James 4:12
Saturday 22nd December: "So. If you are all sitting comfortably . . ." Hanlin and White retained their positions near the mantelpiece. Hanlin smiled.
"Bob Young was killed just a few hundred yards from here, and pretty late at night at a time when no self-respecting person would be marching the streets."
"Which means?" asked Donna. She was enjoying this.
"Which means that his killer knew he'd be there. Let's make an assumption. Let's assume that Bob had worked out whom it was that had been his wife's lover."
"Or been told," interrupted Donna.
"Yes, or been told." Hanlin's face took on an uncharacteristically grim mien. "Let's examine the possibilities."
"Bishop, you could have been the killer." Hanlin raised a hand to stop the bishop interrupting. "Had your friend Sean been the father of Mary Young's child you may have wished to protect him."
"That's nonsense. I'd have to be a psychopath."
Hanlin shook his head. "It's not nonsense Bishop. And, with respect, you could be a psychopath for all we know."
He circled round and picked out young Vicky Walters. Her pregnancy was well advanced now, and it was beginning to show. "Could equally have been you Vicky, and for similar motives, if your Baxter had been the one who'd fathered Mary's child."
He gave Vicky no chance to respond. Moving swiftly on he added, "Or I could have killed Seb."
Donna laughed. "You sure could. Being a Hummer owner. You were a prime suspect."
"Yes. Well assume for a moment that I was Mary Young's lover."
Bryer looked up. "It's a good job Jane and Marilyn are in the kitchen's all I can say."
"True," smiled Hanlin. "But assume I fathered the child and Bob found out and he'd phoned to say he was coming round here. Then I might have killed him."
"Yeh," said Bryer, "Or Sean could have been the killer," he said pointing with his finger. "Just as likely as Sean's wife Trish." He lowered his finger and relaxed his hand, "Or Baxter could have been having the affair with Mary, and he could have killed Bob. As could Angie out of some misguided sense of latent loyalty." He swung round and pointed at Angie.
Angie raised an eyebrow, "Or Mike could be wrong," she said. "This could have nothing to do with Mary Young."
Donna White felt like she was swimming in porridge. This was going nowhere. "And it could well have nothing to do with Maria."
Hanlin turned to look at his interlocutor and stabbed at her with his whisky glass. "Not so sure about that. Could have had everything to do with Maria."
"How so?"
"Maria had something on Baxter. Something she used on him when he tried it on with her."
Vicky was not amused. "He never tried it on . . ."
But Hanlin held up his hand to silence her. "We're just looking at possibilities here. So let's assume for a moment that Baxter had an affair with Mary Young. Let's assume that Maria knew this and was using the information. Then Baxter might have killed her."
"Which lets me off the hook," said Sean. "Maria was never our housemaid."
Hanlin smiled. "And there was me thinking you wanted to be a suspect. Or what was the point of that dramatic confession from the witness box?"
"The point was that the Assistant D.A. wouldn't listen. But I wanted to help Trish."
"And perhaps you still can." Hanlin smiled. "Let's go back to the beginning."
Someone groaned but it didn't stop Hanlin. Jane and Marilyn had come into the room carrying little trays with Jane's usual display of exotic hors d'ourves. It eased the tension. Though not by much.
But Angie had the bit between her teeth. She wasn't about to let him off that easily. "And all that evidence against Trish?"
"Think about it. You could have borrowed her credit card. Hired a woman that vaguely resembled her. A hooker perhaps. You could have hired that Hummer in her name. It's an easy matter then to place a few pieces of hers in the vehicle to be discovered later."
"You'd need her driver's license."
"Perhaps," Hanlin grimaced. "Remember that business of the blood test?"
Everyone watched him now. "In the eighties Illinois used to have a compulsory blood test for aids for couples who wanted to marry."
"So?"
"Just a curiosity really. Mary Young underwent a blood test for aids shortly before her suicide."
"What?" Angie spoke for them all.
"The results were negative. She didn't have aids." Hanlin drew himself up. Like most tall men he had a tendency to stoop. Not now. "But she thought she might." He looked around at the company. He had their complete attention. "It is my belief that Baxter and Mary had an affair many years ago, the consequence of which was that Mary became pregnant. However, I believe that in the past year Mary took another lover. Hanlin looked squarely at Sean Hartnett. "You, Sean, were her lover. You implicated your own wife. It was you that killed Bob Young. What I don't understand is why you killed Maria."
Sean, to do him credit, remained calm. "You reach that conclusion on the assumption that she must have a gay lover if she was worrying about aides. What are you? Homophobic? Why didn't you voice your suspicions earlier?"
Hanlin smiled. "It needed talking through to make it clear. But why did you kill Maria?"
Sean Hartnett scanned the room. For a moment the fight seemed to go out of him, overwhelmed by the combined weight of their suspicions. Then he pulled himself together. "Like you said, I wasn't Mary's only lover. Maria didn't just see Baxter with Mary. The next day she overheard Baxter and I arguing over Mary. Mary had discovered that I was bisexual and had told Baxter she was afraid she might have aids."
Donna White stepped forward. "Sean Hartnett, I arrest you on suspicion . . ." But that was as far as she got.
Sean had reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. The gun he now held was one of the new polymer framed Smith and Wesson pistols. The ten rounds in the weapon sufficient. He held the weapon like he too was pointing a finger. At arms length, the stainless steel of the slide glistening hypnotically.
Sean was far from sure what he intended to do. He didn't see Hanlin's dog Bart until he stumbled over it. He only lost his bearings for a moment. He retained his grip on the pistol. Like all firearms of this type it was designed to be held and fired with one hand.
But that moment of disorientation had been more than enough time for Angie. She used Sean Hartnett for the focal point for all the missandrist anger she had nursed since Father Seb's betrayal.
Angie snatched one of the heavy Arab coffee pots from the display shelf on the wall behind her. The thing was solid brass. The thud was sickening as she brought it down on Sean Hartnett's handsome head. He twisted as he fell and she gasped as she heard the crack of the pistol and felt the hot searing pain as the bullet grazed the flesh of her forearm. But she was OK. Sean Hartnett was not. He was flat on the floor. The blow had been harsh and hard.
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