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Authors: Elizabeth Corley
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bath towel.
‘I’m DC Nightingale from Harlden CID.’ Jenny barely glanced at her warrant card. ‘Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you about Mr Wainwright’s concerns over his father’s death. Has he shared these with you?’
‘Oh, yes. Graham shares everything, can’t keep a secret to save his life. Oops, now there’s a slip. Forget I said that. Come in. I’ve ordered coffee and juice. Ignore me while I get dressed.’
Nightingale did her best, but Jenny had a model’s disregard for nudity whilst Nightingale had been to a school where the girls still avoided communal showers. By the time refreshments arrived, Jenny had finally decided on old black jeans and an extraordinary fuchsia-pink cropped sweatshirt, having apparently tried on everything else from her wardrobe, cocktail dresses included. As she dressed she chatted to Nightingale as if they were old friends. Jenny was only a few years younger than the detective and supposedly in the third year of a four-year honours degree in psychology. Since she had met Graham, though, whilst out clubbing in London, she hadn’t attended a single lecture. For the past three months she had abandoned her original plans for the future as she had fallen further and furtherin love with him. She explained that he had a certain schoolboy charm under the playboy façade that she found captivating, and a warm heart and generous nature that he was usually at pains to conceal.
She told Nightingale that Graham was genuinely worried but she had no idea why. In her opinion there had been nothing sinister about his father’s death: no threats or unusual circumstances had preceded it. Other people, though, had been worrying at Graham and airing their concerns that his death had not been a suicide. It had come to a head during the recent Memorial Service for his father, after which he had felt that he had no option but to go to the police.
Jenny’s theory was that Graham was experiencing genuine guilt and regret. Not that his father had ever shown him any affection, far from it. He had packed him off to boarding school with glee at the first opportunity and they had never formed a close relationship. As a result, Graham had virtually ignored his father whilst he was alive and Jenny’s theory was that, now that it was too late to make amends, he felt guilty.
It all sounded plausible to Nightingale, who listened, made notes and gathered the names of other family members. As Jenny talked, she became curious about her relationship with Alan Wainwright’s son.
‘How long have you known Graham?’
‘Since January, nearly three months. I think it’s a record for him!’
‘He’s in demand, then?’
‘Oh, always. He’s one of Britain’s more eligible bachelors, but I don’t mean to make him sound awful. Once you get past the fact that he’s just an overgrown, spoilt schoolboy, he’s lovely. A very kind man.’ She hesitated for the first time and Nightingale sensed that she was holding something back.
‘There is something that’s worrying you, though. What is it?’
Jenny sat down on the edge of the crumpled bed and ran her fingers through long blonde hair.
‘He’s become obsessive about Alex’s wife, Sally. He has a private investigator following her around and they meet nearly every day. He won’t tell me what they discuss.’
‘I thought you said that he was open with you, couldn’t keep secrets.’
‘He is on everything else. It’s just this thing with Sally. He can’t stop thinking about her and he believes she’s somehow involved in his father’s death.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but is Sally very pretty?’
Jenny flushed and glared at Nightingale, but her voice remained controlled.
‘Yes, she’s a perfect English rose – gorgeous complexion, natural ash-blonde hair, very pretty and great legs – but I don’t think he fancies her. In fact, quite the opposite. I think he hates her. To be fair, her past is pretty vague, and in the
‘I’m DC Nightingale from Harlden CID.’ Jenny barely glanced at her warrant card. ‘Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you about Mr Wainwright’s concerns over his father’s death. Has he shared these with you?’
‘Oh, yes. Graham shares everything, can’t keep a secret to save his life. Oops, now there’s a slip. Forget I said that. Come in. I’ve ordered coffee and juice. Ignore me while I get dressed.’
Nightingale did her best, but Jenny had a model’s disregard for nudity whilst Nightingale had been to a school where the girls still avoided communal showers. By the time refreshments arrived, Jenny had finally decided on old black jeans and an extraordinary fuchsia-pink cropped sweatshirt, having apparently tried on everything else from her wardrobe, cocktail dresses included. As she dressed she chatted to Nightingale as if they were old friends. Jenny was only a few years younger than the detective and supposedly in the third year of a four-year honours degree in psychology. Since she had met Graham, though, whilst out clubbing in London, she hadn’t attended a single lecture. For the past three months she had abandoned her original plans for the future as she had fallen further and furtherin love with him. She explained that he had a certain schoolboy charm under the playboy façade that she found captivating, and a warm heart and generous nature that he was usually at pains to conceal.
She told Nightingale that Graham was genuinely worried but she had no idea why. In her opinion there had been nothing sinister about his father’s death: no threats or unusual circumstances had preceded it. Other people, though, had been worrying at Graham and airing their concerns that his death had not been a suicide. It had come to a head during the recent Memorial Service for his father, after which he had felt that he had no option but to go to the police.
Jenny’s theory was that Graham was experiencing genuine guilt and regret. Not that his father had ever shown him any affection, far from it. He had packed him off to boarding school with glee at the first opportunity and they had never formed a close relationship. As a result, Graham had virtually ignored his father whilst he was alive and Jenny’s theory was that, now that it was too late to make amends, he felt guilty.
It all sounded plausible to Nightingale, who listened, made notes and gathered the names of other family members. As Jenny talked, she became curious about her relationship with Alan Wainwright’s son.
‘How long have you known Graham?’
‘Since January, nearly three months. I think it’s a record for him!’
‘He’s in demand, then?’
‘Oh, always. He’s one of Britain’s more eligible bachelors, but I don’t mean to make him sound awful. Once you get past the fact that he’s just an overgrown, spoilt schoolboy, he’s lovely. A very kind man.’ She hesitated for the first time and Nightingale sensed that she was holding something back.
‘There is something that’s worrying you, though. What is it?’
Jenny sat down on the edge of the crumpled bed and ran her fingers through long blonde hair.
‘He’s become obsessive about Alex’s wife, Sally. He has a private investigator following her around and they meet nearly every day. He won’t tell me what they discuss.’
‘I thought you said that he was open with you, couldn’t keep secrets.’
‘He is on everything else. It’s just this thing with Sally. He can’t stop thinking about her and he believes she’s somehow involved in his father’s death.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but is Sally very pretty?’
Jenny flushed and glared at Nightingale, but her voice remained controlled.
‘Yes, she’s a perfect English rose – gorgeous complexion, natural ash-blonde hair, very pretty and great legs – but I don’t think he fancies her. In fact, quite the opposite. I think he hates her. To be fair, her past is pretty vague, and in the
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