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the murder investigation.”
“I do not wish to seem slow, Sir, but I repeat: What are you suggesting?”
Trevor shifted his weight. “Your stepfather is a large man, is he not? About fourteen
stone?”
“ Of course,” said Rayley, turning to face Trevor in a manner that made the bedsprings
squeak. “But of course. We were fools not to see it earlier.”
“Then I must be a true fool,” said Everlee, his eyes darting back and forth between
them. “For I do not see it even now. What is the meaning of Benson’s bloody chart?”
“If the dosage was calculated not for a human body of eight stone, such as your mother,”
Trevor said, “but rather a body of fourteen stone, like your stepfather, it throws an entirely new light
upon the case. One I think you should welcome.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it suggests that Anthony Weaver was not the killer,” Trevor answered, as
Rayley snapped the notebook closed. “That instead, he was more likely the intended victim.”
***
The Gardens of the Khajuraho Temple
3:50 PM
Poor Davy. He seemed to always find himself stuck with the fingerprinting. Emma
imagined it to be tedious work, yet Davy always went willingly to the task. She supposed that
Geraldine might likewise grow tired of writing out bank checks, which seemed to be her most
consistent contribution to the work of the group, but writing a check was precisely what Gerry was
doing at the moment. And for the second time that day, Leigh Anne Hoffman was watching the
process with an almost obscene amount of pleasure.
At least the activity on the portico gave Emma the chance to slip from the group
unobserved and make her way to the garden. It was all but deserted this time of day, the girls
presumably spending their afternoons inside, in some sort of rest or study. But during their
unsatisfactory interview of the maid and cook, Emma had noticed a single girl enter the garden. The
same pretty one who had served them tea that morning. She believed Miss Hoffman had called her
Catherine.
“Excuse me,” Emma ventured, picking her way through the neatly planted rows and with
a guilty glance back over her shoulder at the portico. “But might you answer a question for me?”
The girl was cutting herbs with a small scissor. Mint, parsley, and some others Emma
did not recognize. She rose from her crouch gracefully and nodded.
“You speak both English and Hindustani, do you not?”
Another nod.
“I have heard a phrase in Hindustani which I do not understand,” Emma said. Actually
she had heard a great number of Hindustani phrases she didn’t understand, but she was especially
curious about the syllables the cook and maid had uttered at the start of nearly every reply. “It sounds
a bit like the English words ‘thick high’” she said. “And they bobbed their heads as they said it.”
The girl smiled, a gentle smile of understanding. She was like a child too, Emma
noted. A tall and very pretty child. She supposed it was natural Miss Hoffman would try to shield
her young charges from the society which had given them such a cruel start in life and that dwelling
within a garden which furthermore dwelt inside a temple might give the girls a severely limited view
of the world….but still, innocence of this sort did not seem to serve them. She wondered if they were