Waiting three hours for Okoje and Varma to get to London was brutal. Tom and I returned to the Crown for an early dinner. Neither of us felt much like eating—or talking. We liked the Pearces. Teddy’s transparency about his troubled past had been both admirable and disarming. He’d shown Quinn’s father considerably more grace than he deserved. And we could sympathize with Quinn’s intense loyalty to her husband, a loyalty that had led to a complete break with her father.
After dinner, because we couldn’t just sit there and wait, we decided to walk around the village from the Crown to St. Petroc’s, then past the shops and the guildhall on the winding High Street to the river. I couldn’t get the sweet faces of the twins, Ivy and Lily, out of my mind. If their father was charged in Littlejohn’s death, how would they ever cope? What if their mother had been an accessory? Who would take care of them?
My phone pinged—a text from Maggie Hughes. Can you call me?
Tom and I moved into a sheltered area leading to the local co-op store. I dialed Maggie’s number. “You’re not still at the library, are you?”
“Just about to leave. This project has been the most fun I’ve had in years. I love information.”
“We’re two of a kind, then,” I said, thinking I should get to know the librarians at the Long Barston library. They might have another Maggie Hughes.
“I found what you wanted, Kate.”
“Let me put you on speaker so Tom can hear.”
“First, the bodies in the graveyard in Widdecombe Throop were exhumed before the village was flooded. They were reburied at the tiny parish church of Chalcombe, on the other side of the reservoir.”
“That’s wonderful, Maggie. Maybe Tom and I can visit before we leave Devon.”
“That’s not all. I also found Henry Tucker’s military records. Sally’s husband was a corporal in the Devonshire Regiment. They sailed for India in late February 1884. He died there—of malaria in August of 1885. Buried in a British cemetery.”
“Maggie, you’re a wonder. Thanks so much. Now go home and relax.” When we disconnected, I turned to Tom. “That’s so sad. Henry Tucker never got to see his son.”
“Are you sure?” Tom took my arm. “Something’s not right there. You said the son, William, was five on the 1891 census.”
“Right.”
“When was the census taken?”
“April fifth.”
“So if William was five in April of 1891, when is the earliest he could have been conceived?”
I thought for a moment. “The earliest possible date? Well, if he was an older five—say, turning six soon after April fifth, he would have been born in April of 1885. And that means the earliest he could have been conceived would be”—I counted back nine months—“July of 1884.”
“And yet Sally’s husband had sailed for India in late February of 1884, five months earlier. Impossible unless Sally Tucker had a fourteen-month pregnancy.”
“Or had a lover.”
“Or wasn’t William’s mother at all.”
I stared at Tom. “So who were William’s parents?”
The mystery of William Tucker’s parentage was forgotten when Tom got a text from Okoje: In London. Go now.
I felt sick.
Tom took my arm. “We’re only a couple of blocks from the car. Let’s get this over with.”
Outside, snow was beginning to fall, the scattered flakes dusting the car park pavement. In the Rover, Tom turned on the heated seats, and we pulled out onto the street.
The windscreen was fogging. I reached over and turned on the defroster. “Why does Okoje want us to be with Quinn Pearce when they arrest her husband?”
“Because we don’t really know what’s going on yet, Kate. Okoje doesn’t want the Pearces to communicate with each other, and he needs to know where she is. She may be complicit—or she may be in danger.”
“This doesn’t feel right. She’s going to ask questions.”
“She probably will. Police work isn’t always straightforward, Kate, and it isn’t easy. Innocent people are swept up in crime, and there’s often nothing we can do about it except perform our jobs with as much integrity and compassion as we can. It’s an imperfect system. All we can do is try to get it right.”
Not all policemen had these standards. I knew that. If Tom did decide to leave the force, they would lose one of their best.
Lights were on at the Pearces’ house. The only car was a large BMW sedan, one we hadn’t seen before. Instead of pulling into the driveway, Tom parked in a lay-by near the gated entrance to a pasture. He took a flashlight out of the glove compartment. No moon to light our way.
As we walked toward the house, he squeezed my hand. “Remember—we’re here to help.”
Tom pulled the bell. In moments, we heard a female voice from inside. “Who is it?” It didn’t sound like Quinn.
“Tom and Kate—the Mallorys. We’d like to speak with Quinn.”
The door opened to reveal an older woman with Quinn’s narrow frame, pale skin, and blond hair. “I’m Quinn’s mother, Susan Benables. She isn’t here.” Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
“Are the twins all right?” Tom asked.
“They’re fine. The nanny’s putting them to bed.” Susan Benables was obviously making an effort to control herself, but her hands were trembling. “Who did you say you were?”
“We’re friends of Teddy and Quinn. I’m a detective inspector, working temporarily with the Devon & Cornwall Police.” He showed her his warrant card. “We know they’ve been the target of several attacks. Where is Quinn? Has something happened?”
Susan Benables pinned her upper lip with a knuckle. “I’m so frightened.” Snow swirled down from the roof, enveloping us in a cold, wet shower. “What am I thinking? Please, come inside.”
We followed Susan Benables into the expansive living room and took seats on the sectional sofa. Scattered on the floor were books, dolls, and dozens of flocked-plastic animal figures from a Sylvanian Families playset. My daughter, Christine, had adored the Sylvanians, woodland creatures dressed in Victorian clothing, for about three weeks when she was a preschooler, abandoning them for a chemistry set and a washable makeup kit.
A sweet little face appeared from around the corner. Then another. “It’s Kate!” Ivy jumped up and down. Lily ran to me and hugged my legs. This time the twins wore heart-print pajama sets in a soft cotton knit.
“We’re supposed to be in bed,” Ivy said, “but we’re not sleepy. It’s not easy to go to sleep when you’re not sleepy.” Then, “If you’ve come to see Mummy, she’s not here.”
“Mummy was sad,” Lily said solemnly. Suddenly her little face brightened. “Can you play with us? Do you like Sylvanians? We have the Tree House and the Fox Family and the Royal Princess set.”
“I’d love to play Sylvanians sometime, but maybe not tonight.”
“No, indeed,” said a petite, dark-haired girl in a French accent. “I’m sorry, Madame Benables. They heard voices and thought it was their parents.” She put a hand on each small blond head. “It’s time you were in bed, mes petits choux. Say good-night to your friends.”
“Goodnight. Bonne nuit.” They scampered off.
Susan Benables began to weep. “My daughter’s been beside herself for days—ever since Teddy’s car crash. Crying, blaming herself.”
“Why did she blame herself?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She just couldn’t settle, and she was having a hard time coping with the twins. I said I’d come, of course. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t know what to do.” Now that she had someone to confide in, Susan Benables couldn’t stop talking. “Yesterday, the doctor gave her some tranquilizers. I don’t think she’s taken any. Teddy had to leave for Parliament on Monday. He shouldn’t have gone, not in his condition—his ribs bandaged and his arm in a sling—but he said he had to be there. He called this morning. He and Quinn argued, which isn’t like them. She called him back, and they argued again. Then she packed a bag, told me to stay with Ivy and Lily, and drove off.”
“When was this?” Tom asked.
“Just before the twins had their tea, so around five. It isn’t like her to leave the girls while Teddy’s in London.”
“What did they argue about?”
“I don’t know. Quinn took her mobile outside and stood there in the cold, shivering and crying. I tried to get her to come back in, but she wouldn’t. She’s that stubborn. Always has been.”
“Do you know where she went? London?”
Susan Benables swiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “That’s the one thing I do know. She said she was going to our hunting lodge and I wasn’t to worry. How was I not to worry? Her, driving alone on those terrible roads in this weather? I told her it was wrong, that she should wait until morning, but would she listen?” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I made her promise to phone me when she got there.”
“Has she phoned you?” Tom asked.
“Not yet. That’s why I’m so worried.”
“Why the hunting lodge?”
“She’s always loved it. It’s been her special place, her bolt-hole where she can escape from the world. Quinn’s terribly upset. They both are. I can’t imagine what went wrong. They never argue—not like some.”
“Are you able to stay with the twins until we get this sorted?” Tom asked.
“Yes, of course. My husband’s due back tomorrow, and I—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It’s complicated, but I’ll stay as long as I’m needed.” She looked up, her lips trembling. “Please find my daughter. Make sure she’s safe.”
“We’ll do our best,” Tom said. “How do we get to the hunting lodge?”
Susan Benables stared at us as if not comprehending. Then, wiping her eyes again, she drew in a breath. “Oh, yes, of course. The lodge is north of the Dart. Follow the B3357 past Two Bridges. Keep going—about six miles, I think. Take the first road on the right. There’s a sign advertising a farm bed-and-breakfast. Just beyond that, you’ll see a small road on the left. There’s no sign, but that’s the turning. After about a mile, you’ll see the house.”
“Try not to worry,” I said foolishly.
“Call me.” She scribbled her number on the back of a napkin and handed it to me.
Once we were back in the Rover, Tom had me text DCI Okoje:
Quinn’s gone. We think she’s at the hunting lodge.
Okoje’s reply came in seconds:
Pearce no show as well. Concierge says he left with duffle bag at four o’clock. Called for taxi to train station. Get to lodge asap. You’re closest. Meet you there.
I looked at Tom. “Where was Pearce going? They can’t be planning to leave the country without their children.”
“They wouldn’t do that. They love those girls.” He reached over and put his hand on mine. “Kate, you don’t have to do this. Let me drop you at the Crown.”
“Not on your life, Tom. There’s two of them. You might need me.”
Tom put the car in gear. “All right, then. Let’s go.”