Read Online The Whispering Gallery by Mark Sanderson - Free Book Online

launched into what was clearly a pre-prepared speech.
    â€œI can’t thank you enough, Mr Steadman, for being there on Saturday. I know you tried your best to help Freddie. If it weren’t for you I’d probably still be tearing my hair out at home.” Her immaculate coiffure gave no sign of being disturbed.
    â€œCall me Johnny.” He waited for her to reveal her own Christian name. She remained silent. He produced his notebook. “Cynthia is your first name, isn’t it?”
    â€œIs it relevant?”
    â€œI can’t keep referring to you as Mrs Callingham in the interview.”
    â€œThere isn’t going to be an interview. I merely wanted to express my deep gratitude and find out if Freddie had said anything apart from ‘I’m sorry’.”
    â€œNo, he didn’t. Any idea what he was apologising for?”
    â€œI presume it was for injuring the other man. I do hope he didn’t know that he’d gone and killed him.”
    â€œWhy don’t you want me to write anything further?”
    â€œI’ve got Daniel to think of. He’s just lost his father. The last thing he needs is a pack of newshounds chasing after him. We require privacy now, not publicity.” A minute ago she’d been grateful for the attention he had created.
    â€œHow is your son?”
    She looked at him as if it were a stupid question.
    â€œAwfully upset. What did you expect? Daniel’s a very private child, though. He doesn’t talk about his feelings. It’s even an effort to get him to tell me what’s going on at school.”
    â€œWhich school is that?”
    â€œSt Paul’s.”
    Johnny’s antennae quivered. “Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot really. The school is in Hammersmith.”
    â€œIt used to be next-door to the cathedral.”
    â€œThat was years ago.”
    â€œOK. Have you any idea why your husband was in St Paul’s?”
    â€œNone at all.” She waited until the waitress had uncere moniously deposited two cups of tea and a bacon sandwich in front of them. Johnny tucked in straightaway. It gave him time to think. He swallowed the mouthful he was chewing and went on the attack.
    â€œWhy did he kill himself?”
    â€œHe didn’t!” Her eyes welled up. “He wouldn’t! He’d never do such a thing. He was a religious man. He was a devoted father. Freddie was not the type to deliberately leave us in the lurch.”
    â€œYou haven’t found a note then?” He couldn’t see a doctor, no matter how desperate, scribbling Dearest dear . . .
    â€œNo.” She pressed her thin lips together firmly. Suicide was a crime – just attempting it could land you in prison. Was she so anxious to avoid the social stigma that she preferred to think her husband may have been murdered?
    â€œSo you’re suggesting he was pushed?”
    It was theoretically possible. Although he hadn’t seen anyone do it, someone could have hidden at the top of the stairs and shot out at an opportune moment to shove Callingham in the back. Surely though – with all those necks craned upwards to admire the dome – someone would have spotted them?
    â€œNot at all. Most likely it was a terrible accident. He must have tripped and fallen over the railings.” That was a precise choice of word. Most people would have said “banister” or “balustrade”.Had she been there at the time? Perhaps she had already visited the crime scene.
    â€œThen why was there nothing – and I mean absolutely nothing – in his pockets?”
    â€œThere was this –” She held up her infant son’s loving message. Johnny, concluding that he no longer had any use for it, had let the widow keep the childhood relic.
    â€œIt was found in the collection box. Why would he voluntarily give away such a cherished memento, unless he knew he was going to die?”
    â€œI