Longshot. Part 47

'He went to Sam's boatyard and fell through some floorboards and was nearly drowned-' She told it to them much as I'd told her myself. 'If John hadn't been with him to help-'

Tremayne said robustly, 'My dearest girl, it must have been the most dreadful accident. Whoever would want to kill Harry?'

'No one,' Perkin said, his voice an echo of Tremayne's. 'I mean, what for?'

'Harry's a dear,' Mackie said, nodding.

'You'd never think so to read the papers recently,' Fiona pointed out, lines creasing her forehead. 'People can be incredibly vicious. Even people in the village. I went into the shop this morning and everyone stopped talking and stared at me. People I've known for years. I told Harry and he was furious, but what can we do? And now this-'

'Did Harry say someone tried to kill him?' Perkin asked.

Fiona shook her head. 'Harry was too dopey.'

'Does John think so?'

Fiona glanced at me. 'John didn't actually say so. It's what I think myself. What I'm afraid of. It scares me to think of it.'

'Then don't, darling.' Mackie put an arm round her and kissed her cheek. 'It's a frightening thing to have happened, but Harry is all right.'

'But someone stole his car,' Fiona said, hollow-eyed.

'Perhaps he left the key in the ignition,' Tremayne guessed, 'and a pa.s.ser-by saw an opportunity.'

Fiona agreed unwillingly, 'Yes, he would have left his keys. He trusts people. I've told him over and over again that you simply can't these days.'

They all spent time rea.s.suring Fiona until the worst of the worry unwound from her body and I watched the movement of her silver-blond hair in the soft lights and made no attempt to throw doubts because it would have achieved nothing good.

With Doone, early the next afternoon, it was a different matter. He'd had my bald account of events over the telephone in the morning, his first knowledge of what had happened. Now he came into the dining-room where I was working and sat down opposite me at the table.

'I hear you're a proper little hero,' he said dryly.

'Oh, really, who says so?'

'Mr Goodhaven.'

I stared back blandly with the same expression that he was trying on me. The morning's bulletin on Harry had been good, the prognosis excellent, his memory of events reportedly clarifying fast.

'Accident or attempted murder?' Doone asked, apparently seeking a considered answer.

I gave him one. 'The latter, I'd say. Have you found his car?'

'Not yet.' He frowned at me with a long look in which I read nothing. 'Where would you search for it?' he asked.

After a pause I said, 'At the top of a cliff.'

He blinked.

'Don't you think so?' I said.

'Beachy Head? Dover?' he suggested. 'A long drive to the sea.'

'Maybe a metaphorical cliff,' I said.

'Go on, then.'

'Is it usual,' I asked, 'for policemen to ask for theories from the general public?'

'I told you before, I like to hear them. I don't always agree, but sometimes I do.'

'Fair enough. Then what would you have thought if Harry Goodhaven had disappeared for ever yesterday afternoon and you'd found his car later by a cliff, real or metaphorical?'

'Suicide,' he said promptly. 'An admission of guilt.'

'End of investigation? Books closed?'

He stared at me sombrely. 'Perhaps. But unless we eventually found a body, there would also be the possibility of simple flight. We would alert Australia- look for him round the world. The books would remain open.'

'But you wouldn't investigate anyone else, because you would definitely consider him guilty.'

'The evidence points to it. His flight or suicide would confirm it.'

'But something about that evidence bothers you.'

I was beginning to learn about his expressions, or lack of them. The very stillness of his muscles meant that I'd touched something he'd thought hidden.

'Why do you say so?' he asked eventually.

'Because you've made no arrest.'

'That simple.'

'Without your knowledge, I can only guess.'

'Guess away,' he invited.

'Then I'd say perhaps Harry's sungla.s.ses and pen and belt were with Angela Brickell because she took them there herself.'

'Go on,' he said neutrally. It wasn't, I saw, a new idea to him.

'Didn't you say her handbag had been torn open, the contents gone except for the photo in a zipped pocket?'

'I did say so, yes.'

'And you found chocolate wrappings lying about?'

'Yes.'

'And traces of dogs?'