"I didn't hear that." Mr Locke tapped his wristwatch. "What did you say?"

  Again, Guy bobbed his head.

  Mr Locke leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. "Pardon?"

  A whisper from Guy. "Yes."

  "Please speak up." The solicitor's plump lips curved into a smug smile. "Loud enough for those kind detectives at the door to hear."

  "Yes, please." The words flowed from Guy's lips on a resigned breath.

  "I didn't hear that." Mr Locke craned his head as if he were hard of hearing. "What did you say?"

  Guy's hands went to his forehead. "Yes, please."

  Mr Locke opened his notebook, picked up a pen, and turned to Fenella. "What is this about?"

  "I'm investigating the murder of Mr Wilfred Ash—"

  "Eh! I was told this was a straightforward burglary case." Mr Locke snatched a glance at his wristwatch, then bit his fat lip. "Well, I suppose we had better get a move on else we'll still be here at dinnertime."

  Fenella turned to Guy Bertram. How many men had learned of their wife's adulterous affair while in a police interview room? How many had heard at the same time that their unborn child was from the seed of another man? A man acting as a friend and their solicitor?

  Like a father.

  Fenella glanced at the door. Dexter shook his head as if he, too, was mirroring her thoughts. Maggie looked on with a sad gaze. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Guy Bertram's world was on fire, his house burning down with no one racing to the rescue.

  Fenella opened the brown folder and took out a sheet of paper. She studied it for a moment, then showed it to Guy.

  "Is that your name?"

  "Yes."

  "And your date of birth is correct?"

  "That's right."

  "What about the address?"

  Guy studied it for a moment. "Yes. Plum Cottage is where I live."

  "And is that your mobile phone number?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you sure?"

  Guy glanced at the sheet a moment longer. "That's my phone number, that's my address, my date of birth and my name. It is all correct."

  Fenella turned to the lawyer and smiled. "I am also investigating the murders of Mr Trevor Gosbee here in Newcastle and Mr Peter Quelch in the village of Gilsland. I believe they are linked to the death of Mr Wilfred Ash."

  Mr Locke's egg-shaped head turned to stare at Guy. He pressed two fingers to his temple, blinking. "By Jove!"

  For several seconds, no one stirred. Breathlessness hung in the odorous air. The clatter of footsteps echoed from beyond the door. Heavy boots hurrying.

  Another sound came then.

  From within the room.

  Tiny at first and as soft as a whisper.

  Then it grew louder — the rattle and gasp of Guy Bertram's chest.

  "Please, someone help me." Guy shuddered out a sob. "Please, can't you see the truth?"

  "I suggest…" Mr Locke glanced at his wristwatch. His plump lips fluttered as he puffed out another sour breath. "… that we adjourn so I can consult my client. Any chance of a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate digestives?"

  Chapter 167

  Something caused Fred to stop on the steps outside the police station. He turned and stared at the entrance. Louise was inside, giving her statement in the stale air of a windowless interview room. What was she saying? Was she telling them about him?

  He tried not to listen to his plague of doubts.

  I trust her, don't I?

  He glanced around to make sure no one was about, then spoke to himself. Loud and proud. "I'm a winner. Best of the best. Today, I exorcise all doubts about my age and relish the day ahead."

  And his doubts?

  "Weeds. Nothing but poisonous weeds."

  He saw the flash of pink before he saw the black and instantly understood what had caused him to stop. Twenty yards away and moving fast towards him was Vicar Hume, in the black garments of a clergyman, with Miss Enid Singleton in a hooded pink trenchcoat. Both were looking at him, the vicar smiling, Miss Singleton grinning.

  And both were waving.

  Fred forced his lips into a confident smile. Big and broad and beaming from ear to ear. He waved back and waited.

  The vicar, plump faced flushed, paused at the base of the steps, then dashed up, two at a time with Miss Singleton a pace behind.

  "I heard the dark news." The vicar glanced around, lowered his voice, lips twisted into his signature hamster smile. "About Guy Bertram. Any updates?"

  Fred stared at the vicar's smile and he stared at Miss Singleton's grin and he turned to stare at the police station entrance. He let his smile twitch broader. "They are holding Guy for further questions."

  "Good God!" The vicar did a strange little dance, shuffling from foot to foot on the tips of his toes. "I must speak with Louise. Is she inside?"

  He didn't wait for an answer, his legs carrying him forward and through the entrance of the police station with Miss Singleton, still grinning, scurrying behind.

  Chapter 168

  The storm struck as Fred reached for the car door handle, and at the same time his mobile phone rang. He hesitated long enough for the first fat raindrops to splatter on his balding head. He jumped at the slap of cold rain and shuddered as the phone continued to ring.

  With a strong hand, he jerked open the car door and scrambled inside, panting and sweating and wondering how long it would take for Louise to give her statement.

  Brring. Brring. Brring.

  He settled into the driver's seat and cast an anxious glance at the phone.

  He knew the ringtone.

  Knew who was on the other end.

  It was Mrs Raleigh, the dour Scottish non-smoking office manager.

  He took his time, thinking of the night ahead with Louise. Then he exhaled a long sigh, hand trembling as he clicked it on.

  "Nice to hear your voice, Mrs Raleigh…. Both wearing shabby brown suits… I see… I see. No, I suppose there is no point me coming in… I'm sorry it has come to this… please don't cry… it's not your fault, not anyone's fault really… Supermarket cart attendant… I see… thank your cousin, but it won't be necessary…. Yes, yes, nor water closet engineer…so kind, but I've made other arrangements…. Yes, I'm sorry for Guy, too…Vicar Hume is here…heartbreaking… I'd better hurry…okay… I will… Goodbye Mrs Raleigh and good luck."

  Fred sat very still for a long while. When the rain eased and the sun broke out, he slid from his car and wandered back to the entrance of the police station. He stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering if he should go back inside.

  Chapter 169

  An hour later, they gathered once more in the interview room. Fenella and her team, along with Guy Bertram and his new lawyer.

  "My client and I are ready." Mr Locke dusted crumbs from the corner of his plump lips. His breath smelled sweet. Chocolate digestive sweet. He leaned back in his chair at the interview table. "Please begin."

  Fenella flicked a strand of hair from her face, glanced at Dexter and Maggie standing by the door, then placed a hand on the brown folder in front of her. "I hope Mr Bertram is going to cooperate."

  Mr Locke leaned further back, resting his arms on his bulging belly. "Fully." He glanced at his wristwatch with a contented sigh. "Think we will be finished well before dinnertime. And I must insist that a note of my client's cooperation be made for the record."

  Fenella turned to Guy. He cowered over the desk, back hunched, head tilted, face pale with his sagging gaze trained on her. His moist eyes were disturbing.

  Like a dog begging its cruel master not to beat it again.

  She tried to chase that thought from her mind, but the image was too vivid. "Mr Bertram, are you able to begin?"

  Guy gestured for her to continue with his hand, but no sound came from his lips.

  Fenella wanted to get him speaking, to get the words flowing, to get the truth out. First things first. "You wouldn't happen to own a Misericorde dagger by any chance, would you, Mr Bertram?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. An antique piece from my days on the road. Mint condition."

  "Valuable?"

  Guy's head bobbed. "It would go for a pretty penny to the right collector."

  "Where do you keep it?"

  "I used to keep it in the garden shed."

  "Used to?"

  "It… err… it seems to be missing."

  "Missing?"

  "I was looking for it only the other day, but it wasn't there."

  Fenella smiled. "You reported it to the police, of course?"

  "I…err… didn't think to do that." Guy returned the smile, although there was no joy in his upturned lips. "There is so much to do in a day that there is hardly time to breathe."

  "Screenwriting?"

  "That's right. It's a non-stop world of whirl — writing, editing, speaking with agents. It's go-go-go." He raised both hands, palms out. "I suppose I should have reported it missing, but I just didn't think that much about it."

  "Well, don't worry about that, Mr Bertram. I'm sure it will turn up." Fenella kept her tone light and friendly. "Last night you broke into Ash Antiques. Is that right?"

  Mr Locke snorted, slapping a plump hand on the table. "I find this line of questioning unnecessary. My client does not dispute that fact. Now, can we get on, or else we will be here when the midnight clock chimes?"

  Fenella ignored the interruption and kept her gaze on Guy. "Why did you break into Ash Antiques?"

  Guy looked at his lawyer and he looked at Fenella and he looked at Dexter and Maggie standing by the door. His gaze fell on the brown folder in front of Fenella. He opened his mouth as if there were much he wanted to say but closed it a moment later, hunched further over the table and did not answer.

  Fenella tapped a finger on the file. "Mr Bertram, we are waiting for your reply."

  Guy's jaw clenched and unclenched. His words came out with a glum sigh. "I…don't know."

  Fenella tilted her head to one side. "You can do better than that, pet."

  "I grew up in a children's home." Guy stared at his hands. "Fostered here and there and nowhere for very long. No one wanted me." His head hung low. "But Fred…he was like a father to me. The father I never had. The father I fell on my knees at bedtime and asked God to bring into my life. Dad never showed up when I was a kid. Not even on Christmas Day when I prayed and prayed and prayed. Thought things had changed over the past few years. They haven't, have they? I've never had a father. Never will."

  Fenella said nothing.

  Guy looked up, his moist eyes pleading. "I want to go home now. Go home to Plum Cottage. Just me and my Honeybird. Just me and my sweet Louise."

  From the door came a sniff. At first, Fenella thought it came from Maggie; then she changed her mind and thought it came from Dexter. Mr Locke scowled at his wristwatch, puffing air between his lips.

  Fenella spoke slowly, her voice a soft hum. "Tell me about your wife."

  "I should have sung to her."

  "I'm not with you, pet."

  "Sung to Louise in the morning. Sung to her at night." Guy rubbed his temples. "A lullaby at bedtime like you sing for a child to sleep."

  Another sniff came from the door. Dexter blew his nose.

  "I promised Louise, you see." Guy was smiling, his moist eyes in a faraway place. "Promised before we got married that I would sing to her. But I didn't keep my promise, did I? I only sang when the mood struck. I wish I had sung to her more often." He clutched his head with his hands. "Now it is too late."

  A hush fell over the interview room. Fenella tilted her neck from side to side. Dexter let out a soft sniff. Mr Locke tapped his wristwatch and raised it to his ear. He tapped it again and sighed. Maggie approached the table with a bottle of water and a fresh box of tissues. She placed both next to Guy and stepped back to the door.

  Fenella put her hands on the table, palms down. She wanted answers and she wanted them now and she wasn't prepared to wait a moment more. "Mr Bertram, why did you break into Ash Antiques?"

  Guy's head half-turned to stare at the interview room wall. "I'm a… err… a… thief. I couldn't help it. Stealing is in my blood. It's what I do… did before I met my Honeybird…before I met Louise." His voice crackled. "This mess is all my fault."

  Fenella stood, paced the length of the room and sat back down at the table. "Was it your idea?"

  His head snapped to look directly at her. "I work alone."

  "Oh, come on, luv. Who else is involved?" Fenella tapped her finger slowly on the table. "Your wife?"

  "My client has made himself clear, Inspector Sallow." Mr Locke shifted his weight. "Please move on."

  Fenella nodded once at Guy, a slow, deliberate motion. "Did you know Peter Quelch?"

  "Yes."

  "What about Trevor Gosbee?"

  "I knew him too. But—"

  "And Wilfred Ash?"

  With each question, Guy's shoulders hunched further, as if bracing for a coming storm. "Yes, I knew him."

  Fenella crossed her arms. Something wasn't right but she couldn't put her finger on it. She pressed on. "And you fell out with each man, didn't you?"

  "Find a bloke who didn't fight with them." A sad smile kissed Guy's lips. "I'm not being disrespectful of the dead, but they weren't easy to get along with. Every other word that passed through their lips was a lie. Every story bigger than the truth. You know the type."

  "Why did you fall out with them?"

  "Different reasons." Guy rubbed his temples. "I wish I could remember, but I don't."

  "Try."

  "They were petty men, every one of them. Always arguing. Always complaining. Always fighting over something silly."

  "How'd you mean, luv?"

  "I dunno. Stupid things like which dog would pee the highest on some gnarled oak tree. Nothing grows into something in the hands of such men. Arguments and fights sprout like weeds." He rubbed a palm over his right eye and sighed. "Me? I forget about it and move on. Too many weeds to remember. Whatever we fell out over is long in the past, not something I dwell on or stew over. Life is too short, isn't it?"

  Fenella opened the brown folder and took out a photograph. "Do you know what that is?"

  Guy looked at it for a moment and nodded. "An ivory-handled dagger."

  "It is the knife that killed Trevor Gosbee." Fenella tapped a finger on the photo. "How do you explain your thumbprint on it?"

  "I think it is my dagger."

  "Think?"

  "One of my knives is missing from the cherry wood box I…err…stole from Ash Antiques. That knife looks like it. It is mine; I'm certain."

  Things were falling into place, but Fenella didn't like the shape of the puzzle. "How did your cherry wood box end up at Ash Antiques?"

  Guy's hand went to his chin. His index finger drummed against his lower lip. "I don't know."

  "Thought you'd say that, luv." Fenella smiled in understanding. It was all coming together now. "Not to worry, pet. Let me help you. Someone told you it was there, didn't they?"

  Guy said nothing.

  Fenella rested her elbows on the table. "Who are you protecting, Mr Bertram?"

  Guy's lips compressed. He looked away.

  "Are you protecting your wife?"

  "Keep her out of this."

  Fenella knew now, and another major piece of the puzzle slotted into place. "That shed at the bottom of your garden."

  Guy's eyes became dark pools of worry. "What about it?"

  "You kept your cherry wood box in the place, right?"

  "Yeah… but no one knew about it except Louise…" His voice trailed off and his lips snapped shut.

  Fenella changed direction. "Did you work in the circus, Mr Bertram?"

  Guy's eyes narrowed. "How the hell do you know that?"

  Fenella smiled. "What did you do in the circus?"

  "Odd-job man."

  "Is that all?"

  "Pretty much."

  "And your nickname?"

  His eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second before snapping back to meet Fenella's gaze. "I didn't have one."

  "Now, now, Mr Bertram, you know that isn't true. Does 'Owl' ring a bell?"

  Guy swallowed hard. "God, you are dangerous. The way you twist things and make them sound bad."

  Fenella ignored his outburst and rested a hand on the brown folder. "Why Owl, Mr Bertram?"

  He clasped his hands. "I don't know."

  Mr Locke leaned forward, the chair groaning under his weight. He sighed, the sweetness of digestive biscuits and tea on his breath. "My client does not have perfect recall. In the interests of time, please move on."

  It was time for Guy to see the truth. For the moist-eyed man to understand how deep the hole was. Fenella held Guy's gaze and spoke in a cold tone. "Did you also work as a knife thrower?"

  His knuckles whitened. "I can't believe Louise told you about that!"

  "Mrs Bertram also mentioned you are an expert in firework explosions." Fenella kept her lips curved in a friendly smile. "Is that true?"

  Guy's breathing grew heavy, but he said nothing.

  Fenella didn't like the theory she was forming. Not one bit. But all the evidence pointed one way. It was time to shake the man up to get his lips flapping like rags in the breeze.

  She massaged her neck, then spoke loud and clear to hide the doubt now pounding in her chest. "Did you cause the fire at Le Petit Toon Café?"

  Guy's face flushed and he sat erect. "I thought it was an accident." His eyes widened. "What the hell are you trying to pin on me?"

  "Did you kill Mr Wilfred Ash?"

  "Jesus!" He slapped a hand on the table. "No."

  "Did you kill Mr Trevor Gosbee?"

  "No."

  "Did you kill Mr Peter Quelch?"

  Guy's eyes flicked towards the door, a fleeting spark of hope crossing his features before he turned back to face Fenella's inquisitive gaze. Slowly, his left hand moved to his neck, fingers tugging at the collar.

  "Oh Christ… I… know how it looks, but you are not looking at it right."

  "How so, Mr Bertram?" Fenella kept it brief, sensing the man was on edge and about to crack. "Explain what you mean."

 

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