Sir James was a man dark haired and dark eyed, a complete contrast to his stepson's fairness. He wore glasses with thick, black frames that might have been selected from a manufacturer's "Serious Writer" catalog. He looked shaken, but composed. St. Just had a feeling Sir James would look composed if the college suddenly came under mortar attack. He had the air of a man not only raised up to deal with that sort of thing, but one who might live for the chance to display a little derring-do. A chance to throw on some armor, save England, and rescue his lady fair.
St. Just put these fanciful chivalric ideas aside, invited Sir James to take the chair just vacated by Sebastian, and said, "We've just spoken with your stepson."
"I know. Poor kid. I saw him just now, looking completely gored. This must be a nightmare for him."
"I think you'll find youth is a great restorative in and of itself. He's shaken and trying to hide it, but by tomorrow it may all be a fading memory."
"I'll have a word with my wife. Perhaps we should get him away from here."
"Not anytime very soon, Sir. We'll need everyone to stay around until we're satisfied they have no more to tell us about these tragic events."
"Oh, I see. Yes, quite. Of course. Anything… anything at all… "
"I've heard from other sources a bit about the… somewhat unusual arrangements of this weekend. The fact that Lexy Laurant was your ex-wife. I'd like to hear the circumstances from you."
"I thought you might. But it was years ago, you know, and I can absolutely assure you it could have nothing to do with this… this appalling tragedy."
"You and Lexy were married how long?"
"Three years. We met at the college. Married in haste, as they say."
"I see. And you and your present wife have been together how long?"
"It will soon be seventeen years."
"You also met her while you were here at St. Mike's?"
"Yes. I was here as a visiting scholar. I was here for some time working on a book, you see."
"That all seems clear. Now, as to this weekend get-together: Was this in any way pre-arranged?"
"Did I know Lexy would be here, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"Not until it was too late to prevent her coming. Not that I could have prevented it," he added quickly. "Lexy could be rather headstrong." Seeming to fear that last sentence might be misconstrued, he rushed on, "But only in some ways. Basically, she had a gentle nature." He shook his head reminiscently. "That's what makes this all the more inexplicable to me, that she should… should die like this."
"In what ways was she not headstrong, Sir?"
James just looked at him. This was indeed a poser.
"Never mind, Sir. So you didn't know she would be here, until, presumably, you received the list of attendees from the college." He held out the copy of the list in his own hands.
"That is correct. Well, to be precise, I didn't know until I saw her here. She was quite capable of changing her mind."
"Still, since the invitation went out to all the old members connected with a certain time frame, you knew she would receive an invitation, along with your wife?"
"If I'd thought about it, yes."
"And did you, Sir? Think about it?"
"Fleetingly, perhaps. I must tell you, Lexy was always heard to say, and loudly, that she detested this place, so my thinking about it would consist of cataloguing all the reasons she would almost certainly not be here."
"But, as it turns out, you were wrong."
He smiled bleakly; the skin under his eyes was smudged with dark shadows. "Yes."
"And your wife's reaction to finding out that Lexy was going to be here?"
"She wasn't exactly pleased, of course. What woman would be? But India is a sensible soul. She soon decided she would simply rise to the occasion. Meaning, ignore it. She could afford to."
"No jealousy, then?"
"Good lord, no. India-Lady Bassett-is too level-headed for that, I tell you. Plus, she has no reason whatsoever to doubt me, no reason for jealousy-over Lexy or anyone else, for that matter."
St. Just allowed a long pause. When James did not elaborate further on his complete devotion to his present wife, St. Just went on:
"You had no residual feeling for Lexy, then."
The man heaved an enormous sigh, as if he'd been expecting-and dreading?-this very question.
"I was fond of her, of course. I suppose one always retains a vestige of fondness for someone who reminds one of one's youth. We were young together, and happy, and in love-for a time. One can't pretend those years never existed. But I had 'moved on,' as the parlance goes. I'm afraid I thought seldom of Lexy these days, if at all. Awful thing to say now, I know, but it is the truth."
"Now, this evening, when you heard of her death, what did you do?"
"I simply could not believe it. I thought Seb must be mistaken."
"But you went to investigate."
"It was rather a reflex action. But really, the situation couldn't be ignored while we stood about sipping our port, could it? Although I did gather others were inclined to do just that. Some things about Cambridge never change, you know. Anyway, just to calm Seb I went to have a look. I thought it likely he'd stumbled across a tramp sleeping it off… it was bloody dark out, you know. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the Bursar has never been one to 'waste' money on electricity." He broke off. "This is just ghastly. There was… a certain amount of talk when I left Lexy for India, you know. It wasn't universally received as joyous news… a lot of jealous old cats here, rather. This will just rake up all the old scandal. The media will have a field day. I can just see the headlines now: 'Killing at Cambridge College.'"
Sergeant Fear looked up. "'Murder at St. Michael's,'" he offered. This earned him a cautioning look from St. Just, tempted as he himself was to enter into the headline game. He and Sergeant Fear often had private bets on how far into bad taste the press might wander over a particular case. More often than not, the pair of them could not begin to anticipate the worst efforts put forth by the members of the media.
"Good God," said James. "I don't suppose you can prevent that in any way?"
"It's doubtful, Sir. It's their job."
"Just imagine, doing that to earn a living."
"Now, Sir, your divorce from Lexy. I'm afraid I'll have to ask."
"It's not germane, I tell you. Ancient history." Off St. Just's look, he subsided. "Oh, very well. What?"
"It was an amicable parting, was it?"
Sir James observed the ceiling, as if the answer might be written there. "I'll be truthful. It was not amicable. I never believe people who say their divorce was, do you? By its definition, divorce means something has gone horribly wrong in a marriage and both sides can barely stand to be in the same room together. In our case… well, I suppose I behaved like a cad. I did behave like a cad-all right, I'll admit it. But I met India and that was it. It was really the most astonishing, life-changing thing. I was mesmerized. Bewitched by her, I suppose some would say. If I could have helped myself, stopped myself, believe me I would have done so. But I don't think it ever occurred to me that that was an option."
"Do you still feel that way, Sir? No regrets?"
"Utterly and completely. I couldn't bear to be parted from India for a day. So, no-no regrets whatsoever, except that I know it all hurt Lexy. But I simply can't imagine my life without India."
India's motive was looking weaker by the minute, if Sir James was telling the truth. St. Just could sympathize with any man who felt bewitched, since James had well described his own reaction on meeting Portia, not too long ago. Good to know that kind of coup de foudre could lead to lasting love.
"I did wonder," James was saying, "when she turned up with that Argentine fellow."
"Geraldo Valentiano. Yes?"
"I just mean to say, I can't really see him wanting to harm Lexy, can you? I gathered the impression they didn't know each other that well, or for that long. You had to know Lexy to-"
"To what, Sir? Hate her?"
Back-pedaling madly, Sir James said, "She was highly strung, Inspector. Anyone can tell you that. Even so, it is impossible to imagine her doing anything that could provoke him to that extent. A lover's quarrel? Well, the hot-tempered Latino is rather a cliche, is it not? And quite undeserved, in my experience. Anyway, in this case, he doesn't strike me as showing much interest outside himself."
St. Just thought that a fair and accurate assessment of the Argentine's baseline character, but was less willing to give Geraldo a free pass in the hot-tempered department.
Sergeant Fear looked up from his notebook.
"What was Lexy's attitude towards him? Valentiano, I mean?"
James looked first to St. Just before answering:
"That's rather a good question. I'm not sure I can say. She seemed-my impression only, you understand-but she seemed to regard him as decorative more than anything else. Of course, that may be a bit of prejudice on my part: He was a damnably good-looking man. Always did get my back up, that type."
Amen to that, thought St. Just. Aloud he said, "You think she was using him to make you jealous?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that… I don't really know. It does rather sound like something she'd do, I suppose…" His voice trailed off. His gaze rested on the fireplace, its hearth filled with summer flowers. Sir James seemed to be lost in the past-the past of his marriage to Lexy, presumably.
"You were seen talking with her. After dinner."
Sir James seemed slightly taken aback at this. He blinked several times. "Was I? Yes, I rather suppose I would be."
"What was the topic?"
Sir James said nothing.
"I'm going to have to insist that you answer, Sir. Was she hoping for reconciliation between you two?"
He shook his head ruefully. "She knew that was out of the question."
"Hope is different from knowing, though, isn't it? Did she have hope?"
Reluctantly, Sir James said, "She may have done. I did nothing whatsoever to encourage her thinking along those lines. Nothing. That you must believe absolutely."
"Your meeting with her in the Fellows' Garden-was that by pre-arrangement?"
Looking taken aback by the question, Sir James didn't respond immediately. Finally he said, "No. I stepped out for a cigarette, and there she was. I allow myself one cigarette after each meal, you see."
"She knew your habits, did she? So she might have hoped to run into you."
"That is possible. Of course, I could have gone 'round to the front of the college."
"What did you talk about?"
"She said something about how the memories were flooding back, and didn't I feel it, too? The past revisited. 'I feel such melancholy,' she said. She asked me-" Here he paused, as if needing to collect himself. And when he spoke again moments later, his voice was husky and raw. "She asked me if I'd ever loved her. Now, in retrospect, that seems so incredibly sad, knowing she had such a short time to live."
"And how did you answer, Sir?"
"I told her the truth. I told her that of course I had loved her. Thank God. If it gave her any peace to hear that, I am quite glad we had the conversation we had."
"Did Lexy smoke?"
The question seemed to surprise him. "Not to my knowledge. Never. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering what drew her outside, if not to meet you."
"A breath of air, I'd imagine. These college dinners can be stuffy in more ways than one."
"Did she have her evening bag with her?"
Again, that look of mild, puzzled surprise. "Yes, I believe she did. I didn't really notice."
"Did she know many people still living in Cambridge?"
"Probably a few. Perhaps people connected with her old department. I don't really know whom she's kept up with."
"What did she read at Cambridge?"
"Law."
"Really?"
"Yes. But she barely scraped through her final exams and never practiced the law, to my knowledge." He paused to inspect an immaculate cuff. "Probably just as well," he continued. "Lexy was very bright, don't misunderstand. But she could also be rather… undisciplined. Not everything you'd want in a solicitor. Law was her father's idea."
"Her parents? Can you help us get in touch?"
"Both long dead, I'm afraid. Motoring accident. That's what makes it rather sad. Apart from her nightclubbing friends-and the less said about them the better-she was quite alone. She never remarried, had no children."
"Sir James, who do you think did this?"
"A passing madman, of course. It must be. Really, who else could it have been?"
"That's what I'm asking you, Sir."
"You think one of us-the group that's here for the weekend?"
St. Just let the silence stretch out, an artful pause, then asked, "You say your wife was not given to jealousy?"
This seemed to galvanize Sir James.
"Not in the least. It's preposterous to suggest otherwise, to imply-"
"But, she must have disliked Lexy, rather. Lexy who wouldn't let go, who hung on, making things uncomfortable for the pair of you, especially this weekend. Making both of you feel guilty, perhaps."
"Don't be absurd, man. Besides, aren't you forgetting, India was in the SCR, with many others to attest to that?"
"There's that, of course," said St. Just mildly. "Well, thank you. You've been most helpful."
After Sir James left, having reiterated his pleasure in doing anything he could to help, Fear said, "If you ask me, Sir, that was a man choosing his words carefully. It was as if he was trying to avoid giving offense-do you follow?"
"Nil nisi bonum. Speaking no evil of the dead. An ex-wife, just brutally murdered-possibly that is not the best time to get the truth out of an ex-husband."
"We really are limited to the people here at the college, do you think?" asked Sergeant Fear.
"The only other access was by river," St. Just replied. "And that is the one area the wretched security cameras would have picked up-they are all trained, did you notice, on the access points from the river? Of course we'll be viewing the tapes closely-but I doubt we'll see more than a clear shot of Sebastian's departure and arrival back at the boathouse. It definitely makes one think this crime was committed by someone who knew the college, knew exactly where the security cameras were targeted and knew how to avoid them. Knew that some of the cameras were dummy cameras. Knew, in other words, the security was pathetic, and rather relied on that fact. That doesn't speak of a random passer-by. As I say, we'll look at the video, but I promise you, if it shows anyone in any kind of river conveyance, it shows them going straight past the college, not turning in to hop off and kill Lexy. Who just happened to be standing there. And there's another question-if she was standing there, why? Whom did she hope to meet?"
"Our friend Geraldo?" asked Sergeant Fear.
"Perhaps. He has rather the same alibi as all the others. They didn't all head straight for the SCR en masse, but rather slowly drifted in. We need to get a handle on who was late in showing up. Let's have Lady Bassett in here next."
India Bassett strode athletically into the room, as if about to leap on a horse and ride off. St. Just politely indicated a chair opposite him instead. She looked at the item of furniture a moment as if unsure of its purpose before finally sitting down.
St. Just took a moment to survey India, as she asked to be called, as she settled herself in. She was in fact rather a horsey looking woman, her face long and mobile, but she also possessed a homey quality that didn't quite go with being a member of the riding-to-hounds set. She seemed a comfortable person to be around, St. Just thought, an impression that was reinforced as they talked. Her tanned complexion drew attention to rather startlingly blue eyes, the whites of which shone with apparent good health. Crow's feet were just beginning to etch their way permanently into her skin. The blonde hair, sun-bleached beyond all hope of resuscitation, could have used a spot of conditioner or whatever it was women used.
She'd taken off her academic gown, which she carried slung over one arm; under the somber gown she had worn a dress in a bold summer print of red and yellow. It recalled to St. Just the dresses women wore in the summers of his childhood. He would have put her age at forty-five, but he thought her weather-beaten appearance was probably misleading him.
Sergeant Fear, for his part, liked her as well. A sturdy, earthy, no-nonsense sort, as her husband had implied.
St. Just began by asking her where she was from the time she came down to dinner. She gave them a brief summary, ending with:
"Dinner ended at nine-fifteen, but then I stayed a bit to talk with the Master. He is a dear but he does tend to wander on. Of course, he's on a mission this weekend. We walked together to the SCR."
"You were with each other the whole time?"
"That is correct."
"Now, I realize this is awkward, given your situation, but I will need your impressions of Lexy Laurant."
She nodded understandingly as he spoke. "I can only feel pity for her now, of course," she said, "but in life she could be… difficult." A heavy note of irony had entered her voice: She might as well have come out and said she had found her impossible to deal with. "The divorce hit her hard, no doubt of it, but it was all ages ago." There seemed to be an unspoken "These things happen" subtext to her words.
"Did she seem to be over it?"
"Not entirely, no. But we were spared the hysterics and scenes of previous years. Her new angle seemed to be to wave Geraldo under my husband's nose at every opportunity. It was the sort of behavior that is much easier to ignore."
"So. Let's back up for a bit. You walked with the Master to the SCR. That took how long?"
"It's rather a large college and so a bit of a walk, with the gallery and then the long corridor leading to the SCR. I'd say a few minutes, walking slowly, yes."
"And you went straight to the SCR. You didn't stop at the cloak room, for example."
"Oh! Well, I did, of course, but only for a moment. Really, I was just trying to shake off the Master, if you want the truth."
"That's why we're here, yes," said St. Just, with just a tinge of exasperation. "To get at the truth. I understand at some point while you were in the SCR the curfew warning bell rang. You all could hear it?"
"Yes. Quite clearly; it's a most annoying sound, like a flock of geese calling for help from inside in a large tin. And then shortly after that, Seb came running in. Poor child." She shook her head. "Seb and his precious rowing. Do you know, he is so disciplined in that regard-I can't tell you what a relief it's been since he discovered this talent. He's not terribly disciplined in any other way."
"Who was in the SCR when you entered?" asked St. Just.
"That's rather difficult. The Master had reattached himself and was bending my ear again by then. Let's see, I believe the Americans were there-they're always frightfully hard to miss, aren't they? At least, she is-Constance. And dear old Hermione was gassing away about the polar ice caps."
"When did your husband arrive?"
"Oh, didn't I say? He was already there. I tell you, I was rather waylaid by the Master. They are quite desperate for donations, poor lambs."
Fear, pen flying, found he was a bit in awe of this woman who could speak so offhandedly about the Master. He thought: She's the real thing; not given to show. Upper crust-not flashy, though. Real upper crust.
"So, you weren't entirely fond of Lexy, would it be true to say?"
She answered coolly, "Some women make rather a success of divorce. Lexy was not one of those women. I'm afraid that instead she continued to carry a torch for my husband. Writing him letters and so on. 'Asking his advice' on this, that, or the other. Just 'happening' to be where she knew he would be. To be completely frank, she never stopped thinking of him as her husband, I don't think."
"Do you have any of those letters?"
"Oh, I'm sure not. They used to aggravate James no end. I'm certain they went straight into the fire, as he told me they did. But you should ask him."
"Her view of things was rather 'finders, keepers,' was it?"
"Something like that. Exactly like that, now you mention it. Her head, I think, was rather filled with romantic nonsense, and she always had an inability to deal with reality. In the real world, relationships dissolve, lose their-I suppose one must say-their usefulness. Hard as that sounds, it is the way of the world, and Lexy never came to grips with it. She was, in many ways, a born victim, you know. The manner of her death was, while a shock, not completely out of character, if one can put it what way. Lexy would always manage to create, and to cultivate, chaos around her person."
Sergeant Fear, hearing this opinion voiced with such confidence, felt somehow this assessment was spot on-even without his ever having met the victim.
"I mean, here she was," India went on, "intelligent in her own way-although crafty might be a better word, and educated-" here she threw wide one arm rather as St. Just had done earlier to encompass the paneled walls, the Carolean bookcases, the seals and crests and other emblems of prestigious learning, "and beautiful to boot. But what did she do but throw herself at someone like-well, forgive me, but that boyfriend of hers, whatever his name is, is so obviously a scamp. What on earth could she have been thinking? You don't suppose…"
"Suppose?" prompted St. Just, responding to her look of confusion.
"Well, that he had anything to do with this? Some heat of passion type of crime? I overheard them quarreling you know."
She nodded emphatically, gratified by the effect this had on her listeners.
"Indeed. I heard them quarreling, and quite violently."