But no words came out.

  Chapter 159

  In the holding cell, the toilet gurgled and Guy's shoulders sagged.

  "I need another lawyer."

  "I'll call the duty solicitor, shall I?" Fred moved towards the metal panel on the wall. "I'm wiping my hands of this sordid mess."

  "Jesus, no!" Guy stared at the iron door. He looked at the ceiling, the bare walls, the lidless toilet and let out a cry of anguish. "I'm sorry for causing you trouble. You are the only friend I've got. Please don't leave me."

  Fred closed his eyes. His heart hammered against his chest, a rhythm that made his voice tremble. "You are right, Guy. I'm too old for this lark."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Past it."

  "I'd never say that."

  "You need to get yourself a younger model."

  "Model?"

  Fred blushed. "I mean a solicitor. Someone skilled in legal work with younger bones and better skin. Let's face it, I'm an old man. A ghost of what I used to be." He pressed his palms against his face. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a steep cliff and a slight tremble might throw him off. "I'm giving up my volunteer work at Tullie House Museum. Time to step into the sunset. My best days were long ago, lost deep in the past and forgotten. You'd be better off with the duty solicitor. Shall I call for them?"

  "No, no — Fred, no, no, no. Please, no."

  "Oh, what's the point? I'm just an old codger, past it, done."

  "You are not past it." Guy's cheeks flushed. "Don't even look your age."

  "How old do I look, then?"

  "You've the vigour of a twenty-year-old."

  "You think so?"

  "And you don't look much older than me." Guy watched him. "Younger, even, by at least five years."

  "Really?"

  "Tweed jackets have an elegance about them and that black tie has a certain style to it." Guy bobbed his head and curved his lips upward and pointed at Fred's hair. "I like the way you slick it back, knocks twenty years off you. It's the in-thing for young men, slicked back hair."

  "I do try to keep with it." Fred thrust out his chest. "Move with the youngsters despite the rough seas of time."

  "You'll help me, won't you?"

  "I don't know that I can."

  Guy fell to his knees. "I'm begging you."

  Fred looked down upon the kneeling man and the toilet bowl gurgled. "Are you sure you want this old man's help?"

  "I'm sorry for this mess. Sorry for wasting your time." Guy's voice dropped to a whimper. "Without you, I'm nothing."

  Chapter 160

  Renewed confidence pulsed through Fred's veins.

  Here was someone who needed him, needed his help. He still had something to offer, even if Guy didn't understand the true meaning of his request.

  A smile bloomed inside but Fred kept his face sullen. "Yes, Guy, we'll work together. Share everything. No secrets."

  Guy, still on his knees and crouched in a begging position, beamed, his head bobbing. Then his face changed, slow at first, until it morphed into a scowl. "What is Louise going to tell the police?"

  Fred glanced away. "I don't know."

  "Look at me!"

  Fred couldn't, could he? He forced his eyes to shift and held Guy's gaze for an instant. Then he began to blink. Fast. He couldn't control it.

  The toilet bowl gurgled then came an automatic flush. Water swirled with a loud sucking sound. Guy rose from his knees and sat on the bed. He was silent for a very long time. The toilet bowl gurgled again and a hardness came into his eyes.

  "I think Louise is seeing someone."

  Fred's mouth twitched down at the edges. "That's a spiteful thing to say about your wife!"

  "Said she visited her aunt on Wednesdays, but I don't believe her. She is having an affair."

  "Has she admitted that?"

  Guy shook his head. "I haven't asked."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm… not sure… don't want it to be true." Guy blew air between his lips. "And she has a new phone."

  "What's wrong with that?" Fred chuckled. "I update mine every year or so to keep up with the trends. What colour is it?"

  "Green."

  "That's all the rage these days amongst young women. Green shoes, green skirts, green hair." Ted recalled the bespectacled teenaged girl with gargoyle eyes and greasy spots that blighted his presentation at Tullie House Museum. Her hair was a dreadful pond slime shade. Then his mind went to her sharp-faced teacher — Freaky Pink. "That and pink tints. Those two colours are in right now. You've got to keep with it, Guy. Don't get long in the tooth. Don't get old before your time."

  "But Louise said the phone belonged to her gran."

  "There you are then." Fred couldn't help his chuckle. "Granny has it back by now and all is good in the old maid's world. Your Louise is a real treasure with a grandmother that is young at heart. I'd like to meet that woman."

  "She's been dead for ten years."

  Fred frowned and didn't speak for a moment. When he did, it was with a question. "Okay…. I see what you mean… Okay… Do you have any hard evidence?"

  "I… err… well—"

  "Good God man, you've sunk low attacking your wife, and Louise is with child! A child she has long wanted. You both have craved children, and now you put the baby's life at risk with this… this nonsense." Fred didn't want to shout, but he couldn't help himself. "You filthy rat! What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "Please, Fred, you must believe me. She is seeing someone else. He put her up to this. The bugger has turned her against me. We used to be so happy and now it's like an evil spirit has invaded her, invaded our life. I need your help. Please."

  Fred folded his arms. "Let's get one thing straight, I don't do rumours. I'm a lawyer, your lawyer and I only deal in facts."

  "Okay…okay."

  "So, what is this man's name?"

  "I don't know."

  "Where is he from?"

  "I…err…don't know that either." Guy's chest rose and fell in jerky breaths. "But Louise planned the break-in at Ash Antiques and wanted me to —"

  "What! Oh, come off it. Blaming Louise for your mess simply won't do."

  "But —"

  "Stop throwing sand in my face." Fred raised both hands. "Be grateful you have people like me in your corner. And Vicar Hume."

  "Vicar Hume?"

  "He is praying for you and sends his regards."

  Guy's eyes narrowed. "We don't go to his church."

  "Gives you more reason to be thankful then, doesn't it?" It was time, Fred told himself. Time to unload it all. "Look, Louise's statement isn't going to help. She will tell the police things about you… things that are not very nice."

  "Christ!"

  "Things that will make a jury shudder."

  "I must see her. Now!"

  "We shall have to wait, but as I am friends with both of you, this mess puts me in a tough spot." Fred blew air between his lips and the headache came back. "And there is the other matter."

  "What other matter?"

  Fred looked at the toilet bowl and he looked at the concrete floor and he looked at the metal panel on the wall. "Mr Trevor Gosbee has died and the police have matched your thumbprint to the dagger used in the attack."

  Chapter 161

  A thunderstorm pounded the police station in Newcastle that afternoon. Freezing pellets sent people fleeing from the streets. Fenella watched the solemn drumbeat hunched over a desk in a grey-walled room reserved for visiting officers. It was a large space full of boxes and files on bench tables, and old computers with blinking green screens. The damp air held the tang of a second-hand bookshop mixed with the fragrant aroma of microwave meals. A room of echoes, rattling pipes, and the constant creak of doors.

  "It don't look good, guv. Dexter moved to the window, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. Not with Goose dead and Mr Bertram's thumbprint on the knife. The news is all over the station. Triple murder is what I'm thinking for the bloke." He took a slow sip. "What did his wife have to say?"

  "I got strange vibes from the lass." Fenella leaned back in her chair, her fingers forming a steeple. "You get a feeling about a person. You know how it is? I may not have it all right, but I've still got the feeling. Mrs Bertram is hiding something. Not just from us — from herself."

  Dexter blew to cool his tea. "A bloke that knifes three people, strips one naked and breaks into the other bloke's place to steal stuff can't be right in the head. And then there is that owl in that birdcage and them twittering tweets on that tape cassette." He tapped the side of his head. "The lad ain't right, guv. Bet he tells us he had no idea what he was doing and gets some fancy Doc to agree with him."

  They fell silent. Dexter stared at the rain. Fenella tapped a finger on the desk. From somewhere in the cavernous room came the grumble of an ancient pipe.

  Fenella heaved a sigh. "Mrs Bertram is pregnant and the remains of last night's supper were on the table — curry and ale, wine and champagne. It was like a celebration."

  "Who celebrates before breaking into a place, guv? Who throws a party the night their hubby is tossed behind bars?" Dexter moved a hand slowly across his chin. "It's like one of them freak Greek monsters with many heads."

  Fenella enjoyed the Greek myths and had a grand time learning about them at school. "Are you talking about Cerberus?"

  "Aye, guv. That three-headed hound scared me half to death when I were a nipper. Them old-time Greeks reckoned the dog guarded the gates of Hell." He paused to take a long sip of tea. "It's like a warning, guv. Three heads, three deaths, three lives snuffed out." He bounced on the tips of his toes, warming to his idea. "That Bertram family has many heads, too. Ain't got no doubt there's more to their story than meets the eye. Whatever the truth, I reckon it is a grim tale. A right nasty one."

  Chapter 162

  Footsteps hurried from the hallway beyond a door on the far side of the room, but at first, Fenella thought little of it. She tapped a finger on the desk.

  "Maggie will join us for the interview." She was ready to get things started and for some reason, she repeated the words of her old mentor, Jack Croll. "We'll go nice and easy and slow. 'Don't be rushed or pushed about by anyone. That path leads to mistakes.'"

  "Aye, guv." Dexter spoke as if far away, his head moving in a slow shake. "Ain't no which way you look at it, it ain't going to turn out nice."

  Raindrops blurred the window.

  Fenella tilted her head from side to side to ease the growing tension. "Any news about Mrs Bertram?"

  "PC Raintree is driving her in. She didn't make a fuss and seemed eager to get it over with. Poor thing must be in shock. Hope it don't disturb the growing baby. Hope she has a confidante, a woman friend she can share this hell with." Dexter gazed through the broad window at the grey rain. "That thumbprint pegs her hubby. I reckon she'll tell us more about him now she's had time to think; tell us all we need to know to wrap it up with a nice bow."

  Footsteps clattered nearby, followed by the peal of a joyous voice.

  "That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Superintendent Veronica Jeffery skidded to a stop. She wore her full uniform. The brass buttons on her jacket gleamed. And she was smiling with a mouth full of canine teeth, her wolfish face red from exertion. "Wanted to congratulate you on our speedy result. A job well done, Sallow. A full confession would be the icing on the cake."

  Fenella blew out a sharp breath. "We've not signed the deal yet, ma'am."

  "No need to speak so loud, Sallow." Jeffery's eyes darted around the room. "Don't suppose either of you have seen… err… Chief Constable Rae? He said he would pop in to see how things were going. I wanted to update him on my… err… our progress."

  "Want me to fill you in?" Jeffery wasn't one for the weeds, but Fenella always asked. "Won't take long to give you a quick overview."

  Dexter grunted like he disagreed but said nothing.

  Jeffery's brow furrowed. "I suppose Chief Rae might ask about the man who died in the hospital. Yes, give me those particulars."

  Fenella took a breath. "Mr Trevor Gosbee was a homeless man from —"

  "Homeless!" Jeffery's nose wrinkled. "He lived on the streets?"

  "That's right, ma'am."

  "Any wife or children?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "A wandering drunk, no doubt." Jeffery snorted. "What about Mr Peter Quelch?"

  "He was known to us, ma'am." Fenella counted on her fingers. "Con man, supplying a controlled drug, blackmail, robbery with violence…"

  Jeffery groaned. "What about the other man?"

  "Mr Wilfred Ash, ma'am?"

  "Another vagrant, I take it?"

  "He owned Ash Antiques —"

  Jeffery raised both hands as if in thankful prayer. "Antique stores are a vital cornerstone of our community, Sallow. They preserve the cultural fabric of our history. Did this Mr…err… Ash have a wife, children, a beloved pet?"

  "A girlfriend, ma'am." Fenella knew where this was heading and massaged her neck muscles. "Dr Teresa Wychwood."

  "The television mystic?"

  Fenella said nothing.

  "Well… well…" Jeffery did a strange two-stepped shuffle, rubbing her hands. "Such a tragic loss for her and our community. I feel called to convey my condolences in person."

  "Thought you'd say that, ma'am."

  The corners of Jeffery's mouth tightened. "It is an unpleasant duty, but one I feel called to perform. It goes with the job."

  "You'll want to have a word with Mr Peter Quelch's girlfriend, too, eh?" Fenella didn't mention she had no idea who his girlfriend was and felt a pang of guilt for prodding the boss. "It's calling you too, I suppose."

  "A great leader knows how to share their burden. I'll leave that to you, Sallow." Jeffery bounced on the tips of her toes. "This will be big news when it breaks. National. A victory for efficient policing. A triumph for me… our… station. I shall tell Chief Constable Rae of our joint operation success. Of course, it was really Cumbria's doing under my hands-on leadership, not that I intend to take any credit."

  "No, ma'am." Fenella knew better but couldn't help herself. "You wouldn't want to snatch the limelight from those who are more deserving."

  Dexter cleared his throat, although it sounded like a warning.

  Jeffery stared hard at Fenella then her gaze flicked to Dexter and back to Fenella. "I shall organise a news conference with the Chief. No need for you to attend, Sallow. I want you and Dexter to mop up the details. "

  Fenella bit back a string of curse words. "Isn't it a bit early to toot the horn, ma'am?"

  "We have a significant suspect in custody."

  "But —"

  "Don't waste time chasing rabbit trails. If the thumbprint fits, you have to convict."

  "There is more to it than that, ma'am."

  Jeffery showed her teeth. "I'm giving you a choice. Wrap this up this evening or I will assign a detective who will. Now, which is it to be?"

  Chapter 163

  They poured into the interview room at three that afternoon: Fenella, Dexter, and Detective Constable Maggie Banville.

  Eager.

  Excited.

  Energised.

  And knowing without a conviction their days on the case were numbered. That's why Fenella expected trouble, but the fiasco began before the first syllable was spoken.

  And it began with Fred Lowe.

  The lawyer wore a tweed jacket patched at the elbows, a cream shirt with a jet-black tie. He leaned back in his chair, his face beaming with a strange keenness, eyes shining with the gleam of a kitten calling a mouse out to play.

  "Ah, the detectives are here at last."

  Fred glanced at his wristwatch, then reached into his jacket pocket and raked a comb across his bald spot. He dropped the comb back in his pocket and made small bouncing movements in his chair, like a boxer in the ring.

  There was no doubt the man was ready and prepped. A man eager to get started. But there was more to it than eagerness, preparation, and energy. Fenella's neck muscles tightened as she realised this was a man out to enjoy himself.

  A man out for sport.

  A man out for fun.

  A hunter out for the kill.

  She turned to glance at Dexter and saw in his crouched gaze that he saw the same things too. She hesitated, saying nothing, recalculating her approach.

  Fred's lips twisted into a professional smile. "Thank you for taking the time to stop by." Out came the comb again. He raked it across his hair and, once more, dropped it into his jacket pocket. The seat bouncing continued. "Get yourself settled. We are ready when you are. No rush. Is there, Guy?"

  Guy Bertram slouched at Fred's side and looked anything but ready. Deep lines streaked his face. Fenella stared hard, not quite sure if it was him. But it was Mr Guy Bertram, alright, the bloke they caught at Ash Antiques, except now he looked twenty years older. The harsh white overhead lights picked out flecks of grey in his long hair. It was his eyes she would always remember — two moist dots sunk deep into a dough-pale face that watched with the hopeless stare of the condemned.

  And for the first time, Fenella noticed the smell: the reek of bleach, the tang of sweat, the stench of fear. She marched to the table and fluttered into a chair.

  "Goodness, how time flies when you are busy! Nice to see you again, Mr Bertram, and this time without the mask."

  Guy hunched as if the fight were gone from him but said nothing.

  He's been told to keep his mouth shut unless he gets the nod. Fenella's heart sank, and her gaze flicked to Fred Lowe.

  He slapped a hand on the table. "We've been waiting almost two hours, Inspector Sallow."

  And Fenella knew then what she must do, but she didn't like it. Not one little bit. She flashed a friendly smile at the lawyer.

  "I like your jacket, luv."

  "My jacket?"

  "Tweed, isn't it?" Fenella turned to Dexter. "I hear tweed is coming back in fashion. All the rage on the Paris catwalk this year."

  "Aye, guv. My next suit will be tweed." He knew what she was up to and grinned. "Trousers too. And me socks."

 

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