bandages. Three IV bags hung from a stand at the bedside delivering fluid and drugs. She suspected
he would be on maximum doses of drugs: the pain from burns was reputedly worse than any other kind. There was still no nurse to consult, so Jenny decided to take a chance and went inside.
Brooks, a man in his late thirties – though it was hard to tell beneath the bandages – looked up at her through heavily lidded, bloodshot eyes.
Jenny introduced herself and explained that she was investigating the deaths at Blackstone Ley. Then she asked if he was able to talk.
‘What about?’ He answered in a hoarse and fractured whisper, with a broad Gloucestershire accent.
Jenny had second thoughts. ‘If you’re in too much pain, this can wait.’
‘I can’t feel a thing,’ he said, his eyes rolling upwards and exposing the whites.
Jenny brought out her phone and searched for the email Ryan had sent her. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve been told that the police think Ed Morgan started the fire at his home
deliberately—’
‘My wife told me.’
Jenny held the screen up in front of his face, showing the goodbye message Ed Morgan had left for Kelly. ‘Can you read that, or shall I?’
‘I can manage.’
Brooks stared at it for a moment, then looked away. After a long stretch of silence, he said, ‘You’d see her, the way she dressed, and she’d look like she might. But she never
did, not to my knowledge. Not since she’s been with Ed.’
‘I was told you were close with her once.’
‘Long time ago.’ His gaze turned inwards. ‘How is she?’
‘Unhurt. She was at work. Her son’s missing and her two daughters died in the fire.’ Jenny stopped herself from adding extra detail. Brooks was going to be in enough pain
without her adding to it.
‘Kelly’s a good girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Makes the women jealous and turns every man’s head, but she’s worked hard for her kids. Cleaning, bar work, not above
none of it. You’ve got to respect that.’
‘Did Ed?’
‘I’m sure he did. We didn’t talk much.’
‘Did he strike you as the jealous kind?’
‘Not ‘specially. Always been a quiet bloke.’
Brooks seemed to slump, the effort of talking sapping his energy. Jenny decided she could afford one more question. It had to be a good one.
‘You don’t have to answer this, Mr Brooks, but did you ever suspect Ed of murdering Susie Ashton?’
He thought for a moment. ‘No. Kelly would’ve known. She’s one of those women, like – you’d tell her everything.’
Jenny couldn’t stop herself from following up: ‘Why do you say that?’
Brooks turned his eyes towards her. ‘It’s like this,’ he said, his voice fading so Jenny could barely hear. ‘Once in a man’s lifetime he’ll fall for a woman
who is not of this earth. That was Kelly.’
EIGHT
‘D O YOU KNOW WHAT HE MEANS ?’
‘Kind of.’
Jenny was warming her legs in front of the log fire, feeling guilty that Michael had not only cooked but was now insisting on carrying their plates through to the kitchen.
‘Is that it?’
‘What do you want to me say?’
‘It’s obviously a male thing – “not of this earth”.’
‘You think?’
‘I’ve not heard of women turning men into imaginary angels. It’s certainly never been a fantasy of mine.’
‘I suppose somewhere in their minds, most guys, well – ’ he paused to correct himself, ‘immature guys, have this image of a woman being pure. And if she’s pure,
then she’s no longer quite human, is she?’
‘How do you define “pure”? I mean, what are the criteria?’
‘Aren’t we going to watch a film now?’
‘In a minute. Stop changing the subject.’
Michael came back into the room and tipped the last of the wine into their glasses that were standing empty on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t speak for him. How do I know what he
thinks?’
‘Tell me what a pure woman is. Come on – you must have discussed this kind of stuff in the Air
he would be on maximum doses of drugs: the pain from burns was reputedly worse than any other kind. There was still no nurse to consult, so Jenny decided to take a chance and went inside.
Brooks, a man in his late thirties – though it was hard to tell beneath the bandages – looked up at her through heavily lidded, bloodshot eyes.
Jenny introduced herself and explained that she was investigating the deaths at Blackstone Ley. Then she asked if he was able to talk.
‘What about?’ He answered in a hoarse and fractured whisper, with a broad Gloucestershire accent.
Jenny had second thoughts. ‘If you’re in too much pain, this can wait.’
‘I can’t feel a thing,’ he said, his eyes rolling upwards and exposing the whites.
Jenny brought out her phone and searched for the email Ryan had sent her. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve been told that the police think Ed Morgan started the fire at his home
deliberately—’
‘My wife told me.’
Jenny held the screen up in front of his face, showing the goodbye message Ed Morgan had left for Kelly. ‘Can you read that, or shall I?’
‘I can manage.’
Brooks stared at it for a moment, then looked away. After a long stretch of silence, he said, ‘You’d see her, the way she dressed, and she’d look like she might. But she never
did, not to my knowledge. Not since she’s been with Ed.’
‘I was told you were close with her once.’
‘Long time ago.’ His gaze turned inwards. ‘How is she?’
‘Unhurt. She was at work. Her son’s missing and her two daughters died in the fire.’ Jenny stopped herself from adding extra detail. Brooks was going to be in enough pain
without her adding to it.
‘Kelly’s a good girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Makes the women jealous and turns every man’s head, but she’s worked hard for her kids. Cleaning, bar work, not above
none of it. You’ve got to respect that.’
‘Did Ed?’
‘I’m sure he did. We didn’t talk much.’
‘Did he strike you as the jealous kind?’
‘Not ‘specially. Always been a quiet bloke.’
Brooks seemed to slump, the effort of talking sapping his energy. Jenny decided she could afford one more question. It had to be a good one.
‘You don’t have to answer this, Mr Brooks, but did you ever suspect Ed of murdering Susie Ashton?’
He thought for a moment. ‘No. Kelly would’ve known. She’s one of those women, like – you’d tell her everything.’
Jenny couldn’t stop herself from following up: ‘Why do you say that?’
Brooks turned his eyes towards her. ‘It’s like this,’ he said, his voice fading so Jenny could barely hear. ‘Once in a man’s lifetime he’ll fall for a woman
who is not of this earth. That was Kelly.’
EIGHT
‘D O YOU KNOW WHAT HE MEANS ?’
‘Kind of.’
Jenny was warming her legs in front of the log fire, feeling guilty that Michael had not only cooked but was now insisting on carrying their plates through to the kitchen.
‘Is that it?’
‘What do you want to me say?’
‘It’s obviously a male thing – “not of this earth”.’
‘You think?’
‘I’ve not heard of women turning men into imaginary angels. It’s certainly never been a fantasy of mine.’
‘I suppose somewhere in their minds, most guys, well – ’ he paused to correct himself, ‘immature guys, have this image of a woman being pure. And if she’s pure,
then she’s no longer quite human, is she?’
‘How do you define “pure”? I mean, what are the criteria?’
‘Aren’t we going to watch a film now?’
‘In a minute. Stop changing the subject.’
Michael came back into the room and tipped the last of the wine into their glasses that were standing empty on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t speak for him. How do I know what he
thinks?’
‘Tell me what a pure woman is. Come on – you must have discussed this kind of stuff in the Air
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