"I don't see any family photos."

  "Oh!"

  "In a place as nice as this, I'd expect lots of happy photos. Memories of the good times with smiling faces and beautiful sunsets. You and your hubby relaxing in the garden, striding across the countryside, doing things. But I don't see any snapshots. I'm sure it is nothing really, but I'm a detective. I notice these things."

  "Guy doesn't like them."

  "Ah well, that explains it then, doesn't it?"

  "I love photos, adore them, wish he did." Louise spoke fast, her gaze travelling the room. "Wanted to plaster the wall with them. When you think about it, really think, memories are all we have. But Guy — well, I suppose he doesn't like looking back."

  "That's strange."

  "He is a bit… odd about pictures. Never takes them, never looks at them, never keeps them. Strange, really."

  "I'm not talking about that."

  "Then what?"

  "You've not asked, luv."

  "Sorry?"

  "About your hubby." Fenella held Louise's gaze. "Thought that would be the first thing you'd ask with him behind bars in a windowless cell. I'd not let a detective in my front door before getting the question out about my hubby, and the answer too."

  "I… well… it's complicated." Louise looked away and jerked to her feet. She lurched to the mahogany bookcase, resting her hand against the polished side. "I love Guy, I really do… but he is… a challenge."

  "How'd you mean, pet?"

  Louise ran a hand along the side of the bookcase; then she slouched to the window with her back to Fenella. A distant roll of thunder grumbled up a gust that pelted rain against the windowpane. Louise's face reflected off the glass. Her eyes were watchful.

  "You must know he has a record." She spoke in the dull tones of a child rehearsing for a school play, her back still facing Fenella, but her eyes, reflected in the window, were moving. "A criminal record."

  "He was arrested for burglary, luv. And we always check for past bad behaviour when we haul them in." Fenella massaged her shoulders and then tilted her head from side to side. "Aye, Mrs Bertram, we know all about your husband's history."

  Louise turned and let out a throaty groan that sounded very much like satisfaction. She did not speak, though. Only her glittering eyes gave a peep into her deep thoughts.

  Another roll of thunder shuddered through the sky. Something in the garden screamed. A fox, Fenella thought, on the hunt for prey. Her gaze travelled from the window to the bookcase, where it lingered like a moth flitting around a light bulb.

  Another throaty groan crept into the stillness.

  Not a groan exactly or a moan.

  More like a bird twitter.

  Although Mrs Bertram's lips barely moved.

  Fenella sensed there was meaning in the lass's throat murmurings.

  A finger pointing the way.

  Chapter 155

  "Come and sit, luv." Fenella nodded at the armchair. "Take the weight off your feet."

  "I'd rather stand." Louise did not move. "This has come as a nasty blow. Talk about a bolt from the blue!"

  Fenella considered. She wanted the lass to sit and she wanted her to sit now and she wanted to watch Mrs Bertram's face as she fired off her questions. What choice did she have but to shock the lass off her feet?

  She flashed a smile as broad as a maternity nurse. "When is the baby due?"

  Louise staggered to one side. "What!"

  Fenella raised a hand. "I've a keen eye, pet. Had five of my own. Now come sit; we need to talk."

  Louise dragged herself from the window, sank back into the armchair, and fondled the olive-wood crucifix dangling on her black beaded necklace. "I can hardly believe it. I've always wanted a child. Now I shall have one."

  "And Guy?"

  Louise's eyes narrowed. "It's difficult for him." She tugged at the black beads. "I should have seen it coming. Seen the pressure the baby was putting on him. He is desperate to be a good provider but finds it hard to hold down a job. I think that is why he…"She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Maybe I should call a solicitor?"

  "That's up to you, Mrs Bertram."

  Louise sighed. "Guy told me all that burglary business was in the past. His distant past."

  "You'd no idea what he was up to last night, then?"

  "My husband is a secretive man." Louise rested her hands in her lap, her lips twitching into a quiet smile. "It's not his fault, though. It is in his genes. He can't help what he does. It is programmed into him. His blood. Bad blood. And I've been waiting; waiting all these years for Guy to slide back to his old ways; waiting for the police knock on my front door; waiting for the bad blood to show itself. And here you are."

  Fenella thought about that for a long while; then she tapped a finger against the armrest. "Does your husband spend much time in Newcastle?"

  "I've no idea where he goes during the day. Like I said, he's secretive." Louise jerked upright as though a thought had struck. "Newcastle? We met in Newcastle."

  "Where?"

  "Le Petit Toon Café." Louise's eyes grew wide, her voice soft and innocent. "I read in the newspaper there was a fire at the place. Didn't it burn to the ground?"

  "Aye, pet." Fenella didn't mention that it was arson and turned the conversation back to Mr Bertram. "Do you know if he visited the café recently?"

  Louise laughed. A long, high-pitched, twitter. It came out of the blue as if she knew a secret no one else knew. "We used to be regulars but now they wouldn't know my face."

  "Tell me about your hubby?"

  Louise chewed her lip. "He's been acting weird these past few days."

  "How'd you mean?"

  "I don't know… odd… strange… more secretive since they found Peter Quelch's remains near the Popping Stone."

  "Really?"

  Louise folded her arms, lips turning down at the edges. "I wish I knew what Guy wanted me to say to you."

  "The truth, pet."

  Louise's reply came fast. Too fast. "Guy knew Peter Quelch and he knew Wilfred Ash, but I guess you knew that."

  Fenella leaned forward. "What about Trevor Gosbee?"

  "He knew him too. They were good friends but fell out. Don't ask me what over. I've no idea. Like I said, Guy is very mysterious, keeps things to himself." Louise's left hand flew to her mouth. She gasped. "Oh my God, two of them are dead and the other is fighting for his life in hospital! Do you think Guy is next?"

  Fenella said nothing.

  Louise hugged herself, rocking from side to side. "I love Guy and his… odd ways. I suppose that is why I married him. He is very mysterious. There are times when I wake up in the middle of the night and he isn't there. And sometimes when he comes back, he sings to me… in Italian. That's not weird at all, is it? It's so sweet." Her eyes rolled back to the ceiling. She licked her lips. "Don't suppose you came here to listen to me prattling on."

  "Go on." Fenella kept her voice soft and low. "Tell me more about Hubby."

  "Guy worked in the circus, you know?"

  "Doing what?"

  Louise stared at the beating rain, her eyes glistening. "He did all sorts, circus hand mainly. But he also worked in a few shows."

  "Like what?"

  "Juggling, stilt-walking, helped with the firework shows. We've still got some of his mementos." She touched her lips. "Oh, and he worked as a knife thrower."

  Silence.

  Again came the throaty twittering from Louise. A bird chirping with joy at the new dawn.

  Fenella placed her hands on her knees. "Does your hubby still have his circus knives?"

  "Yes."

  "Are they in the house?"

  Louise replied fast, in a birdlike tweet. "In the shed along with his other stuff, but there is no point looking now. I noticed they were missing last week. And before you ask, I've no idea who he gave them to. I suppose he thought it was time to move on from the past. We all do that, don't we? His circus days are long over, and so was his other activity… or so I thought." She began to shake. Tears filled her eyes. "How wrong can a woman be about her man?"

  Chapter 156

  The last thing Fenella wanted was tears.

  "Mrs Bertram, tell me about those knives."

  "He kept them in a cherry wood box. Always polishing them and speaking to them as if they were… well…human. It's strange that he would give them away or sell them, but who am I to judge?" Louise rubbed her hands. "I've no idea who he gave them to. Charity shop, most likely, but I dare not ask him because…" She shook her head and closed her eyes. "…the physical work in the circus helped with Guy's wild rages."

  "He has a temper?"

  "He is a good man. A kind man. A man with a sweet singing voice."

  "Tell me about his rages."

  "He doesn't remember anything after. That's why we keep his circus gear in the shed…to keep them out of reach. Not that I worry; they are just harmless circus toys." Louise laughed again, another blast of birdlike twitter. "That's where he got his nickname."

  "The circus?"

  "That's right."

  "And what name would that be?"

  Louise watched Fenella but did not answer. The storm weakened. A bead of sweat formed at the corner of Louise's right temple. It trickled down her cheek.

  Fenella repeated her question. "Guy's nickname, Mrs Bertram?"

  Silence, apart from the soft slush of the slowing rain. And with it came a moan from Louise. Fenella massaged her neck muscles, scanned the bookcase, and stared at the dull sky coming through the window. It took her another heartbeat to realise that with Louise's moan came a single word.

  "Owl."

  Fenella's heart ticked up a beat. "What did you say?"

  Louise's right hand touched the crucifix. "The circus folk called him Owl due to his… well… good lookout abilities. Owls have sharp eyesight, perfect for spotting prey at night and police officers nosing around. It's a wonder he ever got caught, but he got greedy." She snorted. "Men like him always get greedy."

  Fenella made a show of glancing around. "Looks like he was living the good life."

  "He was. And before you get any stupid ideas, everything in the room is at my expense." Louise clasped her hands. "My parents died in a car crash… inheritance, you see. And Guy is a screenwriter, although he hasn't sold anything… yet."

  "Still in love with the lad, eh?"

  "That's right."

  "Explains that glow on your face."

  "My face?"

  "Your eyes. Has anyone told you how much they shine?"

  Chapter 157

  Fenella was forming a picture and didn't like how it was turning out.

  She nodded at the black beaded necklace. "I see you are a churchgoer."

  "I try."

  "St Mary Magdalene?"

  "On occasion."

  "Will Vicar Hume pop around later?"

  "What?"

  "It's his duty to tend to the flock."

  "No, no — Inspector Sallow, no, no, no. I'm not a regular at his church. God only knows when I last saw the vicar."

  "Not recently, then?"

  Louise touched the crucifix. "Doubt he even knows where I live."

  Fenella nodded. "You'll stop by the station in Newcastle later today to see your hubby?"

  "Of course."

  "And to make a statement?"

  "Eh?"

  "Just a formality. We've got lots of forms to fill, keeps things neat and tidy. I'll have an officer drive you to the station."

  Louise fiddled with the black beads and offered a half-smile. "There really isn't anything I can tell you. You see that, don't you?"

  Fenella did. Very clearly. She changed the subject. "Did you know Mr Peter Quelch?"

  "Hardly. I saw him about the village from time to time."

  "A bit like the vicar?"

  Louise nodded. "Doubt if I ever said much more than 'hello' to Peter. He had a reputation. A bad reputation. To be honest, I kept well clear. Guy knew him well, though." Her tongue worked slowly around her lips. "Until he fell out with Peter, that is. A nasty argument, although I've no idea what about. Guy was furious, though. His temper sometimes gets the better of him, but he is a sweetie at heart."

  Fenella reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone and fiddled with it for a moment. Then she showed the screen to Louise — the snapshot of the woman clown with the frizzy wig. The photo from Mrs Gorman's boarding house.

  "That's you, isn't it, Mrs Bertram?"

  Louise peered at the screen. A slow smile curved her lips. "My God, I'd forgotten about that. Don't I look a sight! Guy took it when we were dating. He still worked at the circus back then. Said he was going to write a blockbuster film and I might get a role, hence my wig." Her smile vanished. "Seems like a lifetime away now."

  "It is signed 'Love HB'. Do you know why?"

  Louise laughed. Long and hard and bitter. "HB stands for Honeybird, his nickname for me." Her eyes narrowed, and she became suddenly alert. "Where did you find it?"

  "Mr Peter Quelch's bedsit in Newcastle. Do you know the place?"

  "What!" Louise scrambled to her feet. "What the hell are you getting at?" There was a sour twist to her face and an ugliness in her creased brow. "I'm not saying another word until I speak with my solicitor. I think you had better leave."

  "Aye, pet." Fenella stood. "I'll find my way out."

  Chapter 158

  Acid churned in Fred Lowe's stomach and crept up his throat. The cell door clanked shut. Nine on a Saturday morning, and he was locked in a dank-smelling chamber. His regular routine lay in tatters, a headache throbbed, and there was no chance of it easing. Even after he delivered the news.

  "Thank God, you are back." Guy rolled off the iron bed. "Let's go."

  Fred didn't move. He waited until the sound of the officer's footsteps outside the door faded, until the gurgle from the stainless-steel lidless toilet settled, until the hum from the overhead lights filled the quiet void. He waited until the sharp intake of Guy's breath shattered the silence. And still he waited.

  "You got the paperwork signed, right?" Guy scrubbed at his moist eyes. "Right?"

  Even on the days when Fred followed his morning routine, he found it difficult to deliver bad news at such an ungodly hour. What choice did he have today? He had to let Guy know where the chips lay. Let him glimpse the crash ahead and the terrible wreckage to come. He adjusted his black tie, plucked a comb from his tweed jacket and raked it over his bald spot. He smiled. A professional smile. All curved lips with nothing in the eyes.

  "I'm your number one fan, Guy." Fred's gaze darted to the metal panel on the wall with the bell. A quick push and an officer would come running. His headache eased. "In your corner."

  "Yeah, I know. And you are like a dad to me, but can we do the touchy-feely bit in the pub? I'm parched, and I want to see Louise. Thought she'd come with you, where is she?"

  Fred forced from his mind the gurgling horrors of his first visit and pointed at the toilet.

  It gleamed.

  "See you've been hard at work. Worked up a real shine like it never left the factory." Fred let his lips twist higher. "I'm amazed at what you've done. A great job."

  Guy cast a grim eye at the bowl. "I listen to you. Take your advice. I know you have my best interests at heart. Now, let's get the hell out of here."

  "It brings me joy to know… " Fred snatched a glance at the metal panel on the wall with the bell. "… you'll do as I say. Exactly as I say."

  "Don't I always?"

  "You did with that toilet."

  "Helped whittle away the time. Anyway, what else was there to do?"

  "I'll tell the judge, shall I?"

  "Yes, yes — Fred. Yes, good idea." Guy strode towards the door. "Now let's get out of here."

  "That you were born to do it." Fred moved towards the toilet, inspecting it from every angle. "Born to scrub and scrape and scour crap from lavatory bowls."

  Guy's brow creased. "Are you sure you want to put it like that to the judge?"

  Fred chuckled. "I think you've found your calling. Something for you to do while you are in prison."

  "What the hell are you saying?"

  Fred bit his lower lip and, once again, glanced at the metal panel with the bell button. "Do you trust me?"

  "Of course."

  "Because that is all we have right now. Trust."

  "Bloody hell! What are you on about?"

  "Want the good news or bad?"

  "Good."

  "Louise will be at the station later."

  "Why isn't she here now?"

  "Let me finish." Annoyance bloomed. Fred wagged a finger. "How many times have I told you to listen to your wife? Now, I want you to listen to me. Can you at least do that?"

  Guy pressed his lips into a straight line and nodded.

  "Louise is coming to the police station…" Fred didn't want it to sound ominous, but it was ominous. "… to give a full statement."

  Guy's hand flew to his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair. He tugged. "What does that mean?"

  "I'm your solicitor and a good friend, right?"

  "You know that."

  "Like a father to you?"

  "What is this about?"

  "I've spoken with Louise."

  Fred felt a heroic sense of pride at what he must do and felt a grim satisfaction at what he must say next. After all, it was he who gave Louise away at the altar; he who had visited her last night; he who had listened to her twittering words; and he, who now believed, really believed that this was the best thing to do.

  Best for Guy.

  Best for Louise.

  Best for him.

  His gaze drifted to the bell on the wall and he tried to drown his dreadful thoughts of what lay ahead for Guy. "I think you ought to confess everything. The judge will look kindly if you repent and grovel and beg for mercy."

  "Whoa…what are you saying?"

  "The police want to keep you here a little longer."

  Guy choked back a sob, swore and staggered to the metal bed. He sat on the edge, his face very pale. "You said you'd get me out."

  "There are no guarantees in this life."

  Guy was silent for a long time, head bent, staring at his hands. At last his chest moved and his breath hitched, a sound like a mouse's squeal at the snap of the trap.

 

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