"I have a suggestion, Mrs. Gaunt. You go to the Hall and carry on as you would-or as best you can. I'll find your husband and sort this out."

But how? He refrained from glancing down at his cast boot, his Welly manque enc.u.mbering his right foot, lest he plant a seed of doubt in Ellen's mind over his ability to carry out this task. Instead, he increased the wattage of his smile, which she returned with a tremulous one. After giving him her mobile number, Ellen gathered up her bag and together they exited the Gatehouse. In the gates' shadow Tom watched her move down the road to the Hall; he pulled his mobile from his pocket and switched it on. No road crossed the moor at this deep south end; only bridleways and footpaths took people through the stark and melancholy landscape.

He had an idea.

"Fancy meeting you here." Lucinda pushed her sungla.s.ses to her brow.

"I might say the same."

Lucinda peered at him, her eyes adjusting to the shadows under the arch of the Gatehouse entrance. She smiled coolly. Tom had watched her approach, some little urgency in her loping walk, aware that she did not see him. She was wearing a simple summer frock of creamy linen, the gathered waist of which emphasised her curves. It seemed an age ago he had gazed at her with longing, had found her conversation amusing and attractive. He felt now detached from this creature who had stirred strong feelings, but not-he had to admit-from the feelings themselves.

"Hector asked if I might fetch Gaunt." Her words echoed against the brick wall. "Trouble rousing him by phone apparently."

"An unnecessary trip, I'm afraid. I spoke with Hector a few moments ago. Gaunt's taken ill." It seemed not such an untruth now. "Did you not pa.s.s Mrs. Gaunt on your way?"

"No, I ... I took a shortcut." She glanced towards the door to the Gatehouse apartments. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"Gaunt? A touch of something-summer flu perhaps."

"How very odd. He seemed well enough when he served us by the pool earlier."

"I expect he thinks it's his duty to carry on regardless. He seems to me rather the compleat servant."

"We call them 'staff' now."

"We?"

"Dominic and me. We spent the afternoon by the pool. Didn't we say so at lunch? Well"-she gestured to the dull sky outside the curve of the arch-"we were by the pool until the clouds gathered, English weather being ever fickle." Her eyes went again to the door. "Is there anything I can do, do you think?"

"For Gaunt?" Tom thought the offer faintly farcical. He doubted she ever betrayed much interest before in the well-being of "staff." "Rest is all he needs," he replied, wearying of this small talk. "You must know about Roberto."

"Of course. Awful, isn't it."

"How did you learn?"

"That he had ... died? Oh? One of the police detectives-the one with the skin problem ..."

"Blessing."

"-came and told us. When we were about to leave the pool."

"An interview?"

"Well, not awfully official, I don't think. The other one ..."

"Bliss."

"-wasn't with him. I expect they'll be wanting another of those sort of gang interviews later." She grimaced. "I suppose Roberto's dying has rather taken the wind out of their investigative sails. What a terrible coincidence."

"Are you suggesting Roberto's death was accidental?"

"Wasn't it?"

"I doubt it very much."

"Oh ... I see." Lucinda pushed at her sungla.s.ses, which were slipping down her brow. "Then who do you think killed him?"

"The same person who killed Oliver, I should imagine."

"Oh, surely not. Such different ... methods-if that's the word. Means? Roberto was electrocuted, I gather. 'Countess's Toyboy Death Shock.' "

Tom ignored the quip. "Did the DS tell you he had died that way?"

"Of course. Who else?"

Tom looked past the arch to the road with impatience. Where are Jane and Jamie? He strained to hear their approach. "Hector is aware of Roberto's death, yes?"

"I a.s.sume so."

"But you just came from him."

"Hector's in one of his moods. The atmosphere is a bit strained. I was happy to get away." She canted her head. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought he might come to the dower house to offer some sympathy to his mother."

"Is that where you've been hiding all afternoon? Not from me, I hope."

"Marguerite invited my daughter and me to tea."

"I see." Her mouth formed a moue. "I've told you why I'm here. You didn't say why you were here, at the Gatehouse. Are you a doctor as well as a priest?"

"Mrs. Gaunt asked me to see her husband."

"As bad as that?" She laughed. "Were you giving last rites?"

"Priests do perform other services." He immediately regretted his words, for Lucinda's laughter died suddenly. She looked at him sharply and asked: "What other services?"

"I couldn't say in this instance. Gaunt had ... fallen asleep."

Lucinda's brow knitted, sending the sungla.s.ses cascading to her nose. She removed them. "I don't under-"

"Really, Lucinda, all Mrs. Gaunt wanted was for someone to walk her back to the Gatehouse. Too proud to express her fear, you understand. There is a murderer at large."

"And yet Mrs. Gaunt has been allowed to walk back to the Hall all on her own. Curious."

"She felt more confident." I don't think I'll ever get the hang of lying.

"Would you care to accompany me back to the Hall, Vicar?" Lucinda spun the sungla.s.ses between her fingers.

"I'm waiting for Jane and Jamie. And here they are." The sound of hooves heralded the sight of a man and woman each on a grey gelding, the former leading a third, a chestnut mare, by its reins.

"Are you going riding?" Lucy asked as they walked into the pale light beyond the arch. She glanced at his cast boot, then smiled. "May I come, too?"

"No," Jane replied, now within earshot.

"How unkind."

"I don't mean to be, Lucy. All we're doing is having a brief trot around the estate-"

"Looking for villains? It's going to rain, you know."

Jane flicked a helpless glance at Tom as she handed him down a pair of riding boots. "For some ... diversion. It's been a very tense afternoon. I'm sure you've heard."

"Leaving women and children at home without menfolk?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Tom suggested to me a moment ago that there's a murderer at large."

"We can run you back to the Hall, then." Jamie patted his horse's neck.

"Oh, don't be silly." Lucinda waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be fine. I'll take the road. I doubt some murderer is going to leap out at me from a hedge. But thank you, darling Jamie. Nice to know that chivalry isn't completely dead."

Lord Kirkbride had finessed the horse acquisition with, Tom presumed, aristocratic a.s.surance. Only Roberto's studio-not the entire stable block-had been cordoned off by police tape, and the lone PC left to guard had seemed to buy the argument. On the phone Lady Fairhaven had cautioned him-and she was right, of course-that it was not wise to ride a horse even two days after spraining an ankle. But she needed little convincing of the urgency of the task he outlined or the practicality of the transport: By horse, they could roam quickly, efficiently, and un.o.btrusively over the rough open terrain of the moor in ways they couldn't on foot or by car. The boots, though: Without gripping heels, his orthopedic cast boot wouldn't do in a stirrup. He had winced pushing his foot gingerly into the beautiful leather boots. And he winced now, swaying in sync with the jogging animal beneath him, his right heel pressing into the thin metal stirrup.

Jane flicked him a concerned glance. The three of them were riding under a dark leafy canopy of sycamore trees. "You're sure you're not in pain? You've barely rested that foot since you've been here. We could find Gaunt ourselves-Jamie and I."

Tom chose his words carefully. "I'm not certain of Gaunt's state of mind, and I feel duty-bound to Mrs. Gaunt. She's in much distress. My housekeeper has apparently made claims for my powers of ... mediation or persuasion."

Jane frowned. She leaned slightly towards him, as if to ensure she would be heard above the clattering of hooves. "You're not suggesting Gaunt's suicidal?"

"I'm afraid it has crossed my mind." Tom loosened the reins a little-it had been years since he had been on a horse. "But I can't quite ... believe he would-"

"But why, Tom?" Jamie spoke. "His going walkabout has to be about something more than being upset at the awful events of this weekend."

Tom considered the question as he found his body falling into the rhythm of the horse's stride. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely candid with Marguerite when I asked for her help, and you'll understand why in a moment. Mrs. Gaunt begged me to be discreet, but I can't, if I'm going to have your help."

He glanced towards a pinhole of open sky at the end of the green corridor, dreading giving the words voice: "Mrs. Gaunt believes her husband killed Oliver."

"What?" Jane jerked at the reins, startling the horse into a sudden lurch. "Good G.o.d, why?" she called over her shoulder.

Unhappily, Tom relayed the story of Kimberly Madd.i.c.k's cruel death on The Wrekin decades earlier, glancing from time to time to see both Jane's and Jamie's faces in profile stiffen, turning now and again to present to him features stamped with incredulity.

"I don't know what to say," Jane intoned when he had finished. "I am absolutely shaken at the depths of Oliver's depravity. I don't want to believe it's true, but if he's capable of murdering Boysie-even if it was in some fit of rage-and running down a mentally challenged boy with a car, then raping a young woman ... a girl, my G.o.d, seems not-" She paused and addressed her husband, who had remained silent and stern. "Jamie, this must have taken place during that time when Olly's parents' marriage was in disarray. He would have to have been ... fifteen."

"Are you suggesting age as a mitigating factor?"

"No! Not at all." Jane went quiet a moment. "And you say, Tom, that Gaunt was nineteen at the time."

Tom explained the reasons for Gaunt's unconscionable inaction at the crime scene. "Then about a year later, he met Ellen Madd.i.c.k, as she was then. They married, then secured a position together in Anthony fforde-Beckett's household.

"The Gaunts, at least according to Ellen-although I'm not sure it's true-didn't meet Oliver properly until they were working for the Arouzis some years later. That's when he heard Oliver's distinctive whistle and, according to Mrs. Gaunt, knew. It's why he insisted on leaving the Arouzis' employ when a position at Lord and Lady Fairhaven's became available."

"Waiting for the moment to wreak revenge." Jamie frowned. "It's very melodramatic, Tom."

"Can it be true?" Jane asked. "Did Gaunt kill Oliver? And what about Roberto?"

"The motive's powerful in Oliver's case," Tom reflected.

"Roberto's murder doesn't seem to ... to match somehow," Jamie insisted. "Why would Gaunt-?"

"Perhaps Roberto knew something or saw something important, darling."

"But why didn't he say something to the police, the idiot?"

"Because he may not have been aware of its significance."

"Or he was protecting someone," Tom added. "This is why I couldn't be completely candid with Marguerite."

"What? Do you think Roberto was protecting Marve?" Jane turned widened eyes to him.

"I hadn't thought of that. I meant I wanted to keep faith with Mrs. Gaunt. If Marguerite knew Mrs. Gaunt thought her husband responsible for these awful crimes, she wouldn't have patience for this exercise. And if Gaunt is responsible, then he is paying a price, now, wandering in the moor. I'm wondering if he hasn't lost his mind, at least temporarily."

"Or," Jamie said, "simply running away."

Or he's running from someone. The second teacup in the Gatehouse sitting room flashed in his brain.

"But all this is based on the memory of someone's whistling?" Jane asked.

"I realise it seems-"

"There has to be something else, something more substantial ...," Jane interrupted, then paused in thought. "Does Mrs. Gaunt know what her husband used to strangle Oliver-if he strangled Oliver."

"I didn't think to ask."

"That would be an uncomfortable question, in any case. But if-"

"You mean," Tom said, picking up on her thought, "if Gaunt admitted to his wife that he had used a school tie-"

"Then Gaunt would be a certain candidate. After all, only we-you and I and Jamie, and Hector and the kids, of course-know about the tie hidden in the tunnel."

"And one other person, of course-Gaunt. If it's Gaunt. He could, I suppose, have pocketed the tie Max left in the drawing room Sat.u.r.day evening."

"But then"-Jane looked hard at him, as she spurred her horse forward-"why are there two identical ties?"