he was being blackmailed.’
‘Now I have to say bravo.’ Picking up his wine glass, Dubois leaned back in his chair for a moment. ‘No, I did not ask the constable all that but I will as soon as I can. It is a very interesting point. Find the blackmailer, find the killer. Or at least the link to him.’
His dark eyes sparkled with an energetic light as he surveyed her. ‘How did you manage to keep Moustache away for so long?’
Alkmene shrugged. ‘Instead of making up a theft I invented a runaway pooch. I had him search inside a cellar for it. He got just a teeny bit of coal dust on his uniform.’
Dubois laughed. ‘I bet he enjoyed that little job. Must be your last name that makes people willing to crawl through the dirt, literally, to please you.’
Alkmene dropped her fork with a clatter. ‘I wish you would stop pestering me about my last name. I can no more change it than you can change yours.’
There was a charged silence, then Dubois said, ‘Fair enough.’
He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes suddenly dark.
Alkmene took her glass and emptied it, but this last draught of wine was a bit bitter.
Dubois said, ‘When the SS Athena sank, how many people were on board? Do you know?’
‘I have no idea. A few hundred I’d guess.’
‘More like two thousand. Now I have gone over the passenger lists and I have checked as far as I could how many people survived. Not just in general, but specified into groups. The first class passengers. Second class. Third class. Then crew. What do you think I found?’
Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘I have no idea. I do know crew members are supposed to stay on board longest so I suppose most of them perished.’
‘Correct. But how about passengers?’
Alkmene had a feeling where this was going. She put her empty glass down and faced him squarely. ‘If you and I had been on board, my chances for survival would have been far better than yours, assuming I would have travelled first class and you third.’
Dubois nodded. ‘About three times better. Now what does that say?’
Alkmene shrugged. ‘That people pay for better service when they take out a first class ticket and that they actually get it.’
‘It means,’ Dubois said with emphasis, ‘that one human life is worth more than another. Simply a matter of money. And it’s the same thing inside the police force. Crimes against people with money or title are handled with a lot more zeal and dedication than those among poor people. In a back alley you can simply stab someone in passing for a few coins and nobody will bother to find out who did it or punish the killer. But have a brooch stolen from someone like your friend the Russian countess and the whole police force is out and about looking for the thief.’
‘I thought she was your friend too.’ Alkmene stretched her legs. ‘Are you not being a bit hypocritical?’
Dubois sighed. ‘Maybe. But the numbers in the SS Athena case rattled me.’
Alkmene nodded. ‘I can understand that. I am still thinking about the little boy and… I hope his father didn’t beat him too badly for what I brought. I should have thought better about it. But I was just trying to help.’
Dubois held her gaze. His expression became somewhat softer as he said, ‘I was there late last night. The old man said he had turned the vegetables into a nice soup they could also share with a sickly neighbour. And the boy was playing with the horse. I think the cart got broken when his father kicked it, but it will be repaired.’
‘I just wish that father would vanish and never come home again. Then the boy could have peace.’
‘His grandfather would be all he has and the old man could die any day. What would he do then? Some of the orphanages are worse than living with a drunk father. No, he is well off still having a parent to care for him.’
‘Care?’ Alkmene echoed in disbelief. ‘You call that care?’
Dubois shook his head at her. ‘Why do you think he responded so violently? He is worried the vicar with his plan for children will take his son away from him. It is the constant fear of the single parent. My mother was just like that. Thinking: if I die, what will happen to Jake?’
So his name was Jake. It was simple and strong and befitted him.
Alkmene moved her glass over the table. ‘My mother died when I was just four years old. I don’t remember much of her, but that she sat on her tabouret at her dressing table and did her hair before leaving for some party. It flowed down her back all golden, and my father brushed it.’
Alkmene fell silent, remembering the tender intimacy of that scene. Her parents had loved each other in a quiet, but intense way. Maybe that was the reason her father had never remarried, even though family and friends had advised it, not just for the sake of ‘the child’ as they had called Alkmene, but also to ensure he would get a son, an heir for all of his property and name.
But he had not wanted to replace the love of his life.
‘I guess you are lucky that you had your mother much longer,’ Alkmene said slowly.
Dubois huffed. ‘It is easy to think you are lucky when you have a little more than another.’
Alkmene winced. It seemed that whatever she said to Dubois, to show him she understood, or at least tried to, it was always the wrong thing.
After a silence Dubois added, ‘I am glad she is no longer alive, because she would constantly worry about me. Now I am free to do whatever I want. To risk my life in whatever way I want to.’
Alkmene had often met men who talked like that, risking their necks horse riding, polo playing, even experimenting with light planes. They needed danger to feel alive.
Perhaps deep inside of her she understood that feeling, better than Dubois or anybody else would ever guess. So often when she sat at home reading about strange events in times of old, she had wished she could have been there to help solve them. She had been amazed at how easily people had gotten away with murder, simply because nobody had asked the extra question or two.
Now Silas Norwhich’s death had given her a perfect opportunity to ask all the questions she wanted. And with Dubois’s help she might actually have a chance of proving someone guilty.
But this was real life. Not a book.
If someone was guilty here, and they proved it, he or she would end up on the gallows for it.
Someone would die because they had refused to leave the case alone. The police seemed eager enough to write it off as an accident and be done with it. What right did they have to be poking into it? A mistreated party had not asked them. They could not even know if Silas Norwhich would have been glad to see his death avenged. If he had loved his niece and she turned out to be involved, would he have wanted her to be executed?
‘Hey… What are you thinking about now?’
She looked up at Dubois, realizing he was studying her with a frown. He had
