Lynley watched Dr. Weatherall as she gazed at it. He could tell she was considering her answer. The alternatives she faced were tricky. She could brazen it out with a denial that could easily be checked or she could brazen it out with an admission that could cause her infinite difficulties. The nature of these difficulties constituted the unknown for her. So she was going to have to go with her gut.
She made her choice. “Yes.” She gestured to the printed copy from the internet. “This is very similar to the piece I gave her.”
Lynley said, “Thank you,” and then to Havers, “If you will, Sergeant . . .”
Havers recited the caution. Dr. Weatherall—he could tell—knew at once she’d made the wrong choice. She said, “What’s going on?”
Lynley said, “You’ve been told that anything you say can be used as evidence against you. At this point, let me ask you again: Would you like a solicitor?”
“Why would I need a solicitor? I’ve done nothing. This is absurd. What’s my crime supposed to be?”
“Are you again refusing a solicitor?”
“I am. I have no idea what I’m doing here, and I’m beginning to think you’ve no idea either.”
Lynley raised his fingers from the table, accepting her allegation as something that could be true. He said, “Where did you get the sculpture you gave to Leylo?”
“I don’t recall. I purchase items to use as gifts for my patients whenever I happen to see them. This could have come from anywhere. A street market, a secondhand shop, a car boot sale, a charity shop.”
“Teo Bontempi’s flat?” Lynley asked.
“What?”
“Teo Bontempi had a collection of African sculptures,” Lynley said.
“And you’re implying . . . what? That I stole this from her to give to Leylo? I haven’t the first idea where Teo Bontempi lived.”
“Except that wouldn’t be the case, would it?” Havers pointed out. “You’ve got every one of her details in her file.”
“I’m not sure what that signifies, Sergeant. I don’t memorise my patients’ files. And even if I went to call upon her, which I did not, why on earth would I take one of her sculptures?”
“Once you brained her with it, you didn’t have any other choice.”
She stared at Havers. Then she moved her gaze to Lynley. She said, “That’s completely mad.”
“What’s been challenging is to work out why,” Lynley said. “We’ve got the how sorted. You told us yourself. You don’t own a car, and you come here to the Isle of Dogs by motorboat. That explains how you managed to get to Teo Bontempi’s flat without a car of yours being caught on CCTV in Streatham High Road. From the Isle of Dogs you motored to the dock or pier closest to a route to Streatham. By taxi or minicab you went from that dock to Streatham High Road. Then back to the pier by cab. Once into the boat, you motored on the river to Eel Pie Island. We’ll find the relevant CCTV eventually. We’ll do the same with the cabs.”
She said, “These are fairy stories. I’d like a solicitor now.”
“Your own or will the duty solicitor do?”
She accepted his offer of the duty solicitor. This was quickly arranged, although they had to wait forty minutes for the duty solicitor’s arrival. She was young, Chinese. She hid her youth by wearing a grey pinstriped trouser suit, a severe white blouse so starched it might have stood up on its own, and very large black-framed spectacles. She needed the air of gravitas these items lent her. Dressed otherwise and without the glasses, she easily could have been mistaken for an adolescent. Vivienne Yang, she introduced herself. She would, she told them, need some private time with her client before they resumed their questioning.
Lynley gave her his mobile number and he and Havers returned to Peeler’s. They had just sat at one of the tables when his mobile rang. Havers was saying, “That was bloody fast,” when Lynley saw it was Winston ringing him. He had the bronze sculpture in hand, he said, suitably placed in an evidence bag. It was definitely the one they’d been looking for. He was taking it to forensics in hopes it could go to the top of the stack of jobs awaiting results. He did not, however, sound particularly hopeful. To the naked eye, the piece looked quite clean.
“There might well be DNA still on it: Teo’s or Dr. Weatherall’s,” Lynley said. “And there are other facts about that piece that will prove impossible to argue away. So long as we have Standing Warrior in hand, we’ve got more than one route from it to the person who wielded it.”