It took Kate and Graves three hours, but finally they found her.
Her name was Isabelle Lauren, and she had studied at Balliol College, Oxford, from 1997 to 2000.
“Funny,” said Kate. “Robert Russell wasn’t even up at Oxford when she was there.”
“Was he teaching?”
“Not till 2001.”
Graves shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter how they knew each other. Just that they did.”
“Mmm,” Kate agreed. “Still, I’m curious.”
Graves closed the university yearbook and rang up his assistant, giving him Isabelle Lauren’s name and requesting that all pertinent personal information be on his desk within thirty minutes, beginning with a current address and phone number. When he’d finished, he set the phone down and glanced up at Kate. “I suppose it’s too late for an apology,” he said.
“An apology for what?”
“For this morning. I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I tend to get carried away.”
“Your manners need improvement, no doubt,” said Kate. “But that’s not what bothered me.”
“Oh? What was it, then?” Graves hurried to ask. “That I didn’t want to cooperate?”
How was it, she wondered, that someone so smart could be so damn stupid? The answer came to her at once. Men. The inferior species. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
The phone rang before Graves could answer. Motioning for her to give him a second, he picked it up. “What is it now?” Suddenly his face fell. “Oh, excuse me, Detective Watkins. I was expecting another call. Ransom? He did what? Good Lord!”
“What?” Kate put her head close to his, trying to listen, but Graves immediately walked away, nodding and grunting and mumbling “yes” over and over again. Finally he said, “I’m with DCI Kate Ford. It’s important that she hear what you have to say. I’m going to put you on speaker. Go ahead.”
“The woman’s name is Prudence Meadows,” explained a deep voice. “Jonathan Ransom shot and killed her husband two hours ago.”
Graves exchanged a glance with Kate that said he’d been right all along.
“There’s no question whatsoever,” Watkins continued. “Ransom and her husband were at university together years ago. The woman and her husband visited with him only last night at a reception at the Dorchester. According to Mrs. Meadows, Ransom came to the door of their home in Notting Hill at approximately nine-thirty. He demanded to speak to her husband. She said he looked agitated, but she let him in anyway. The two men retired upstairs for an hour. During that time she put her children to bed and then went to her bedroom to read. At ten forty-five she heard raised voices coming from downstairs. She went to see what was going on and found Ransom holding a gun on her husband, shouting that he wanted money and the keys to his car. Dr. Meadows refused. An altercation ensued, and Ransom shot the man dead.”
“Go on,” said Graves. “Then what did Ransom do?”
“Mrs. Meadows tried to call the police and he put a dagger through her hand into the table to stop her.”
“Didn’t he try to kill her, too?” asked Kate, staring hard at Graves.
“No. Just left her like that, then took the keys to the car and fled.”
Kate shot Graves a perplexed look. “Can we speak with Mrs. Meadows?” she said.
“Not right yet,” responded Watkins. “She’s in surgery for the hand. You can have a go at her tomorrow morning.”
“Right,” said Graves. “Anything on the car Ransom stole?”
“Not yet, but we’re looking.”
“Cover all the airports and the ports along the coast.”
“Already done.”
“Of course it is. Thank you again for getting in touch so promptly.” Graves hung up. He raised a hand to stop Kate before she could begin. “I know what you’re going to say. If Ransom killed the husband, why did he leave the woman alive?”
“It must have been an accident. He’s not a killer.”
“You keep saying that, and the people around him keep dying.”
The phone rang again. It was Roberts, who stated that Mrs. Isabelle Lauren’s primary residence was in the city of Hull, in the northeast of England. Graves requested that an aircraft be made ready and told Kate to meet him early the next morning at Thames House for a briefing prior to departure.
As she walked to the door, he called, “You never did tell me what bothered you so much.”
Kate looked over her shoulder. “You really want to know?”
“Couldn’t sleep if I didn’t.”
“What bothered me, Colonel Graves-”
“Call me Charles.”
“What bothered me, Charles, wasn’t that you came into my home unannounced and took it upon yourself to march into my kitchen.”
Graves set his hands on his hips. “What the hell was it then, DCI Ford?”
“Kate.”
“Okay… Kate.”
“I saw your Rover yesterday morning at One Park. What really pissed me off was that you arrived before I did, and you didn’t tell me. It was my crime scene. I don’t like to be second to anyone.”