bought a mobile that took photos. Then it was back to reception where Julie, the older woman of my first visit, had now joined Jane and both of them were looking at me as though I had personally engineered this crisis. No Tom yet, so I despatched Jane to guard the open gate and left Julie in charge of the building to repel all attempts to enter it. Sheâd be good at that. Then I hurried down to the security barrier to put Ken Merton in the picture. His cheerful face grew highly suspicious; he needed convincing that I wasnât a maniac and that the police were really on their way. And then, only then, did I return to the farmhouse to wait.
Waiting is the worst part of bad times such as these. The police arrived rapidly â and without the usual procedure of PCs first checking and reporting on the scene. I suspected it was my name relayed through Dave Jennings that had brought DI Brandon out with the whole works so promptly. He nodded without enthusiasm as I explained how I was involved and what I had done and not done at the crime scene, including checking the gate. Crime scene? Brandon certainly seemed to be treating it as one, not surprisingly. I couldnât see Angie Wade committing suicide.
The cordons were up all round the farmhouse and the garden, including that useful gate. The cast and crew had been corralled into Studio Three, but Jane and I were escorted to the castâs green room above the canteen for easy access. This was the comfortable social area for them to meet between calls if they wished. Not much comfort here at present, however. Jane and I felt like two overlooked passengers on the
Marie Celeste
. I wondered what had happened to Bill and Louise but the question was answered when Louise herself joined us and collapsed on to a sofa.
âHope you donât mind,â she said, âbut I didnât feel up to dealing with questions en masse in Studio Three. Bill and Roger are with the police now, so Iâm off duty for a while.â
That shook me. âIs Bill up to questioning?â
âBelieve it or not, yes. He was pretty wobbly but when Roger arrived, it seemed to put him back on track, at least on one level. He was beginning to talk logically again by the time the police called him, and Roger too.â A pause. âWhat happened, Jack?â
Those dark eyes held mine steadily. âShe was shot in the head,â I told her. âThe gun was at her side.â
âSo it could have been suicide?â Jane asked.
âI donât know,â I said flatly.
Louise reached out and touched my hand. Iâd like to have poured out the horror of it, but I couldnât, not with Jane present.
âBut if it wasnât suicide, that means someone murdered her,â Jane said, horrified. âAll these awful things that have happened, the dog and the car and now
murder.
â
âWe donât know theyâre connected,â Louise said promptly. âNor do we know she was murdered.â She looked so desperate that I decided to join in. In any case, talking about it was inevitable, and however callous it might sound, it could also be helpful.
âMurderers donât usually announce their intentions in advance,â I pointed out.
âItâs one hell of a coincidence,â Jane muttered defiantly.
âAngie hasnât always been the target of whatâs been happening,â Louise argued.
We said no more, perhaps because we all saw where this might lead. Was anyone else going to fall victim?
Jane broke the silence as she burst out again, âMrs Wade loved that garden. Itâs so unfair. And I didnât hear
anything.
No shot, nothing.â
âThere was probably a silencer on the gun. What time did you begin work this morning?â I asked.
Iâd been so caught up with Bill and the sheer ghastliness of the scene that I hadnât thought about the time element.
âThe same as usual,â she wailed. âThe
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