Itwasher. Hugh felt no sense of victory, only displeasure and disappointment.
“Have a seat, Mr. Gilbert,” Clyde said.
After Hugh and Gil sat, Clyde took Gil’s statement.
As Gil was finishing, a sergeant entered the office, the sergeant who had been sent to bring in Ridley. “Excuse me, Inspector. Mr. Ridley isn’t at home. The butler said the family has been in Scotland since Wednesday. Mrs. Ridley’s grandmother passed away, and they went for the funeral.”
“Wednesday,” Hugh whispered. Zielinski had been murdered on Friday night.
“We need to verify that alibi,” Clyde said.
The sergeant set a folded newspaper on the desk and pointed to an article. “The funeral was Friday morning. Mr. Ridley is mentioned in the paper.”
Clyde released a long sigh. “Find out where he’s staying in Scotland and—”
“I already rang. I spoke to the host and to Ridley. He was there all day Friday and all day today.”
Another muttered curse from the inspector. “Ridley couldn’t have killed Zielinski.”
Hugh grabbed the paper and scanned the article. How could it be? “I was so certain.”
Clyde shrugged. “When Ridley returns from Scotland, I’ll still question him about the Hastings case.”
“If it isn’t Ridley, who is it?” Hugh slumped back in the chair.
Jouveau’s notebook peeked from halfway through the pile.
Hugh pointed to it. “May I?”
At the inspector’s nod, Hugh flipped through Jouveau’s list of appointments with MPs, ending 25 October with “Granville, Geoffrey.” Then his notation on 29 October about verifying meetings. Then 31 October—“Hastings, William,” 3November—“Fletcher, Norman” and “JI-GB.”
Everything turned backward in his mind. “Jouveau recorded last name first. ‘JI’ might be ‘IJ,’ and ‘GB’ could be‘BG.’”
Oh no. Everything turned to ice inside.
Beatrice Granville?
“What is it?” DI Clyde asked.
“GB—could it be Granville, Beatrice?” He shook the notebook. “What if Uncle Elliott threatened to expose her affair with Ridley? Her father—Sir Geoffrey is a proud and stubborn man—he’d never agree to support the refugee bill. Beatrice knew that. What if she went to talk to my uncle? Sheknew of the party. She’d been invited. She told me so at the funeral.”
“I’m sorry,” Clyde said. “But we know Hastings’s murderer was a man from the size of the boot prints.”
“Beatrice is as tall as I, and she’s of sturdy build, a sportswoman.”
“All right, then.” Clyde’s eyes narrowed, and he made notes. “We know she was near the Hastings estate—with motive.”
Hugh riffled through the diary to discern the trail his friend had followed. “After Jouveau met with Sir Geoffrey, he didn’t interview other MPs. Why not? What if his investigation swerved in a new direction? What if Sir Geoffrey had a photograph of Beatrice in his office? Jouveau would have recognized her. He told me he’d seen Ridley flirting with the daughter of an MP at a reception. What if he then recalled William’s mention of the affair?”
Gil’s eyes went wide. “Then he would have suspected Ridley. He’d want to check his alibi.”
“Yes, yes. Verify the meetings.” Clyde’s pencil flew over the paper. “Not two days after he did so, he told William Hastings he knew the identity of the couple.”
Hugh jabbed at the initials in Jouveau’s writing. “GB—if he made an appointment with Beatrice to find more information about her lover, maybe trap her into revealing something incriminating, not suspecting her...”
Clyde scribbled rapidly. “This time it would be premeditated murder.”
“What about Zielinski?” Gil asked.
