And at last he knew the truth about those two deaths. Perhaps Philip Kershaw had been right: there was an arrogance in wanting always to know the truth, particularly the truth about human motives, the mysterious working of another’s mind. He was convinced that Candace Westhall had never intended to murder Sharon. She must have encouraged the girl in her fantasy, perhaps when they were alone and Sharon was helping with the books. But what Candace had wanted and planned for was the one sure way of convincing the world that she and she alone had killed Gradwyn and Boyton. Given her confession, the coroner’s verdict was inevitable. The case would be closed and his responsibilities over. There was nothing further he could do, or wanted to do.

Like every investigation, this one would leave him with memories, people who would, without any particular wish on his part, establish themselves as silent presences in his mind and thoughts for years but who could be brought to life by a place, a stranger’s face, a voice. He had no wish regularly to relive the past, but these brief visitations left him curious to know why particular people were lodged in his memory and what their lives had become. They were seldom the most important part of the investigations and he thought he knew which people from the past week would remain in memory. Father Curtis and his fair-haired brood of children, Stephen Collinsby and Lettie Frensham. During the past years, how many lives had briefly affected his, often in horror and tragedy, in terror and anguish? Without knowing it, they had inspired some of his best poetry. What inspiration would he find in bureaucracy or the fruits of office?

But it was time to get back to the Old Police Cottage, to collect his bags and to be on his way. He had said his goodbyes to everyone at the Manor and had called at Wisteria House to thank the Shepherds for their hospitality to his team. There was only one person now whom he longed to see.

Arriving at the cottage, he opened the door. The fire had been relit, but the room was in darkness except for one lamp on a table beside the fireside chair. Emma got up and came towards him, her face and dark hair burnished by the firelight.

She said, “You’ve heard the news? Inspector Howard has made an arrest. We don’t have to picture him out there somewhere, perhaps doing it again. And Annie is going to get better.”

Dalgliesh said, “Andy Howard rang me. My darling, it’s wonderful news, especially about Annie.”

Moving into his arms, she said, “Benton and Kate met me at Wareham before they left for London. I thought you might like company on the drive home.”

BOOK FIVE

BOOK FIVE

Spring
Dorset, Cambridge

Chapter 1

1