The Wages of Desire (12 page)

“And you are back at your duties today, then?” Lamb asked.

Doris counseled herself to be careful with Lamb. “Yes. My first job will be to clean up after the funeral.”

“I see,” Lamb said. “Do you also clean the vicar's study?”

“Yes. Once a week.”

“Have you ever seen a Webley pistol in the study or anywhere else in the vicarage?”

“Yes,” she said. She must be
very
careful now. Still, she saw no reason to deny knowledge of the pistol, given that Gerald long had displayed it in his study.

“When and where did you last see it?”

“Well, I must have seen it in the study, where the vicar keeps it. I'm sorry. I tend not to look at such things when I'm cleaning. I don't approve of pistols.”

Lamb smiled again. “All the same, I wonder if you can think back. It might help immensely if you could tell me exactly when you last saw the pistol.”

Doris glanced at the sky, as if she were giving the question her fullest consideration. She did not yet know the nature of the lie that Gerald had told Lamb to explain the pistol's absence, only that he certainly
had
lied to Lamb. “I don't
think
so,” she said, treading as carefully as she dared. She paused, as if thinking again, then added, in a tone designed to impart the idea that she just
couldn't
remember, “I can't say for sure, because, you see, I simply don't otherwise notice it.”

“Very good, then,” Lamb said. “Thank you, Miss White.” He tipped his hat. “I'm sorry to have kept you from your work.”

She smiled a third time. “No trouble at all,” she said. As she watched Rivers and Lamb walk toward the vicarage, she wondered how long Gerald would be able to fend off Lamb successfully and thought that, in the meantime, she must not dawdle.

ELEVEN

LAMB AND RIVERS FOUND WILHEMINA WIMBERLY AWAITING
them in the neat sitting room of the vicarage. She sat on a red sofa with her hands in her lap. Someone had set out things for tea on the table in front of the sofa. Gerald, who answered Lamb's knock, ushered them toward a pair of chairs that faced the sofa. Lamb felt as if Gerald was orchestrating the encounter, and that he had been orchestrating his and his wife's movements since the previous day.

Wilhemina briefly smiled at Lamb. She wore a blue dress adorned with white flowers and shoes that were similar to those that Gerald had turned over to Lamb on the previous day. Gerald had shed his vestments for a pair of brown corduroy trousers and his priest's shirt and collar. Lamb introduced himself and Rivers to Wilhemina.

She stood and gestured them to sit in chairs. “Would you like tea?” Wilhemina asked.

“Yes, please,” Lamb said. “Thank you.”

“Detective Inspector?” Wilhemina said to Rivers.

“No, thank you.”

Gerald sat on the sofa as Wilhemina served Lamb tea. When she finished, Wilhemina sat next to Gerald.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak to us,” Lamb said to Wilhemina. “I understand that yesterday's events gave you a shock.”

“Yes,” she said. “Very much so, I'm afraid.”

On the previous day, Lamb had come away from his interview with Wimberly believing that the vicar had sought to shield his wife from being interviewed, perhaps because she had received a shock—but also perhaps because he had wanted to have time to rehearse a story with her. Lamb intended to unbalance the pair of them and see what that produced. As part of that strategy, Rivers would conduct the interview, or at least its opening stage. Rivers made a show of retrieving a pencil and notebook from his pocket, leaned forward, and addressed Wilhemina. He and Lamb had discussed the first question he would ask.

“How often do you tend to your garden, madam?”

Wilhemina and Gerald looked at Rivers. Lamb saw that the question had befuddled them, as he hoped it would.

“I'm sorry,” Wilhemina said. “How often do I tend my garden?”

“Yes, madam,” Rivers said without emotion. “Especially given that at this time of year it can get quite hot, especially in the afternoon, thereby making mornings a more comfortable time to work out of doors.”

Wilhemina glanced again at Gerald. Neither of them seemed to understand Rivers's question. As Lamb had guessed he might, Gerald immediately seemed to smell a trap and attempted to shield his wife from falling into it.

“I'm sorry, Detective Inspector,” he said. “I don't understand the question.”

“The question was directed at your wife, sir,” Rivers said, his expression placid.

Wilhemina looked at Lamb, as if expecting him to explain, but Lamb merely smiled at her scantly. She smoothed her dress and turned back to Rivers.

“I'm sorry, Detective Inspector, but I'm afraid I don't understand, either.”

“I was merely wondering if you occasionally rise early in the morning to garden, especially given that yesterday morning was a good one for gardening.”

Wilhemina glanced at Gerald and then back to Rivers. Her confusion was evident on her face.

“Not often, no,” Wilhemina said.

“Then you were in bed when Miss Aisquith was shot?”

Wilhemina hesitated a hitch before answering. “Yes.”

“Were you asleep or just resting?”

“I suppose I was sleeping.”

“So you did not hear the shot, then?”

She glanced again at Gerald. “No.”

“But you did hear your husband come into the house?”

“Yes, I heard Gerald come in.”

“According to your husband, he reached the house just as the shot was fired.” Rivers made another show of flipping through his notebook. He stopped at a page and read aloud. “Quote,
I was returning from a walk when I heard the shot
, end of quote.” He looked up from the notebook at Wilhemina. “That is what your husband told Chief Inspector Lamb yesterday, madam. He then said he went right to the cemetery and that you followed him there. So I was wondering, then, when exactly you woke up and what awakened you.”

Lamb could sense Gerald Wimberly attempting to restrain himself from speaking.

“I suppose I must have heard something outside,” Wilhemina said. “After all one doesn't always necessarily know for certain what has awakened one.”

“But you are certain that it was not a gunshot?”

“I don't think so. In any case, I don't remember it as such.”

“Do you normally wake up in the morning when your husband returns from his walk?”

“Occasionally.”

“Is your husband sometimes rather loud, then, when he returns from his morning walk?”

“Is he loud?”

“Yes, madam. Does he normally make a racket?”

“I'm sorry, Detective, but I fail to see how such questions are relevant,” Gerald interjected.

“I assure you that the questions are relevant,” Lamb said. “I wonder if you wouldn't mind allowing your wife to answer, please.”

Gerald Wimberly raised his chin in a small, almost unconscious gesture of defiance. “Of course, Chief Inspector. It's just that I don't see what my making noise in the morning has to do with anything.”

Lamb ignored Gerald. “Mrs. Wimberly?” he said.

“Well, I suppose he sometimes is noisy.”

“Was he particularly noisy yesterday morning, then, madam?” Rivers asked. “Did he shout something or call out to you?”

Wilhemina glanced a third time at Gerald. “No,” she said. “I simply heard something—something outside, I suppose. And it awakened me. Most of the rest of it is a blur, I'm afraid.”

“So you're certain, then, that the sound of the shot did not awaken you?”

“As I've said twice before now, no. Or at least I don't know that it did.” Wilhemina's voice had become tinged with irritation. “I wasn't sure what had happened.”

“I see,” Rivers said. He paused, a slight look of apparent confusion on his face—a small, though subtle, gesture that impressed Lamb. Once again, Rivers made a show of searching his notebook. “Yes, here it is,” he said, stopping at a page. He read aloud: “Quote,
Unfortunately, my wife came into the cemetery. I hadn't even known that she'd followed me. She must have heard the shot
, end of quote.”

Gerald ran his fingers through his hair.

“That was your husband's statement to Chief Inspector Lamb yesterday, madam,” Rivers said. “I wonder why your husband believed you'd heard the shot? Had you told him that you had heard the shot?”

“No,” Wilhemina said. “I suppose he assumed that I had heard the shot. Anyone might assume so, given the circumstances.”

“Yes, madam,” Rivers said. “But if you didn't hear the shot, then why would you have thought it necessary to follow him to the cemetery? Indeed, why would you have thought it necessary to leave your bed and follow him at all, given that he makes a daily habit of coming and going in the mornings?”

Wilhemina looked sternly at Rivers. Lamb saw that she could not entirely hide her anger. He could almost feel Wilhemina restraining herself from chastising Rivers for his impertinence. “I merely sensed that something was wrong,” she said.

“I'm sorry, madam,” Rivers said. “You
sensed
that something was wrong?”

“Yes,
sensed
,” she said. “Have you never heard of intuition, Detective Inspector? A woman's intuition?”

“Does that mean, madam, that you did not know for certain that your husband had left the house, but merely intuited that he had?”

“No. I heard him come in and then go immediately out again. I got out of bed and went to the window and saw him heading toward the cemetery and so followed.”

“I see,” Rivers said. “You saw him from the window, then, rather than merely intuiting that he had gone to the cemetery.”

Internally, Gerald winced. Rivers was picking apart their story with ease. When he'd first seen the stolid, unimaginative-looking Rivers at his front door he had tabbed him as likely not bright. Obviously he was wrong. And he began to believe that he understood what Lamb was on about. Lamb intended to topple them both by pulling down the weakest of the pair first.

“Yes, I saw him from the window,” Wilhemina said.

“And what did you do when you arrived in the cemetery?”

“I don't remember, exactly. I only remember coming into the cemetery and seeing the dead woman there and feeling suddenly very shocked.”

“Where were you standing, exactly, when you first saw the dead woman's body?”

“Just by the gate.”

“Did you approach the body at all, to see if the woman might still be alive?”

“No. One could see that she was dead. She had that terrible wound in her back.”

“So you did get close to the body, then?” Rivers persisted.

Wilhemina narrowed her eyes. “As I just told you, Detective Inspector, I did not approach or touch the body. Perhaps you should listen more closely.”

“And yet you also just said, madam, that you could ascertain that Ruth Aisquith was dead because of the seriousness of the wound in her back, which you called, ‘terrible.' Had you not approached the body how would you have noticed such a detail?”

“Well, I suppose I was close enough to see, then,” she said. “As I said, I don't remember everything exactly. No one could.”

Gerald wished he could put a muzzle on Wilhemina. The stupid cow was stumbling badly—obviously lying. Even a bloody idiot could see that. He had told her that she must allow him to take control of everything—every detail—and, as usual, she had defied him. Now they were up to their necks in it.

“I'm afraid I'm to blame here, Detective Inspector,” Gerald piped up. “I approached the body, to see if the woman was dead—just as you said. I later told Wilhemina that I knew she was dead from the seriousness of her wound. One could see the gore on the gravestone near which she fell from a fair distance.”

Rivers paused again to look at his notes. He did not speak for perhaps fifteen seconds—a silence during which Gerald literally squirmed in his seat, adjusting his position on the sofa and crossing his legs. Rivers then looked at Gerald and smiled briefly at him. “I see, sir,” was all he said.

Lamb now took up the questioning, Rivers having done his job. Lamb addressed Gerald. “Did you touch anything on the body, Mr. Wimberly?”

“No.” Gerald told himself that he must be careful. They could afford no more damage to their story.

“Other than your wife, did you see anyone else in or near the cemetery?”

“No one.”

Lamb paused, as if considering what he intended to say next. After a few seconds he said, “I wonder if you might tell us what you
believe
happened, Mr. Wimberly, given that you apparently were the first person on the scene, other than the killer.”

Gerald shifted again and uncrossed his legs. “I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I follow you, Chief Inspector,” he said. “I have no idea who killed that unfortunate woman, or why anyone would want to.”