A Place of Hiding (Inspector Lynley, #12)(179)

He pondered for a moment. Everything pointed to River. But there was one detail that still did not: the movement of money from Guernsey to London.

Margaret stood at the window and made a sharp exclamation each time a bird so much as flew by the house. She’d made two more phone calls to the States police, demanding to know when they could expect something to be done about that “miserable little thief,” and she was anticipating the arrival of someone who would listen to her story and take the appropriate action. For her part, Ruth tried to concentrate on her needlepoint. Margaret, however, was a profound distraction. It was “You’ll be protesting out of the other side of your mouth about his innocence in another hour” and “I’ll show you what truth and honesty are” and other editorial remarks as they waited. What they waited for Ruth didn’t know, for all her sister-in-law had said was “They’re dealing with it at once,” after her first call to the police.

As at once stretched on, Margaret became more agitated. She was well on her way to talking herself into yet another phone call to demand action from the authorities, when a panda car rolled up in front of the house and she crowed, “They’ve got him!”

She hurried to the door, and Ruth did her best to follow, getting up stiffly from her chair and finding herself limping along in Margaret’s wake. Her sister-in-law charged outside, where one of two uniformed constables was opening the back door of the car. She thrust herself between the policeman and the back seat’s occupant. When Ruth finally got there, Margaret had reached inside to grab Paul Fielder by the collar, and she was in the act of pulling him roughly from the car.

“Thought you got away with it, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“See here, Madam,” the constable said.

“Let me have that rucksack, you little thief!”

Paul struggled in her grasp and clutched his rucksack to his chest. He kicked at her ankles. She cried, “He’s trying to escape,” and to the police,

“Do something, damn you. Get that rucksack from him. He’s got it in there.”

The second constable came round the side of the car. He said, “You’re interfering with—”

“Well, I damn well wouldn’t be if either of you would do your jobs!”

“Stand away, Madam,” Constable One said.

Ruth said, “Margaret, you’re only frightening him. Paul dear, would you come into the house? Constables, will you help him inside, please?”

Margaret reluctantly released the boy and Paul raced to Ruth. His arms were extended and his meaning was clear. She, and no other, was to have his rucksack.

Ruth ushered the boy and the constables into the house, the rucksack in one hand and her arm through Paul’s. She made it a companionable gesture. He was trembling like a shaken duster, and she wanted to say he had nothing to fear. The idea that this boy would have stolen a single thing from Le Reposoir was ludicrous.

She was sorry for the anxiety he was going through, and she knew that her sister-in-law’s presence would only serve to aggravate it. She should have done something to keep Margaret from making her phone call to the police, Ruth realised. But short of locking her in the attic or cutting the phone lines, she didn’t know what that something was. Now that the damage was done, though, she could at least prevent Margaret from attending what was no doubt going to be a terrifying interview for the poor boy. So when they got into the stone hall, she said,

“Come this way. Paul, constables? If you’ll go into the morning room. You’ll find it down those two steps just beyond the fireplace.” And when she saw Paul’s gaze fix on the rucksack, she patted it and said to him gently, “I’ll bring it in a moment. You go with them, dear. You’ll be quite safe.”

When the constables had taken Paul to the morning room and closed the door behind them, Ruth turned to her sister-in-law. She said, “I’ve given you your way in this, Margaret. Now you’ll give me mine.”

Margaret was nobody’s fool. She recognised the way the wind was blowing her plans to confront the boy who’d stolen money that was meant for her son. She said, “Open that rucksack and see the truth.”

“I’ll do that with the police,” Ruth said. “If he’s taken something—”

“You’ll make excuses for him,” Margaret said bitterly. “Of course you will. You make excuses for everyone. It’s a way of life for you, Ruth.”

“We can talk later. If there’s more to say.”

“You’re not keeping me out of there. You can’t.”

“That’s true. But the police can. And they will.”

Margaret’s back stiffened. Ruth could see that she knew she was defeated in this but was searching for a final comment that would illustrate everything she had suffered and was continuing to suffer at the hands of the contemptible Brouards. Not finding it, however, she turned abruptly. Ruth waited till she heard her sister-in-law’s footsteps on the stairs. When she joined the two constables and Paul Fielder in the morning room, she gave the boy a tender smile. She said, “Sit down, dear,” and to the constables, “Please,” and she indicated two chairs and the sofa. Paul chose the sofa, and she joined him on it. She patted his hand and murmured, “I’m terribly sorry. She gets over-excited, I’m afraid.”