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Authors: Minette Walters
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calling terms with Mrs. Gillespie, let alone at around nine o'clock on a Saturday night in November." He shrugged. "In any case, her neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Orloff, say they would have heard the bell ringing if someone had come to her door. When Mrs. Gillespie sold them their part of the house, she simply had the bell moved from the kitchen, which is now theirs, to the corridor outside which remained hers. I tested it. They couldn't have missed it if it was rung that night."
Sarah caught his eye. "Then it seems fairly obvious that it must have been suicide."
"Not to me, Dr. Blakeney. In the first place, I intend to put those two alibis under a microscope and, in the second place, if Mrs. Gillespie's murderer was someone she knew, they could have tapped on the windows or the back door without the Orloffs hearing them." He closed his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. "We'll get them eventually. Probably through their fingerprints."
"You're going on with it then? I thought your boss had decided to drop it."
"We raised a number of fingerprints in that house which don't belong to Mrs. Gillespie or the three women who had keys. We'll be asking everyone in the village and outsiders like you, who knew her, to let us take prints for comparison purposes. I've persuaded the Chief to find out who else went in there before he draws a line under this one."
"You seem to be taking Mrs. Gillespie's death very personally."
"Policing's no different from any other job, Doctor. The higher up the ladder you are the better the pension at the end." His amiable face grew suddenly cynical. "But promotion has more to do with empire-building than ability, and to date my light has always been hidden under some other sod's bushel. I do take Mrs. Gillespie's death personally. It's my case."
Sarah found this bleakly amusing. She wondered how Mathilda would feel about a policeman benefiting from her death, assuming, of course, he could prove it was murder and then convict the murderer. She might have felt happier if she wasn't so convinced that he was going to score on both counts.
"Keith? It's Sarah. Sarah Blakeney. Has Jack been in touch with you, by any chance?" She toyed with the phone wire while she listened to the sound of Cooper's car fading into the distance. There were too many shadows in this hall, she thought.
"Not recently," said Keith Smollett's pleasant voice. "Should he have been?"
There was no point beating about the bush. "We had a row. I told him I wanted a divorce and he's gone off in a huff. He left a note saying I could contact him through you."
"Oh, good God, Sarah! Well, I can't act for both of you. Jack will have to find himself another solicitor."
"He's opted for you. I'm the one who has to find someone else."
"Bugger that," said Keith cheerfully. "
You're
my client, sweetheart. The only reason I've ever done anything for that lazy good-for-nothing is because you married him." He and Sarah had been friends from university days and there had been a time, before Jack entered the frame, when Keith had had designs on Sarah himself. Now, he was happily married with three strapping young sons, and only thought about her on the rare occasions when she telephoned.
"Yes, well, that's a side issue at the moment. The main issue is that I need to talk to him rather urgently. He's bound to contact you so will you let me know where he is as soon as he does. It's desperately important." She glanced towards the stairs, her face a pale glimmer in the reflected light from the kitchen. Far too many shadows.
"Will do."
"There's something else. What's my legal position with regard to a police investigation into a possible murder?" She heard his indrawn breath. "I don't mean I'm involved or anything but I think I've been given some information that I really ought to pass on. The police don't seem to know about it, but it's incredibly sensitive stuff and very second-hand, and if it doesn't have any bearing then I shall be
Sarah caught his eye. "Then it seems fairly obvious that it must have been suicide."
"Not to me, Dr. Blakeney. In the first place, I intend to put those two alibis under a microscope and, in the second place, if Mrs. Gillespie's murderer was someone she knew, they could have tapped on the windows or the back door without the Orloffs hearing them." He closed his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. "We'll get them eventually. Probably through their fingerprints."
"You're going on with it then? I thought your boss had decided to drop it."
"We raised a number of fingerprints in that house which don't belong to Mrs. Gillespie or the three women who had keys. We'll be asking everyone in the village and outsiders like you, who knew her, to let us take prints for comparison purposes. I've persuaded the Chief to find out who else went in there before he draws a line under this one."
"You seem to be taking Mrs. Gillespie's death very personally."
"Policing's no different from any other job, Doctor. The higher up the ladder you are the better the pension at the end." His amiable face grew suddenly cynical. "But promotion has more to do with empire-building than ability, and to date my light has always been hidden under some other sod's bushel. I do take Mrs. Gillespie's death personally. It's my case."
Sarah found this bleakly amusing. She wondered how Mathilda would feel about a policeman benefiting from her death, assuming, of course, he could prove it was murder and then convict the murderer. She might have felt happier if she wasn't so convinced that he was going to score on both counts.
"Keith? It's Sarah. Sarah Blakeney. Has Jack been in touch with you, by any chance?" She toyed with the phone wire while she listened to the sound of Cooper's car fading into the distance. There were too many shadows in this hall, she thought.
"Not recently," said Keith Smollett's pleasant voice. "Should he have been?"
There was no point beating about the bush. "We had a row. I told him I wanted a divorce and he's gone off in a huff. He left a note saying I could contact him through you."
"Oh, good God, Sarah! Well, I can't act for both of you. Jack will have to find himself another solicitor."
"He's opted for you. I'm the one who has to find someone else."
"Bugger that," said Keith cheerfully. "
You're
my client, sweetheart. The only reason I've ever done anything for that lazy good-for-nothing is because you married him." He and Sarah had been friends from university days and there had been a time, before Jack entered the frame, when Keith had had designs on Sarah himself. Now, he was happily married with three strapping young sons, and only thought about her on the rare occasions when she telephoned.
"Yes, well, that's a side issue at the moment. The main issue is that I need to talk to him rather urgently. He's bound to contact you so will you let me know where he is as soon as he does. It's desperately important." She glanced towards the stairs, her face a pale glimmer in the reflected light from the kitchen. Far too many shadows.
"Will do."
"There's something else. What's my legal position with regard to a police investigation into a possible murder?" She heard his indrawn breath. "I don't mean I'm involved or anything but I think I've been given some information that I really ought to pass on. The police don't seem to know about it, but it's incredibly sensitive stuff and very second-hand, and if it doesn't have any bearing then I shall be
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