Part 29 (2/2)

Munro picked up his hat and leaned his forearms on his knees. 'Leave it.'

'How did he kill himself?'

Munro looked at Markson. The young detective looked at his notes, clearly marking time, and then said, 'Slashed his wrists with his razor.'

'It's done,' Munro said. He stood. 'The coroner's jury got the evidence, Denton; there was no doubt in anybody's mind. He got in the bath with his razor and did it. I'm sorry, especially as you have to hear it in your condition, but it's what happened.'

Denton tried to picture Heseltine's cutting his veins with a razor. Lying in his own blood? He said, 'Dressed or naked?'

'Unh - I don't have that, sir.'

'With the water running? A man like Heseltine doesn't make messes. He'd have known he'd be found by Jenks, who was incompetent; he'd have done everything to avoid leaving a mess. Find out.'

Munro shook his head. 'It's over. Don't tell us how to do our job.' He fanned a fly away with his hat. 'Your job is to get well. It hurts me to look at you. I mean it - I want you to focus on getting your old self back; forget all this business. The young man who killed himself-' He shrugged. 'These things happen.'

Denton held his eyes and then, feeling the pain in his back, the discomfort of the sheet under his b.u.t.tocks, used both hands to s.h.i.+ft the position of his right leg. He said, 'Sit down, Munro.'

'Got a job to do.'

'Not yet. I want to talk to you.'

Munro looked at Markson as if to ask if Markson should stay, too; Denton nodded. Munro lowered his backside into the chair as if he feared sitting on something. He made a demonstration of taking out his watch and looking at it.

Denton said, 'I don't remember everything that happened when I was shot. More of it comes back to me, but I'm still blank where the shooting itself is concerned. Also just before that. I think I was coming to see you-'

'You'd been at Mrs Castle's.'

Denton raised his head. 'How do you know that?'

'Somebody grabbed Jarrold before he could put another bullet into you. Happened to be a private detective.' Munro glanced at Markson, who seemed engrossed in his notebook, slowly turning the pages from back to front. 'He was following you.'

Denton frowned, bewildered. 'I'd just got back from France.'

Munro laid his hat on the bed again. His hair was pressed against his scalp where the hat had rested; he stroked the sides with his palms. 'This is an embarra.s.sment for the Metropolitan Police, Denton. I was going to tell you in good time. It's, mmm, not something we're proud of.'

'I remember now - I thought somebody was following me. I think I'd thought so before, but there was never anybody.'

'Lady Emmeline - Jarrold's mother - was having you followed. She sent copies of their reports to Georgie Guillam.'

Denton's brain seemed slow. He had to remind himself who Guillam was. When he remembered, he was enraged. 'Why?'

'I told you that Georgie'd pulled Jarrold over into his bailiwick. I thought it was just to make the connection - get himself some credit with the upper crust. Maybe that was all there was, to start with. He told the super he'd gone to Lady Emmeline's house and offered her his help. Because Jarrold was now his responsibility. That could have been just Georgie's sucking up. But getting the private detectives' reports from her-He wanted to get something on you. So did Lady Emmeline. She really hates you, you know - a lot worse than Georgie. So they scratched each other's back.'

Denton felt out of breath. 'That's how Jarrold knew where I'd be when he decided to shoot me.'

'His mother wrote to him at least once a day. Sent him telegrams - one the night before you came back from France.' Munro rubbed his forehead and blew out his cheeks. 'One of the detectives had tailed you to the Channel ferry and told Guillam. Guillam cabled the French demanding they tell him when you started back. When he heard from them-' Munro shook his head. 'He did what no copper should ever do. He notified Lady Emmeline. After, he said he did it just so's her detectives could pick you up again. But she telegraphed Jarrold, so what Guillam did meant that Jarrold could find you, too. Jarrold's mother - and therefore Jarrold - knew where you'd be twelve hours before your boat landed that morning. The d.i.c.ks picked you up again at Waterloo.'

'And so did Jarrold.'

'That's my reading of it.'

'But-' Denton was thinking of the logistics of getting from Lady Emmeline's Suss.e.x house to London, then to Waterloo. Twelve hours would be plenty of time. Still-'But why?'

'Why Georgie, or why Jarrold?'

'Jarrold.'

'Loony.'

'Not good enough, Munro. He's insane, but he's sane enough to get from Suss.e.x to Waterloo, avoid the detective following me and wait for the opportunity to shoot me.'

'Well, he knew about the detective, so avoiding him wouldn't take a genius. Anyway, the detectives didn't know him. The rest-' Munro shook his ma.s.sive head. 'He's a loony.'

'With all respect, sir-' Markson had put his notebook away. 'It's true it's never been established why why he shot Mr Denton.' he shot Mr Denton.'

Munro waved the comment away. 'He shot him because he was a loony that had been pestering Denton for a long time. He couldn't get what he wanted from him, so he took his revenge.'

Denton had put his head back. He wasn't listening to them. He looked at the ceiling and tried to remember what had happened. The shooting was a gap, but the rest was there: Mrs Castle, his returning home, the parting from Heseltine at Waterloo. Before that, the night crossing, the journey down from Caen. The farm. The barn. The hay. He said, 'Heseltine and I go to France. We come back. Jarrold is waiting for me in London. He shoots me.' He sat up. 'How soon after I was shot did Heseltine die?'

Munro groaned. 'Oh, Judas-'

Markson got the notebook out again, wet his finger, went through the pages. 'Um - hmm.' He went to another part of the notebook, licked a finger. 'Mmm. Looks like the Heseltine suicide was the next morning.'

Denton pushed himself up and leaned his weight on his right arm. He pushed his face out as close to Munro's as he could get it. 'Two men travel together and come home and within twenty-four hours one's shot and one's dead! What does that tell you, Munro?'

'Aw, G.o.d, Denton-Don't do this to me, man.'

'It's just coincidence?'

'Look-Give us some credit for brains, will you? Heseltine was in a bad way. He went away with you because you'd befriended him; isn't that the way it was? His dad said something like that. He comes back to London, the next morning he reads in the paper you've been shot and are near death. It's the last straw. Don't you get get it?' it?'

Denton did get it. He wavered: he hadn't seen it that way. It could have happened like that. Maybe Heseltine's cheerfulness had been the rise before an inevitable drop, the shooting the immediate cause. And yet-'Why did Jarrold shoot me that day that day?'

'Because it's the day he slipped his nurses and headed for London. D'you think we didn't interview them? His mother had two male nurses watching him, or so she said; well, what they were was two local ploughboys that could have been diddled by a ten-year-old. Turns out they let Sonny roam the grounds while they had their tea in the kitchen every day and played peeky-boo with the housemaids. He could have slipped them any time he wanted.'

'Then why that day?'

Munro pounded the arm of the chair. 'Because he's a bleeding loony!'

Denton lay back again. He felt exhausted, jangled; his blood seemed to be pounding in his head. 'Why did we go to France?'

'How the h.e.l.l should I know?'

'Then why didn't you ask me?'

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