changed. ‘Let’s get this straight, Mrs Brent.’ He leaned forward and the world-weary manner had sharpened. ‘If he threw the contents into the bin on the station platform, then he must have been given the envelope on the platform so presumably this Jem character didn’t wait for him outside the ticket barrier. And yet your husband said they were simply publicity flyers for entertainment venues in Hastings. Didn’t you think that a bit odd?’
Maude stared at him. ‘Not at the time but I do now.’ Thinking back she tried to recall anything else Lionel had told her.
He went on. ‘Your husband thought the contents so important he remained on the platform and opened the envelope! He didn’t know they were the wrong dates so I would have expected him to open them when he got home.’
He drummed his fingers on the table and Maude felt a shiver of apprehension. This was so unexpected and yet, at the time, she had never given it a second thought.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Does your husband have any enemies, Mrs Brent, or anyone who dislikes him? A rejected artist, perhaps, who was angry at your husband’s decision not to accept his painting? Would he tell you that sort of thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘He hates me to be worried about anything unpleasant. If he thought he was shielding me from some unpleasantness then I dare say he might have kept it to himself.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Are you saying . . . Are you suggesting that someone has deliberately hurt my husband?’
‘We can’t rule anything out. This Jem – if he really did come from the Romilees as you were led to believe, the owners will know about it. We’ll check that later and have a word with him. There might have been something else in the envelope – something your husband didn’t want you to see. Maybe a threat. Does your husband gamble? Would you know if he does? Could he be in debt?’
Maude felt her heart thudding behind her ribs. Hardly able to speak, she cried, ‘You think someone’s hurt him! You do!’
‘We think it’s a possibility. On the other hand, sometimes people want to disappear. They have good reasons. Something in their past maybe catches up with them and they need to get away. Go on the run, as we say.’
With a shaking hand Maude reached for her tea and took a mouthful. It was almost cold but it eased the dryness in her throat. She said, ‘You make him sound like a criminal! He isn’t. He’s a good, honest, gentle man.’
‘I’m sure he is but you do understand, I hope, that we have to think of the worst that could have happened. We have to face up to reality and in our opinion there are secrets that everyone hides.’
‘Not Lionel! Never! I know him better than you do.’
He regarded her unhappily. ‘Mrs Brent, please tell me what you imagine may have happened. You must have some inkling.’
‘I think he’s lost his memory or . . . been in an accident . . . or he’s trapped somewhere . . .’A new idea came to her. ‘He might have been stranded by the tide somewhere by the cliffs or hurt his ankle in a fall and no-one can hear his calls for help. Something good. I mean, not good exactly, but nothing criminal or bad or . . .’
‘Does he swim, Mrs Brent? The tides here can be . . .’
‘The tides? Oh, don’t say such a thing! He hasn’t drowned. No, I won’t even think it.’ She put a hand to her heart and took a deep breath. No hysterics. Calm yourself, Maude . She said, ‘No, Lionel doesn’t swim . . . as far as I know.’
‘Does he suffer from depression? Has he ever suffered from it?’
‘No! Quite the opposite.’ She regarded him desperately. ‘I’m sure he will . . . reappear. He’ll make his way home and that’s where I want to be. Can’t I go back to Folkestone, Mr – I mean—’
‘DC Fleet, and if you want to help us to find him, you’ll stay here for a while longer. If we find this Jem I shall need you to identify him as the
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