formal interview. Pobjoy wanted answers, and he judged the official surroundings might prove sufficiently daunting to inspire them. Deep down inside, he had a nagging feeling he could be on a losing streak, but the circumstantial evidence was damning, and his hunches had got him exactly nowhere. He had believed the children’s story at first, but bitter experience had taught him to distrust belief. There had been the insurance fraudster who claimed he was in France when his business premises burned down, the stepfather who wept crocodile tears for a murdered teenager, the paedophile teacher who declared his only interest was in education. True, he hadn’t actually
believed
any of them, but he might have done, if he had been more credulous, if they had been well-behaved thirteen-year-olds who had managed to sneak under the barbed-wire fence of his instincts. You thought you had seen it all, he reflected, and then something worse came along. Still, their motives had been good …

‘You wanted to help Mrs Thorn, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘That’s why you looked for the injunction.’

Hazel made a tiny sound which might have been: ‘Mm.’

‘And then you were afraid it wouldn’t do the trick. D’you have a friend who knows about the law?’

Hazel thought of George’s legal ambitions, but decided that didn’t qualify. She said, a little louder: ‘No.’