Part 42 (1/2)
”I wouldn't have thought so. But then, as you've pointed out, I don't know what they contain.”
”Something worth kidnapping Mr Abberley's daughter for, apparently.”
”I beg your pardon?”
”Mr Abberley's daughter has been abducted and is still missing.
The letters were demanded as ransom. All of this was prior to our involvement, of course.” Derek felt taken aback, as he knew he was meant to be, by this sudden revelation. ”For the present, I must ask you to say nothing to anybody about this aspect of the case.”
”Of course . . . Of course not.”
”The kidnappers' motive is a complete mystery to us. Money is the norm where abduction is concerned. Generally lots of it. A fifty-year-old cache of letters hardly seems to fit the bill, does it? If you'll pardon the pun.”
”I suppose not.”
”Could these letters be worth anything?”
”No. I don't see-” Derek struggled to order his thoughts. ”Only to Maurice Abberley.”
”Because they would unlock fifty years' worth of royalties on Tristram Abberley's poems?”
”Yes.”
Golding fell silent for a moment, tugging reflectively on the lobe of his left ear. Then he said: ”If the letters can't be recovered, your brother's defence collapses even before it's been a.s.sembled, doesn't it?”
”Yes.” This conclusion had not occurred to Derek, but it was true nonetheless. He felt helpless, overwhelmed by a tidal rush of events he could not hope to understand.
”And if they are found, it's too late for Maurice Abberley to benefit from their publication, isn't it? The royalties would go to his widow and daughter?”
”I suppose so.”
H A N D I N G L O V E.
257.
”Or just his widow, if his daughter isn't released alive.” Golding's voice sank to a murmur, as if he were talking to himself rather than Derek. ”There's something here n.o.body's seeing. A pattern to the missing letters and wiped tapes, the denials, the contradictions, the downright-”
”Wiped tapes?”
Golding stared at Derek in surprise. ”What?”
”You mentioned some tapes.”
”Did I? Extraordinary. Well, never mind.” He smiled. ”I'd better not hold you up any longer. One last thing.”
”Yes?”
”Where were you last Sunday night?”
”At home.”
”Alone?”
”Yes.”
”There's n.o.body who could confirm that?”
”No. Why do you ask?”
”Because you blame-or blamed-Maurice Abberley for your brother's arrest. You've admitted as much. In other words, you've admitted to having a motive for his murder.”
”I've done no such thing.”
”You have, actually.” Golding grinned at him. ”I was just trying to rule you out from the start. It's a pity I can't.” His grin broadened.
”Isn't it?”
After Golding's departure, Derek made several further attempts to contact Charlotte by telephone. When it became obvious she was not at home, he decided-against his better judgement-to try Swans'
Meadow, directory enquiries furnis.h.i.+ng the number. This time there was an answer, but it was the one he had dreaded.
”h.e.l.lo?” He recognized the voice instantly as Ursula Abberley's, but knew it would be best to pretend he had not.
”Could I speak to Charlotte Ladram, please?”
”Who's calling?”
”Er . . . Derek Fairfax.”
”Derek Fairfax? This is Ursula Abberley speaking, Mr Fairfax.
Charlotte's not here. Even if she were, I can't think she'd want to talk to you.”
258.
R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
”I'm sorry to disturb you . . . at this sad time, Mrs Abberley . . . but it's very . . .”
”If you were really sorry to disturb me, you wouldn't have, would you?”
”Well, I-”
”Goodbye, Mr Fairfax. Please don't call again.”
When Charlotte reached Swans' Meadow late that afternoon, tired and dispirited after her journey to Wales, she found Ursula in a further stage of her adjustment to Maurice's death and Samantha's disappearance. It was one of wistful regret rather than fretful anxiety and had taken her to her daughter's bedroom, where she was sorting through the show-jumping rosettes Samantha had acc.u.mulated during her hippomanic early teens.