Well-Schooled in Murder by Elizabeth George Read Free Book Online Page B

by means of the farm. Through Gray’s field, for that matter, next to the church.”
    “Did you notice anything to indicate that, Mrs. St. James?” the sergeant asked.
    “I?” Deborah looked flustered. “No. But I didn’t look for anything. I wasn’t thinking. I’d come to photograph the graveyard and I was preoccupied. All I remember is the body. And the position. As if he’d been dumped like a sack of flour.”
    “Yes. Dumped.” The sergeant examined his hands. He said nothing more. Someone’s stomach growled loudly, and although the other policeman did not raise his head, he looked abashed. As if the sound had reminded him of where they were and what they were doing and how long they’d been at it, the sergeant got to his feet. The others did likewise.
    “We’ll have statements for the both of you to sign tomorrow,” the sergeant said to the women. He nodded and left them. His companion followed. In a moment, the front door closed.
    St. James turned to his wife and could see Deborah’s reluctance to leave Cecilia alone, as if the past hour had drawn them together in some obscure way.
    “I…Thank you,” Deborah said to her. She reached impulsively for the girl’s hand, but Cecilia jerked away in a reflex reaction. She looked instantly apologetic. Deborah spoke again. “I’ve caused you no end of trouble by coming to use your phone, it seems.”
    “We’re the closest house,” Cecilia replied. “We’d be questioned anyway. As will most of the neighbours, I dare say. You had nothing to do with it.”
    “Quite. Yes. Well, thank you at any rate. Perhaps now you can get a bit of rest.”
    St. James saw the girl swallow. Her arms cradled her body. “Rest,” she repeated, as if the idea were entirely new to her.
     
     
     
    They left the house, crossed the driveway, and made for the road. St. James did not fail to notice that his wife walked more than a yard away from him. Her long hair shielded her face from his view. He sought something to say. For the first time in their marriage, he felt cut off from her. It was as if the month of her absence had created an unbreachable barrier between them.
    “Deborah. My love.” His words stopped her by the wrought-iron gate. He saw her reach out and grasp one of its bars. “You must stop trying to bear everything alone.”
    “It was finding him like that. One doesn’t expect to see a little naked boy lying dead beneath a tree.”
    “I’m not talking about the graveyard. You know that very well.” She averted her face. Her hand raised as if to stop him, then fell to her side. The movement was weak, and St. James berated himself for having allowed her to go off on her own so soon after she had lost the baby. No matter that she had been adamant about meeting her commitment to the photographic contract. He should have insisted upon more time for her to convalesce. He touched her shoulder, brushing his hand against her hair. “My love, you’re only twenty-four. There’s plenty of time. We’ve years ahead of us. Surely the doctor—”
    “I don’t want… ” She released the bar of wrought iron and quickly crossed the street. He caught her up at his car. “Please, Simon. Please. I can’t. Don’t insist.”
    “Don’t you know I can see what it’s done to you, Deborah? What it’s continuing to do?”
    “ Please .”
    He could hear her tears. They destroyed his own need, as they always would. “Then let me drive you home. We’ll come back for your car tomorrow.”
    “No.” She stood taller, offered a tremulous smile. “I’m fine. If we can just persuade the police to let me get at the Austin. We’ll both be far too busy tomorrow to want to make another drive out here.”
    “I don’t like the idea—”
    “I’m fine. Truly.”
    He could see how much she wanted to be away from him. After a month’s separation from her, he felt her continued need for isolation like the worst kind of blow. “If you’re sure.” It was a mere formality