Giotto's Hand

“I see,” Flavia said, deciding to keep to facts, rather than go into motives. “So he was with you from when, about eight to nearly eleven?”

“That’s right.”

“Which covers him for all the period in which Forster might have been killed.”

“Yes,” she said. “You see? That’s what I mean.”

“By far the easiest thing would be for you to tell this to the police. Get it over and done with.”

“And you think they’ll keep quiet about it? They arrested Gordon and they’ll have to let him go. They’ll say why and it’ll be all over the village by the end of the week.”

“But Sally,” Mary said sadly, “the only two people in Norfolk who don’t know about you and Gordon are your husband and Gordon’s wife. Surely you realize that?”

Sally’s hand went up to her mouth in an expression of shock. “No,” she said.

“Well, I know about it. And I’m not the nosiest person around here.”

“Excuse me,” Flavia said, breaking into this confessional. “Can you tell me why Gordon didn’t tell the police this? It’s not as if he had a great deal to lose.”

“Because…” she began reluctantly.

“Because what?” Mary said sternly, picking up something that entirely passed Flavia by.

“Because Gordon saw George coming out of Forster’s house.”

“Ah,” said Mary with concern. Flavia sat back in her seat. There was no point in her interfering or saying anything at all. Mary Verney was a much better interrogator than she was.

Gradually, Mary got Sally to say that Gordon had walked from his cottage past Forster’s house and seen George coming out of the door. He’d hurried off with his head down, but seemed shaken and upset about something.

She shook her head. “He didn’t pay any attention at the time. But the next morning, when Gordon heard what had happened, he got worried that maybe George had done something drastic. You know about the cottage.”

“And rather than incriminate him, he kept quiet, even when he was arrested. Good for him,” Mary concluded unexpectedly.

Flavia sighed. She was having a hard time understanding the thick East Anglian accent, and was a little bemused by the way in which the façade of English village life was turning out to be just a little thin. On the other hand, she cast her mind back to some little towns she knew in Italy. Incest, wife-swapping and mass family murder seemed to be the local pastimes everywhere.

She leant forward in her chair. “But this was before eight, wasn’t it? It must have been.”

Sally nodded. “Yes. On his way to the pub. About seven.”

“So what’s he worried about? One thing the police seem sure of is that Forster didn’t die until after nine. Maybe later. His evidence doesn’t incriminate George at all, really. Especially as there is no motive.”

“There is a bit of a motive, though,” Mrs. Verney explained. “Or at least something that could be made into one. Did Jonathan not tell you about Forster threatening to evict him?”

“Ah.”

“George has lived there all his life, and wasn’t at all happy. In fact, he hated Forster, and said some regrettable things about him on occasion.”

“Like ‘I’ll kill the bastard’?”

“That’s the general line.”

“I see. He said this to a lot of people?”

Mary Verney nodded.

Flavia considered this. “In that case, it’s only a matter of time before the police find out,” she said eventually. “Gordon has to talk to them. If they find out on their own he’ll be prosecuted for obstruction, or whatever they call it here. As for you, Sally, I suggest you tell Gordon that. There’s no reason for you to get any more involved. The police have more pressing things to concern themselves with.”

Sally nodded reluctantly and stood up. “I’d better get back,” she said. “Otherwise Harry’ll wonder where I got to.”

“Do you want me to have a word with George?” Mary asked. “I’m sure there’s nothing to it. But it might be better if he had his explanation ready. I could talk it over with him.”

“Oh, would you?” Sally said. ‘That would make me feel better.”

“I’d be delighted. Then Gordon can say what he knows without having to bring you into it at all.”

Flavia smiled encouragingly, and Mary ushered a relieved woman out of the house again.

“Non-stop action in this place, isn’t it?” she said once Mary had returned to the sitting room and placed herself in front of the fire to warm up.

Her hostess nodded. “So it seems.”

“Were you surprised?” Flavia asked.

“That Gordon was innocent? Not at all.”

“About George.”

“Very much so. So surprised that frankly I don’t believe it for a moment. I prefer to take a benevolent view of human nature, as Jonathan may have told you. Besides, what about the burning papers? I can’t see George doing that.”

“Forster is dead.”

“Dead, yes. But perhaps not murdered. Besides, I thought you wanted it to have something to do with pictures. Or has poor Jessica become the front runner now?”

“We’re doing our best, you know. Everybody is.”