That didn’t mean that he was a poor investigator. It simply meant that he might need someone to open his eyes to alternate possibilities.
The first step would be to get him to relax his guard, even if just slightly.
“Inspector Wilson, madam,” Grimes said as he returned to the room with the policeman in tow.
“Thank you, Grimes. Good afternoon, Inspector.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ames,” he said. He still held his hat in his hand, apparently unwilling to relinquish it to Grimes’s charge. That meant, it seemed, that he did not intend to stay long.
“I understand you’ve come to see my husband, but I thought perhaps I might do just as well,” I said brightly.
He looked uncertain about this, as men often do when a woman suggests she might serve just as well as a man, but I wasn’t about to let him get away without at least gleaning a bit of information from him.
“I thought you might give me an update on the case.”
“I don’t want to trouble you with this unpleasant business, Mrs. Ames.”
If he expected me to be a delicate wife, I might as well play the part. I put a hand on my stomach to draw attention to my condition. “It would set my mind at ease to hear it directly from the authorities.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m happy to do what I can, ma’am.”
I smiled. “Excellent. There’s no need for us to be formal. Would you care for some tea, Inspector?” I thought for a moment that he would refuse, but I could see that he was tired—no doubt the investigation and Darien’s arrest with its incumbent paperwork had kept him occupied for long hours over the past days—and knew the prospect of a hot, strong cup would likely be a worthy enticement.
“I would like that very much, Mrs. Ames.”
I moved to the tea tray and poured him a cup.
“Milk or sugar?” I asked.
“Both, please.”
I fixed his tea as he sat uncomfortably on the edge of the yellow velvet cushion of the Thomas Sheraton chair across from the sofa.
“Now,” I said when we were settled with our cups and saucers. “This is better, isn’t it? Much more civilized. What is it that you’ve come to see us about?”
He took a sip of tea. I noticed that, despite his apparent discomfort, his hands were steady and his movements assured. “I know your husband isn’t best pleased that I’ve arrested his … ah … brother.”
I had the sense from these words that there was some resistance on the part of the villagers to recognizing Darien as Milo’s brother. It wasn’t just the fact of his illegitimacy, though I was certain that played a part.
The other reason was that Milo’s family had lived here for generations. A great many of the villagers had watched him grow up, had read of his wild ways in gossip columns for years, and had watched as he mellowed into his own rough-edged version of respectability.
Whatever there was wild in Milo’s past, there had also been his bond with Thornecrest and the people of Allingcross. That a stranger should come here claiming to be an Ames and then be charged with murder was a lot more than many people wanted to accept.
“It’s been a surprise to all of us, naturally,” I said, holding out a tray of biscuits. He accepted one, crunching on it as I continued. “We had no idea about Darien’s existence until a few days ago, but one doesn’t like to imagine that one’s relative might be a murderer. After all, there are any number of people who might have killed Bertie Phipps. Most of the village was at the festival that day.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But most of the village hadn’t threatened to kill the young man.”
“People often say things rashly in the heat of the moment that they don’t mean.”
“That doesn’t answer for the evidence, I’m afraid.” He said this mildly, as though not to give offense, and I was careful not to give the impression that I was growing combative.
“Of course,” I agreed. “But it seems strange, doesn’t it, that he would have kept the stolen objects in his room? Darien might be a reckless young man, but he isn’t stupid.”
Inspector Wilson shrugged. “People do strange things at times. I’ve seen the brightest of criminals do something thoughtless and swing for it in the end.”
He seemed to realize what he had said and flushed, taking a quick sip of tea to cover his embarrassment. I pretended as though I hadn’t noticed the faux pas of referring to the possibility of my brother-in-law’s execution.
“Yes, I suppose.” I leaned forward to refill his teacup. “Just for the sake of argument, have you considered anyone else?”
“We like to consider everyone who might have done it, naturally.” He wasn’t affronted by the question; the tea had mellowed him. He reached for a second biscuit.
“Who else, for example?” I asked, taking a biscuit myself.
I was fairly certain that he would tell me he could not divulge this information, so I was surprised when he answered me. “There were strained relationships in his life, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I shouldn’t say too much. Reputation is a delicate thing, after all.”
I nodded sagely, my expression soft with understanding. “Yes, it certainly is.” I stirred my tea. “I know, of course, that he was dating Marena Hodges and that things didn’t end entirely well between them.”
“She broke it off with him and took up with your … eh … brother-in-law.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. “You didn’t hear that from me.”
“No, I heard it long ago. In fact, I was at the inn during the altercation between Darien and Bertie. Marena herself told me that she was quite angry with Bertie over it.” I was not trying to implicate her in the crime; I merely meant to point out to Inspector Wilson that there were other possibilities.
He seemed to consider this, and I hoped that my words would be weighty enough to keep the matter in his mind after our tea was finished. “That may be,” he said. “But that blow…”
“The doctor was of the opinion that either a man or a woman might have done it, I believe. My husband was at the inquest and told me all about it.”
He looked at me, his gaze sharpening ever so slightly, and I realized that I would need to tread carefully.
“That’s so,” he admitted at last. “But physical violence is often done by a man. Poison is more a woman’s weapon.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “Though, in the heat of passion, a woman might as soon pick up a rock to do harm with it as a man.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I felt a little hint of triumph that was immediately dampened by his next words. “Of course, I’m certain we’ve the right man, so speculation is useless. After all, Darien Ames was seen walking across the field around the time Bertie Phipps must have been killed.”
“It was my understanding that Mrs. Hodges was seen walking across the field around that time as well.”
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed that no one had witnessed Bertie’s murder. With all the people in that field, they might as well have held the festival there.