swing for having killed Silas Norwhich.’
‘I am glad he is dead,’ a female voice screeched. The innkeeper’s wife stood there, her red hair blowing in the wind from the moors. ‘He deserved to die. I am glad you did it for us, for justice’s sake.’
‘Justice?’ Alkmene said in a cold voice. ‘You hated your sister. You were glad that her dream of being rich and happy ended in despair. You never wanted justice for her, just wealth for yourself. You agreed with this man to testify in court that your sister died all those years ago, while carrying her baby. You agreed to testify that no baby had ever been born, no heir. But the heir is alive and well and so is your sister. And now that Silas Norwhich is dead, she will have everything that he once owned. She will be rich like she once dreamed she would be, and you cannot keep her from it.’
The woman stared, her mouth agape with shock. For a moment nothing stirred about her but those fiery locks dancing in the breeze that came from the moor.
Then the innkeeper’s wife sank to her knees onto the cobbles and began to sob. ‘Mary. Oh, Mary. Oh, Mary.’
Her husband leaned over and touched her shoulder, helpless to comfort her.
The constable with the moustache had rushed over and now clicked the cuffs round Fitzroy Walker’s wrists.
The arrogant young lawyer’s face contorted as he spoke. ‘Evelyn deserved to get the money. The art, all of it. She is beautiful and accomplished, the perfect heir. Norwhich wanted someone who would be in his league, right, who would impress the people in his circles. I created her for them. I gave him exactly what he had always wanted. It made him happy. I did him no harm. And Evelyn… She had a hard time growing up. Then those awful bit parts… The constant disappointment when a play was cancelled prematurely and she had to start all over again. She told me all about it on our journey back here.’
Alkmene saw the beautiful actress, sharing her sad life story with Walker, playing him with her smile, a tear here and there, like she had tried to play Jake at the Metropolitan hotel. Perhaps not even on purpose, to deceive, but just because that was her talent: playing a part, appearing a certain way, beguiling people.
Fitzroy Walker said, ‘She deserved better than that. Norwhich ached for an heir. And she needed someone to take care of her. It was a perfect arrangement. It would have done nobody any harm. I had made sure beforehand the real heir was dead. I had made sure nobody would suffer from this.’
‘Or nobody could turn up to spoil things for you?’ Jake asked in a cynical tone. ‘You knew how substantial Norwhich’s fortune was. You may have even been to his house for business, have seen part of his art collection. You coveted it and for it you killed him.’
Walker shook his head. ‘I never wanted him to die. I wanted to marry Evelyn and we’d all be happy. Happy! But that man came and ruined it all, with his talk of Cunningham. Norwhich began to doubt the story, Evelyn’s integrity. It was not right that she was accused, defiled. She was perfect for the part. It all fit. It should have worked out. But he ruined it all. And for what? Revenge over some alleged slight? A thing decades in the past? What right did he have to spoil it all for us?’
‘The right of a son to defend his mother?’ Jake asked sharply.
Walker strained against his bonds. ‘I only wanted to convince Norwhich that Evelyn was the heir he had always wanted. I only wanted to convince him the past should be over and done with. How was I to know that man had just been with him and had shown him the birth certificate? He was out of his mind, shouting at me that I had betrayed him and had drowned her in the marshes all over again. He must have been delirious to say such insane things. He was so red in the face, almost purple, I was afraid he’d suffer a stroke. I grabbed his shoulders to steady him. I shook him a little maybe, to bring him to reason. I didn’t mean him to fall and die. That accursed hearth rim… If he had fallen just a few inches away from it, he would have lived!’
Jake said softly, ‘It is for the jury to decide whether you are guilty of murder or not.’
The constable led him away, Walker’s head down as he went. Mary Sullivan’s sister was still on her knees sobbing her heart out in her hands. Her husband stood bent over her, patting her back with clumsy large hands.
Jake watched them with a deep frown, then turned to focus on Alkmene. ‘This whole scene does not mean that I don’t intend to find out exactly what you were doing there in that church, on your own. You could have been killed by this callous sod and I could have done nothing about it.’
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