Find the Innocent by Roy Vickers Page A

because you can see darned well I do. The answer is—yes. Now, here’s a formal question for you, Inspector. Am I under suspicion of murder because I cannot prove that I was at that lockhouse?”
    â€œI can’t answer questions like that.”
    â€œYou could have said ‘no’ if it weren’t so.” Veronica’s indifference was unruffled when he stood close to her. “I was detained on suspicion this morning. I’ve been released on a legal technicality. The suspicion remains. I broke my promise involuntarily as I came into this room. I took for granted that your honour had compelled you to come forward. I still do.”
    Jill liked that. His attitude now seemed more convincing than Stranack’s.
    â€œInspector, this is ridiculous!” said Veronica. “Do I have to keep on saying I’ve never seen him before?”
    â€œI’ll tell you what happened and you can do the proving. She turned up at about dusk and stayed until a bit after two.”
    â€œWhat was she wearing?” asked Jill.
    â€œHullo! Are you in on this?” He turned as if he had not noticed her before, looking fixedly at her and added: “But you can’t be!”
    â€œYou were going to tell us what she was wearing.”
    â€œI was not. I can’t. I know only that her clothes were of very fine material. She had been walking for some distance. She was exhausted. I revived her with a drink.” He snapped his fingers. “She had gin and orange juice. We don’t drink orange juice. I opened the only bottle—wrapped in cellophane. There’d be finger prints on that bottle, Inspector—not that it actually proves anything.”
    â€œThere are prints on that bottle—but they’re not yours,” said Curwen and added, “Not that it proves anything, as you say.”
    â€œI can’t account for that!” Canvey frowned and was silent.
    â€œAnything else?” asked Curwen.
    â€œNothing at all that will stand up to this kind of question.” His eyes were on Jill. “Our friendship, let me say, grew very rapidly. We both thought it something unique and worthwhile. We were both mistaken.”
    â€œHow long did you sit talking over the drinks?” asked Curwen.
    â€œIn terms of the clock, I don’t know. In terms of advancing a human relationship—about three weeks, I suppose. Before she telephoned Weston’s Garage, she told me—” He paused and turned to Veronica. “I’ve thought of something you told me about your private circumstances—something that can be proved. Do I have to say it?”
    â€œIt makes no difference to me what you say, Mr. Canvey.”
    â€œShe told me—some time after midnight—that she had a marriage settlement in a large sum—which she would forfeit if her presence at the lockhouse were known to her husband.”
    â€œAnyone could find that out!” snapped Jill. “It’s registered at Somerset House.”
    â€œIs it! I say, are you a lawyer?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œFriend of the Accused? I prophecy the friendship will not outlast this case. I’m going to put a pretty hefty strain on it because now I’ve thought of something that’s not registered anywhere. Ask your friend where her wedding ring is.”
    â€œLet me guess,” said Jill. “You took it from her finger and threw it into the river.”
    â€œWell, I’m damned!” Again the comic bewilderment. “It doesn’t make sense. If she told you that, how on earth can you believe she was not at the lockhouse with me?”
    â€œDon’t answer, Miss Aspland,” said Curwen quickly. “Mr. Canvey, we are satisfied that Mrs. Brengast is wearing her own wedding ring.”
    â€œThat sounds devilish official. I have to accept it. I’ll merely add that Mrs. Brengast told me that her own ring—the one I threw into the lock—was