Free A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) by Barbara Cleverly

you.”
    “Isn’t he concerned? And shouldn’t
we
be concerned? I’m supposing our remit embraces mental equilibrium as well as physical well-being.”
    Armitage considered this. “I’d leave it,” he advised. “It’s a game they play. Wouldn’t do for you and it certainly wouldn’t do for me. I’d fetch her a wallop! She’ll be back.”
    Joe picked up a silver-framed photograph from the dressing table. “This is her, the runaway, here with Kingstone?”
    “That’s her. Taken in Switzerland last winter.”
    Joe admired the small figure tucked like a teddy bear under the senator’s arm. Clear features in a pale rounded face were softened by an abundance of curling black hair and a furry hat. Dark eyes as round as buttons peered out with a gleam of mischief from the sheltering folds of tweed suiting. “An informal pose,” the society magazines would have sniffed but Joe was enchanted. The photographer and whoever held the snapshot in his handwas involved in their careless gaiety and—yes—their undisguised affection.
    “And our worldly, sophisticated statesman is truly in love with this ‘taking little thing’ you say?”
    Armitage bridled at the question. “How would
I
know? You’re asking, so I’ll say—‘in love’ doesn’t come near. Obsessed? No, sounds too melodramatic and mad. This is something strong but it’s not uncomfortable … Magicked! That’s it! Poor bloke’s been magicked!” He dismissed his flight into fantasy with a shrug and a grin.
    Joe groaned. “That’s all we needed! Look, Sarge, I can’t give you a direct order any more, so I’ll give you a bit of advice. Find the antidote for this love potion before worse occurs. Oh, and when you’ve found it—give me the recipe. You never know when it might come in handy.”
    “Too late for some, I think, Captain.” His expression was hard to read.
    “Seven years too late, Sarge? Perhaps that’s the answer—leave it to Time. Was that
your
antidote? Time? And distance?” He put the question carefully, conscious that this was his first reference to the tragedy he suspected lay behind the sergeant’s flight.
    He needn’t have worried about being misunderstood. Armitage replied at once, “No. But—
La vengeance se mange très bien froide
. I’ve learned to appreciate cold dishes since I emigrated.”
    So that was what had brought him back. Could it be so simple?
    Revenge. The notion had crossed Joe’s mind but he’d questioned it. He’d told Bacchus that he, Joe, might expect a bullet in the head from the formidable sergeant but there was someone else, he knew, who was a much more deserving target for Armitage’s wrath. The woman responsible for making him flee the country with a capital charge of murder on his head. And a broken heart.

    “Watch it, Bill! There’s a much older saying that I’ve learned to put great store by. Confucius. ‘Before you embark on a journey of revenge,’ the wise man advised, ‘dig
two
graves.’ ”

CHAPTER 5
    T he telephone shrilled as Armitage was giving this his silent consideration. He stepped forward to lift the receiver. “Yes, he’s here … It’s for you, sir. Cottingham.”
    Joe took the phone. “Ralph? Still here, yes. Message from the Yard? Yes, go ahead … Where? Dug up in Chelsea? A few yards from my own front door, you’re saying … I think I may have an alibi. Tell them to look elsewhere …
    “What! Say that again … I see. And they say they want
you?
Must be important … but—no.”
    He looked directly at Armitage, implying that he was speaking for his benefit also. “No. I’m countermanding that order. I want you to remain on duty here, overseeing things. The senator is well guarded—he has his own eminently capable guard dog at his side. I’ll deal with this other matter myself. Tell them I have it in hand and I’ll be at the Yard in ten minutes.”
    “You’re walking out on us?” Armitage asked. “I have other duties. And