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"Uniformed officers are making the rounds of the houses, sir, but everyone here seems to mind their own business," said Tarrant, approaching Dalgliesh, who was walking briskly toward an elegant house on the other side of the street.
He did not reply, and Daniel hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. He wondered what was so special about that house and its occupant that required their direct involvement. He hurried to catch up, sighing: "Are we considering Mrs. Harrington a suspect, sir?" he asked, making no secret of his bewilderment, given that an officer had reported the woman was simply an elderly person living alone.
"Hardly, but the back of her house offers a clear view of the back of Sir Walter’s. She might have seen or heard something, even without realizing it. It’s important to speak to her and explain the significance of her testimony."
Tarrant nodded, somewhat frustrated. He hadn't thought to look out the window of Sir Walter’s study, where the part-time housekeeper had discovered the body that very morning. The room was on the second floor and the windows showed no signs of forced entry, yet he recalled Dalgliesh standing there for a long time, gazing out while they were inside. As always, he had listened to the account of events, before silently and closely examining the crime scene and the body, reserving the few questions he had for the pathologist alone. He had offered no comments at the time; he would do so later, once a clearer picture of the situation had emerged and Tarrant couldn't tell whether Dalgliesh was actually observing something significant or simply staring blankly out the window, turning over a theory in his mind.
Standing before the imposing wooden door, Daniel reached for the doorbell and, in an unconscious attempt to vent his frustration, pressed it insistently several times, causing the shrill, annoying electronic beeps to echo in the air longer than necessary.
"I think that’s enough, Sergeant," Dalgliesh murmured quietly. He had cast that characteristic sidelong glance of his, but once again, Daniel had failed to notice.
Finally, he lowered his hand, trying to conceal the slight irritation he always felt when Dalgliesh spoke to him
in that manner. At times, his tone reminded him all too much of a headmaster reprimanding a boy for failing to behave as he should.
The sound of the doorbell was still echoing when Mrs. Harrington opened the door.
A rather eccentric-looking woman in her seventies, dressed in an elegant, brightly colored caftan and
adorned with equally colorful costume jewelry, was holding a large Persian cat.
Daniel sneezed loudly a couple of times before introducing himself: "Mrs. Harrington? I am Sergeant Tarrant,
and this is Commander Dalgliesh from Scotland Yard. We would like to ask you a few questions about your
neighbor, Sir Arthur Walters."
The woman looked at him with an expression somewhere between indignation and bewilderment.
He showed her his warrant card, feeling that itch in his nose again, but Mrs. Harrington, reluctant to let them in, remained motionless in the doorway, looking at him with disapproval.
Dalgliesh, who had been standing a few paces behind Tarrant, spoke up: "Forgive the intrusion; we won't take up much of your time. May we come in, Mrs. Harrington?" he asked in his low, calm voice.
The woman looked at him, her features relaxing: "Of course," she said, smiling in a way that was perhaps a little too flirtatious. "By the way, this is Admiral Nelson," she added, introducing her pet. "I’m sorry, Commander, but I’m afraid he’s clearly the one in charge here." Dalgliesh offered a faint smile, and she stepped aside to let him in, though she blocked Tarrant’s path and nearly shut the door in his face before he could follow his boss inside.
"Excuse me, ma'am." Daniel said this rather brusquely, stopping the door—which was about to close completely—with his hand; Mrs. Harrington turned her back on him abruptly and walked off down the corridor.
"Please, make yourself comfortable; I’ll make you some tea, Commander." With a ceremonious gesture, she pointed toward the living room on her left while continuing to walk.
Daniel closed the door behind him and let Dalglish, who had watched the scene impassively, know what he thought of the woman by making the "crazy" sign with his finger on the temple. Adam said nothing; he merely shot him a look of disapproval, "That’s kind of you, but there’s no need," he replied to Mrs. Harrington, "As I said, we won’t be staying long."
"Oh, it’s no trouble at all. It’s a pleasure. I don’t get many visitors these days," she said, disappearing into a room at the end of the hallway and leaving the two men alone.
"What a waste of time!" Daniel complained in a low voice, "I’m certain she has nothing useful to tell us, sir."
"Then we shall simply have had a cup of tea." Dalgliesh replied calmly, letting out a faint sigh, "It is important for witnesses to feel at ease; the more comfortable they are, the more they open up."
He entered the sitting room and sat in one of the two armchairs flanking the fireplace, quickly scanning the room, crowded with furniture, rugs, and ornaments of every kind, as eccentric and colorful as their owner, observing the surroundings with a measure of curiosity and a touch of amusement, taking in the blend of styles and fabrics from different eras and countries that gave the room its elegant, bohemian atmosphere.
Daniel followed him into the room, resigned to a long and inconclusive conversation with the eccentric lady who, by all appearances, couldn’t stand him but clearly had a soft spot for Dalgliesh, all the while hoping he would never have to deal with Admiral Nelson again.
He started to sit in the other armchair but stopped and, with a sigh, began brushing as much cat hair as possible from the velvet upholstery, realizing only too late that Dalgliesh was once again watching him with an inscrutable expression—it could have been surprise, disapproval, amusement, or a combination of them all.
"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly, his lips hovering on the verge of a smile.
"No, sir." Daniel paused, cleared his throat, and sat down, taking out his notebook and pen. He could still feel Dalgliesh’s gaze fixed on him, so he lowered his head and began scanning his notes, pretending to be busy.
He was so engrossed in reading that he didn't notice Mrs. Harrington’s cat enter the room; his nose, however, did, and he barely had time to pull his handkerchief from his pocket before he began sneezing repeatedly. When he finally stopped, he saw that the animal had settled not far from his feet and was watching him with an expression that, for a moment, reminded him of Dalgliesh’s.
“You okay, Daniel?”
Once again, he wasn't quite sure how to interpret the tone of his boss's question.
"Yes." He wiped his nose, not looking at him but staring instead at the cat, which had lifted its head and twitched its ears at the sound of Dalgliesh's voice.
A moment later, Mrs. Harrington returned with a tray and handed out the cups, sitting down on the small chintz sofa opposite them.
"Forgive the delay, but I see Admiral Nelson has kept you good company!" she said cheerfully.
"Mrs. Harrington," Dalgliesh began after sipping his tea, "I am sorry to inform you that your neighbor, Sir Arthur Walters, was found dead this morning."
Daniel raised his eyebrows in surprise; he rarely conducted the questioning himself—usually, he simply listened, intervening only if something struck him. Clearly, he was doing what he had explained earlier: putting the witness at ease, after all, she had plainly shown a sort of preference for him. That hadn't been hard to spot.
"I realized something terrible had happened when I saw all those police officers," she nodded. "Poor man."
"Did you know him well?"
"I’m afraid not. We mostly just exchanged good mornings and good evenings. We never had a real conversation, as far as I recall." Mrs. Harrington’s attention shifted to her cat, which was rubbing against Daniel’s legs—but more specifically, to the sergeant’s silent, clumsy attempts to fend the animal off.
She looked at Tarrant with the same expression of disapproval she had shown when she first opened the door, then answered Dalgliesh’s question: "He was a widower. Lady Walters died last year. I often saw them in the garden: she would tend to the plants while he read. Since she passed away, I haven’t seen much of him."
"Did you notice anything unusual last night? Or hear anything that struck you as odd?" Dalgliesh continued.
Meanwhile, Tarrant breathed a sigh of relief. The cat had finally moved away from his legs and was stretching out at its mistress’s feet.
"No, nothing suspicious. It’s a quiet neighborhood," Mrs. Harrington said, looking down at the cat and stroking its head. "Isn't that right, Admiral Nelson?"
The cat seemed to approve—if not of its owner’s statement, then at least of the petting. Satisfied, it began to wander around the living room.
"Did you know Mrs. Walters any better?" Dalgliesh asked again.
"No, I wouldn't say so. I might have spoken to her a few times while she was in the garden, but they were very private people."
"I see." Dalgliesh offered a faint smile before taking another sip of tea.
"They didn't get many visitors either, to tell the truth, Commander..."
"Good heavens!" Daniel exclaimed suddenly, his voice a mix of surprise and annoyance as he interrupted Mrs. Harrington. Both she and Dalgliesh turned toward him.
Admiral Nelson, after wandering around the living room for a while, had suddenly jumped and landed in his lap. Daniel knew that cats were suspicious, wary creatures, but this one, by contrast, seemed intent on making friends. He wasn't the right person for it.
He tried to shoo the cat away, but when it became clear the animal had no intention of leaving, he picked it up—handling it as if it were radioactive waste—and dropped it onto the floor, then brushed off his trousers and jacket before sneezing again.
When he finally sat back down, he was certain that both Dalgliesh and Mrs. Harrington were still watching him, and it didn't take much imagination to picture the expressions on their faces.
Not daring to look up at them, he cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed on his notebook.
Neither the elderly lady nor Dalgliesh said a word.
"I know they had a son. I believe he’s a bigwig at the Foreign Office," she continued, once Tarrant seemed to have regained some of his composure.
Dalgliesh nodded, sipping his tea; that was why they’d been called in to investigate this death.
In the meantime, the cat had approached the armchair where Adam was sitting and begun rubbing against his calves. He let it be and asked Mrs. Harrington another question: "Do you know a certain Mrs. Brook? She’s a part-time housekeeper who used to work for Sir Walters in the mornings. Have you ever met her? Or spoken to her?"
With another bound, the cat leapt onto Dalgliesh’s lap. Adam began to stroke it, and the animal settled in comfortably, purring to show its contentment.
"You like cats, Commander," Mrs. Harrington observed, making no secret of her satisfaction.
Dalgliesh did not reply, though for a moment his lips curved into a smile.
"They are magnificent creatures—intelligent and affectionate. It’s no wonder my Admiral Nelson adores you; cats are drawn to people with calm, respectful temperaments and quiet voices," Mrs. Harrington confirmed with a smile.
Daniel rolled his eyes, and Dalgliesh made no reply. "Did you know Mrs. Brook, Mrs. Harrington?" he asked instead, changing the subject.
"No, Commander, I'm afraid not."
Tarrant sneezed again, increasingly eager to leave. His eyes were stinging, his nose was itching more and more and had started to run. Wherever he looked, he saw cat hair scattered across every surface, and he suspected there was even more of it where he couldn't see.
Meanwhile, it seemed to him that Dalgliesh was enjoying both the tea and the company of the cat, which appeared to have fallen blissfully asleep on his lap.
He wouldn't have been surprised if his boss had known about his allergy; he wondered if the decision to question Mrs. Harrington—who clearly knew nothing and had nothing relevant to say about the murder—and to go with into the house, was a form of punishment for something he had done.
In his haste to get the questioning over with, he hadn't even taken a sip from his cup, setting it down on the table immediately after the woman handed it to him.
After wiping his nose again, he asked the elderly lady, rather abruptly, "Are you certain you stayed at home all evening and all night? We need to know all your movements—say, from six o'clock last night until nine this morning."
"What?! Do you consider me a suspect? Do I need an alibi?" asked Mrs. Harrington, annoyed and indignant at the sudden, rude question.
"Did you stay here between nine and six?" Daniel repeated, looking her straight in the eye with a tone much sharper than his usual.
"Sergeant." Dalgliesh admonished him quietly, "You are not a suspect, Mrs. Harrington," he reassured the woman sitting opposite him, "merely a potential witness," he explained, without looking away from Daniel.
"I don't think I can be of much help to you, Commander," she replied, still a little affronted, as Tarrant began sneezing again.
"May I ask you once more to think carefully about whether you noticed anything unusual yesterday or the day before? Every small detail can make a difference."
Mrs. Harrington reflected on this as she sipped her tea, then suddenly her eyes widened: "Yes, I did notice something strange, now that I come to think of it. A window at the back of Sir Walters's house was wide open."
"Which window?"
"On the second floor; I saw it from my bedroom window. It struck me as odd for October—perhaps they had simply forgotten about it."
"Perhaps," Dalgliesh repeated. He glanced briefly at Tarrant to ensure he had heard: "Can you tell me what time it was?"
"After ten o'clock—I can't be more precise than that."
"Did you stay at home all evening and through the night, Mrs. Harrington?" He tilted his head slightly toward her. "Just for the record," Dalgliesh added reassuringly.
The elderly woman nodded.
"Were you alone?"
"Yes, Commander—except for Admiral Nelson," she replied, making no secret of a hint of disappointment. "I had supper, watched a little telly, and then went to bed at ten. My life isn't as eventful as it used to be."
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Harrington," Dalgliesh said, rising—still holding the cat—"and for the tea." He set the cat down on the armchair, letting it go after one last, quick stroke. "An officer will come by with a statement for you to sign. Don't trouble yourself; we know the way back.”
Once the door was closed behind them and they were back outside, Tarrant blew his nose and wiped his eyes, hoping it was for the last time.
"You’re not a cat lover, I take it, Daniel?"
"I’m allergic, sir. I can’t stand their fur," Daniel added, feeling the same frustration he had experienced when they first entered the house.
Dalgliesh said nothing.
"I’m sorry, sir; I didn’t conduct myself professionally." He felt a need to justify himself before his superior could complain about his behavior and lack of tact toward the witness, something that had happened in the past.
"You should have mentioned it when you saw the cat; we could have questioned her outside," Dalgliesh said, opening the car door.
Once again, Daniel thought he detected a note of reproach in his tone, though he wasn't entirely certain, as he noticed a hint of amusement in Dalgliesh’s expression.
He thought of Kate: she would have understood. She knew how to understand him; she knew how to interpret his silences, his glances, or his expressions.
At times, even his words seemed cryptic to Daniel. Kate, however, would have picked up on the shift in his expression, his posture, or his body language—or anything else that escaped his own notice.
It was clear to him now that she spoke his language, whereas he would likely never manage to learn it.
There was a bond between them that he knew he could never possess. He still didn't understand why he had let her go.
"Kate would have done it," Daniel murmured, opening the door of his car, which was parked behind the green Jaguar.
"Sorry, Sergeant?" Dalgliesh turned and looked at him.
"Nothing, sir."
He didn't know if Dalgliesh had actually heard him, but as he watched him get into the car, he couldn't notice the quick, affectionate smile that had just appeared on his boss's lips.
What he did notice, however, was that there was no trace of cat hair on his suit.