‘You gave your husband an alibi for each of—’
‘I didn’t lie, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘Is there life insurance?’
‘I wish.’
Officers were filing in through the open back door; Scientific Services officers too, carrying aluminium cases and arc lamps.
‘What exactly are you looking for?’
‘Does your husband have an office at home?’ asked Dixon, ignoring Sally’s question.
‘Follow me.’
Weaving between uniformed officers opening drawers and cupboards in the hall sideboard, and into a room with a red-brick fireplace and wood burning stove, built-in shelves either side. A desk too, and a filing cabinet.
An upright piano was standing against the wall opposite the window, photographs in silver frames lined up along the top. The photographs were different from the others on display; older, some in black and white.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Who are the people in these photos?’ asked Dixon, before Mrs Hudson could make her escape.
‘His family from before we met.’ Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her left hand pointing as she spoke, before being tucked in each time. ‘That’s his first wife, Miriam. That’s Freya and Patrick, before he was snatched, obviously. That’s Miriam with her father; he died with her in the fire. And that’s William’s parents; they’d both died before I met him.’
‘Did you ever meet Freya’s ex-boyfriend?’
‘Which one? Not the shit who got her pregnant?’
‘Jos.’
‘She never brought him here. It wasn’t serious, I don’t think, and it certainly didn’t last that long.’
‘Is she seeing anyone now?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘What was your relationship like with Freya?’
‘She was the typical resentful kid at first, but she soon got used to me. I like to think we got on. Why, has she said something different?’
‘Not at all.’
‘She was ten when I met her father, so just the wrong age, really. But we got there in the end. And she loves her sisters, I think. Babysits from time to time, or at least she did. I hope she still will. Does she know her father is dead?’
‘There’s a family liaison officer with her now.’
‘Look, I wouldn’t want you to think it was all bad. He could be lovely, and it was great to begin with. Then the girls came along and he was over the moon. The last six months, though.’ Sally sighed. ‘It all seemed to come roaring back. Patrick and the fire. The anger, resentment, anxiety; the drinking. I’ve been there, done that, got that T-shirt, and I wasn’t going through it again, not now the girls are of an age they understand what’s going on.’
He could be lovely.
It wasn’t something Dixon would tell Nigel Cole or Sarah, if she ever regained consciousness. Jane’s text had arrived while he’d been talking to Sally Hudson.
Sarah gone into surgery. Doctors optimistic. Brain – the shotgun pellets will have to wait. Fingers crossed. Jx
He tapped out a reply that started an exchange of messages, typing as he walked:
Her parents are on the way. Nx
They’re already here. How’s Nige?
In surgery. I was going to see him, but it’ll be a few hours. Some of the cuts are v deep.
Where are you?
On the beach.
Jane would understand. Even Charlesworth and Potter were starting to get the hang of it.
A sandwich from the petrol station, a bar of chocolate stuffed in his coat pocket just in case, and he left his car at the top of Allandale Road, setting off towards the lighthouse.
‘No tennis ball today,’ he said, holding his hands towards Monty so the dog could see they were empty. Monty turned away in disgust, sniffing the lines of seaweed instead.
Five murders.
Some good forensics from the Fiat 500, all being well, but at what cost?
