Guy's eyes darted back to the door. He stared long and hard. Then he turned back to Fenella, his moist orbs flickering like light bulbs when the power grid can't take the strain. A calculation of sorts. Desperate and terrible, with nowt but nasty choices.

  Suddenly, his face sagged and his body went limp.

  Chapter 170

  "Louise… well… she asked me to break into Ash Antiques." Guy's lips turned down at the edges and he spoke soft and low, as if he didn't want to speak at all. "She told me the cherry wood box was in Mr Wilfred Ash's shop, told me where to find it, told me to check inside the box once I got my hands on it. That is when I realised one of my knives was missing. The knife that killed Trevor Gosbee." He exhaled through his nose and his voice trembled. "I think she has something to do with the… killings."

  From the doorway, Dexter grunted, like he didn't believe a word, like he thought it was nowt but a pack of lies, like he knew who the killer was and he was standing less than ten feet away from the bugger.

  Fenella tilted her head to one side. "Are you saying Louise had something to do with the fire at Le Petit Toon Café and the deaths of Mr Quelch, Mr Ash and Mr Gosbee?"

  A deep, slow breath filled Guy's chest. "Someone put her up to it. Some evil bugger has trapped her in their spell."

  "Who?"

  "Who do you think?"

  "Tell me."

  "Fred bleedin' Lowe. That man is a cunning devil. He tricked Louise into his bed, tricked her into helping him kill those men." His voice rose in a terrible sob. "Now I know the truth about that baby, I think he was planning to kill me, too."

  Chapter 171

  Fred stood outside the police station, watched the door slam shut and hesitated once more. What would Louise tell the vicar? He wanted to go back inside to eavesdrop, but time was short. He had to get back to his cottage to pack his bags ready for tonight.

  And Louise?

  Yes, Louise loved him.

  Yes, she was carrying his child.

  And, yes, she wanted to be his wife.

  A new life called out to him. He danced down the steps, unaware of the greying skies and hurried across the pavement, humming to himself. They'd marry within the year. His home was Plum Cottage from tonight. A chance to move on from the mistakes of the past and delight in the joys of the future.

  He moved faster, almost at a run. His heart ticked up a beat as he thought of the night ahead. Pleasure galore with a devoted and loving wife.

  In the garden.

  In the hallway.

  Steak and kidney pudding, oodles of bubbly and Bakewell tart.

  In the comfort of Guy Bertram's stout marital bed.

  Chapter 172

  Guy Bertram's breaths echoed in the quiet of the interview room.

  He hunched in the glare of the overhead lights, his moist eyes filled with sadness. Dexter blew a soft whistle, slouched to the table and eased into a chair. Maggie paced the wall by the door. Mr Locke's plump hand stroked his chin, the rasp echoing through the hushed room.

  "This takes things in a new direction." A grim sheen came to Fenella's face and with it, the words of her old mentor, Jack Croll: "It's the guilty buggers we want, not the poor sods caught up by happenstance." She knew now how it would turn out. Knew the miserable truth. She rubbed her temples. "Sheds a new light on the situation."

  "Don't look so depressed, Inspector Sallow." Mr Locke uttered the words with a victorious sneer. "My client has said from the start that he is innocent. Goodness, if you didn't pick him up last night, he might very well be lying on a steel trolley in the mortuary. You ought to be thankful that he is pointing you in the right direction." He glanced at his wristwatch and smiled. "I know I am."

  Fenella said nothing.

  Mr Locke cracked his knuckles. "It can't be helped if your theory about those dreadful murders is wrong. How were you to know that Mr Fred Lowe is in cahoots with Mrs Bertram?" He raised his index finger and nodded like a wise sage. "I'm no detective, but perhaps you should pursue that line of inquiry more fully before pointing your handcuffs at Mr Bertram." He laughed at his wit and wagged his finger. "And before that devious couple strike again. I'd start with Mrs Bertram. She'll be the first to crack."

  "Louise has nothing to do with this." Guy slammed a fist on the desk. "Keep my wife out of it!"

  Mr Locke ignored the outburst and snatched a glance at his wristwatch. "Let's hurry and get this over with. I'd like my client released in time for his dinner. This has been a waste of time, and that is a waste of the worst kind." Again, he stared at his wristwatch. "I room in a boarding house, you know. If I don't get home in time for dinner, it's cold pig trotters and pease pudding. I trust we shan't be much further delayed?"

  Fenella hung her head, mind whirring and hating what came next. She massaged her neck, her voice tired and small.

  "Since the discovery of Peter Quelch's body at the Popping Stone, I've been searching, searching…" She looked at Mr Locke with his shining face and she looked at those moist sad eyes of Guy Bertram and she looked down at the brown folder in front of her. "… searching for something… I don't know what…. A breakthrough."

  Mr Locke grinned. "And now you have it."

  Fenella said nothing, shaking her head.

  "Oh, come now, Inspector Sallow, you can't win them all." Mr Locke fiddled with his lime tie, then jabbed a finger. "You are going to bring Mr Fred Lowe in for questioning?"

  "Nah, pet. Let him have his beauty sleep." Fenella let out a long sigh. "Anyway, I'll never get him. I'll never peg Fred Lowe with those murders."

  Chapter 173

  It was almost all over.

  Guy Bertram's interview done.

  Mr Locke placed his hands flat on the table. "I'd like you to release my client. Of course, he will be happy to answer further questions after he has had a good night's rest in his own bed."

  "Just one more question if you don't mind, Mr Bertram." Fenella opened the brown folder and pulled out a photograph. "Do you recognise this person?"

  It was the snapshot of the woman clown with the frizzy wig. The photo from Mrs Gorman's boarding house of Louise Bertram. Fenella feared Guy would deny knowing that fact, but his response told her all she needed to know.

  "It's my Honeybird. It's Louise!" Guy leaned forward and fondled the image. "I remember when we took it. We weren't married then, but I knew she was the one for me. She hasn't changed one bit, has she?" He placed it flat on the table and smiled. "I got the same feeling about her as I have about screenwriting. It was meant to be, know what I mean?"

  Fenella picked up the photo and studied it. "Mr Bertram, you are one of a kind. You are really impressive. Screenwriter, eh? Not an easy road."

  Guy's face brightened and he came alive. "It takes a huge amount of talent to last in that game. Most leave after a few years, howling about their failure."

  "Not you, though?" Fenella caught Dexter's eye, and he nodded. He knew where this was going. Maggie stepped from the door. She, too, knew where this was heading. "Mr Bertram, you are a determined man."

  Guy's head bobbed. "I'm made of solid stuff. That's the key to the madness of making a living in screenwriting. And I'm an avid fan of the cinema. Writing for films is the best job in the world."

  "But you've not had anything made yet?"

  "Not a sniff, but it is a waiting game. I'm getting close to my big break. I can feel it in my bones." He was smiling now, eyelids lowered. "I'll send you tickets to the opening night. I'll sign them for you, too. They'll be worth a mint. Have you seen how much Charlie Chaplin memorabilia goes for? Put them in a glass frame to hang on your wall."

  Fenella nodded at the photograph. "You didn't ask?"

  His eyelids lifted and he stared at her. "Ask what?"

  "Where I found the photo of your wife."

  Guy shifted his weight. The chair creaked. He did not speak. Mr Locke looked on, as though in a deep trance.

  Fenella went on. "I found it in Mr Peter Quelch's boarding house." She smiled. "Do you know where it is?"

  "Why would I go to Peter Quelch's boarding house? No, I've never been there. Never been to any place where that man lived."

  Fenella twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "For a while there, I thought you'd give me a straight answer. Like you did about your thumbprint, the Misericorde dagger and your job in the circus — throwing knives and igniting fireworks."

  Guy stiffened. "Look, I've told you I knew Peter Quelch, but he was never more than a distant acquaintance, a face in the crowd. I've no idea where he lived." He slapped his hand on the desk. "I have never been to his boarding house. Never set eyes on his lodgings. Can I be any clearer?"

  "What about your wife?" Fenella leaned forward, her elbows planted on the table. "What about Louise?"

  "I've thought about that." Guy's body trembled. "Louise wouldn't look at a worm like Peter. The bloke was a rough, foul-mouthed, thug."

  "Some women go for that."

  "Not Louise. She goes for men with class, men with cash or the potential to earn big paydays. She'd never look at Peter."

  "Aye, that's what I thought." Fenella rubbed her neck with a weary sigh. "But it is about the money, isn't it?"

  A vein ticked in Guy's neck. "What money?"

  "Chasing the dream of screenwriting needs a pretty penny. You'd not find it easy as a circus hand. Working all those hours of the day and night, and having to perform, too. Work, sleep, and work some more. Throwing knives and lighting fireworks and goodness knows what else. So, you thought, 'I'll marry a rich lass and feast on her wealth.' Isn't that why you hung around Le Petit Toon Café all those years ago?"

  "You're crazy."

  "I hear you were a jobbing actor for a time. Your wife said you were quite good. Good at playing a role, eh?" Fenella held his gaze and smiled. "When you stumbled across Louise, you clung to the lass. Clung on with all your strength for her inheritance money."

  "I love her."

  "Then, after five years of marriage with no blockbuster film, Louise got twitchy and you got greedy." Fenella steepled her fingers. "And that is when you came up with your sly plan."

  "What? No, no — Inspector Sallow, no, no, no." Guy's moist eyes pleaded for understanding. "You've got it wrong. It's Fred Lowe you ought to be pestering. He's your man."

  "As sly as you are, and you are sly, you made a choir boy mistake." Fenella's neck muscles tightened. "Because you were blinded by greed."

  "That is ridiculous." Guy's lips twitched down, his face falling deeper into sadness. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

  "That you have the conscience of a sewer rat. That, along with your greed, is a terrible weakness."

  Guy's face transformed from sadness to rage. His eyes were nowt but pools of glistening dark. "This is…slanderous."

  Mr Locke jerked alert and cleared his throat. "Inspector Sallow, that is quite enough." He tugged at his lime tie. "Where is your evidence?"

  And that was the problem. The problem Fenella had wrestled with from the start. The problem that could still derail things.

  She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "Mr Bertram, I suppose he was blackmailing you?"

  "Who?"

  "Peter Quelch."

  "I hardly knew the man."

  Mr Locke spoke up, his voice coming from a great distance. "I fail to see the relevance of your line of questioning."

  Fenella ignored his outburst, waving it away with the flick of her hand. She took a shallow breath, her eyes fixed on Guy Bertram. "Did it ever occur to you that paying Mr Quelch to murder your wife would backfire?"

  "Jesus!" Guy tugged at a lock of hair. "What are you saying?"

  "That your sly little plan didn't consider that Mr Peter Quelch would turn around and blackmail you. He was a con man and a nasty piece of work, but not a cold-blooded murderer. That was your second mistake, and a big one." Fenella opened the folder and pulled out a slip of paper. "Mr Bertram, this is a photocopy found in Mr Quelch's lodgings; can you tell me what it is?"

  Guy stared for a fraction of a second. His face paled. He shoved the photocopy away, doubled over and gasped for breath.

  "What is it, Mr Bertram?" Fenella knew exactly what it was, and she knew exactly what it meant. "You seem to have had a nasty shock."

  "No, no." Guy spoke in a wheeze, his eyes glued on the photocopy. "No. No. No."

  Fenella tapped the photocopy three times. Nice and easy and slow. "It's an image of a Sudoku grid that I found in Mr Quelch's boarding house."

  "I've never been there." Again, came those pleading, moist eyes. "You must believe me."

  "I know, luv." Again, she tapped the photocopy. "But you recognise those numbers, don't you?"

  "You witch!"

  "It's your mobile phone number, pet." Fenella tilted her head from side to side. "You hired Peter Quelch to kill your wife. To lay in wait near the Popping Stone and strike her down. But he didn't do it, did he?"

  Guy said nothing.

  Mr Locke slumped back in his chair, his mouth open, but no words came out. He, too, was eager to see where this was leading. Eager to see how it would turn out.

  Fenella tapped a foot against the floor. "You must have had the shock of your life when Peter Quelch turned around and asked you for more money, else he'd go to the police. You knew his type, knew it wouldn't be the last payment. Is that why you lost it, Mr Bertram? Is that why you killed Peter Quelch with such vicious blows?"

  "Please, you make it sound like I'm a… monster. Stop twisting things to make me look bad." Guy glanced around, his eyes moist and sad. "I'm the victim here. I'm the innocent one."

  Fenella tapped a finger on the photograph and another on the photocopy. "You gave your wife's photo to Mr Quelch to make sure he got the right lass. And that is your handwriting on the back, isn't it?"

  Guy folded his arms and stared at the wall. "No comment."

  "We'll have the handwriting checked."

  "Please, no!"

  "Pardon?"

  Guy's breaths came fast, his chest heaving, nostrils flared. "Do it to Fred. Do it to Louise." He stuttered out the words, repeating them over and over. "Please do it to Louise. I'm the innocent one. It is all her fault."

  Fenella took her time now, her voice cautious, soft and mellow. "Tell us what happened. In your own words. No rush now, luv. No rush at all."

  Guy slumped forward, hands covering his face. He began to sing. Soft and sad and low.

  "O mio babbino caro…"

  Chapter 174

  When Guy's melodic voice fell silent, there was a strange stillness, as if the air had been purged and the dense fog which hovered over the case gone.

  Fenella touched Guy's arm. "It's time, Mr Bertram. Way past time."

  "I didn't want to kill Peter, but he wouldn't listen to reason."

  "How'd you mean, luv?"

  "He wanted more money without doing the job. He said if I didn't cough up, he'd tell Louise. Then he'd tell the police. The bugger had me by the short and curlies. I'll never forget his laugh." Guy's hands fell from his face. "I arranged to meet Peter at the Popping Stone. He thought he was getting his first payment. The roach wasn't laughing when he saw the glint of my blade." He squeezed his eyes closed. "It didn't take long to finish the job. Not long at all, really."

  Fenella leaned forward. She didn't want him dwelling on what he had done that night, didn't want him becoming suddenly cautious. She changed the subject. "Tell me about the owl you left in the birdcage in Mr Quelch's place in Newcastle."

  His eyelids lifted. "I'm Owl. The Owl. I made Louise tattoo me on her abdomen. It was her idea to add the birdcage to the tattoo. I didn't want that, didn't agree to it and we argued over it for months. I let her win; what choice did I have?" His eyes shone with a nasty gleam. "Plum Cottage is nothing but a bleedin' gilded cage. But The Owl can't be contained."

  "Is that why the cage door was open?"

  "You're a canny one."

  "And those bird noises?"

  He laughed and it wasn't nice. "They represent the non-stop twittering of Louise." He was grinning now and showing all his teeth. "You can take a man from the circus, but you can't take the circus from the man. I like a big top touch. It had a nice hint of showtime about it, don't you think?"

  Fenella bobbed her head, more to encourage him on than in agreement. "And let me guess, you killed Mr Trevor Gosbee because he was good friends with Mr Quelch and you reckoned he'd know about the deal?"

  "That's right." There was pride in Guy's voice, the pride of a small boy at the front of the class telling the teacher all the exciting things he did over the summer. "Goose stole my cherry wood box from the shed. I tracked him down to Newcastle, stripped him, searching for it, but he wouldn't talk. Not even with a knife jammed against his throat. I think he knew the truth."

  "What truth?"

  "That I planned to do away with him, no matter what he said." Guy held his head high. "Goose was a cockroach. The best thing for those bugs is the heel of a stout boot. But I got disturbed."

  "By who?" Fenella didn't want to break his flow, kept her voice soft, the words low. "Who disturbed you?"

  "A bloody bag lady!" A sheen of sweat rippled on Guy's forehead and his face turned ugly. "A hag in a brown dress pushing a shopping cart full of junk. I ran, don't think she saw me, but I left that bloody dagger stuck in the bugger's chest." He shook his head. "A stupid mistake."

  "And Mr Ash?" Fenella knew the answer but wanted it for the record. "Tell us about the antiques dealer?"

  "A couple of months ago, after an argument with Louise about money, I tried to sell my knives to raise funds for my script. The bugger offered to buy them at a bargain-basement price. The cheapskate!" Guy's face crumpled in bitter disgust. "All it would take was the police sniffing around and asking questions. I knew he'd remember me, remember my collection." His eyes glittered and he grinned. "The Misericorde dagger is a rather nice bit of kit, isn't it?"

  "And the break-in last night?"

  "When Louise told me Goose had sold my knives to Mr Ash, I knew it was curtains for me unless I got them back." His body trembled with rage. "I've been thinking and planning and getting ready."

 

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