All Passion Spent by Bergotte (red white royal blue .TXT) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
After the inquest, the funeral, and the reading of the will, the once strong family now seems to fall apart. Isabella seeks the company of Michael. He is devoted to his academic work as a psychology teacher in a sixth-form college and distracted by attractive students like nubile seventeen year old Lucy Banks. Paul gets involved with a blackmailing young dancer in London, spending more and more time away from home to avoid the pressure of the police investigation and that of his wife, Isabella. Margherita, a nurse at a local hospital, leaves husband Michael to stay with a friend Sally Stoneham. She meets Sally’s next door neighbour and forms a strange relationship with him. She does not even know his name. She calls him Jack. He calls her Jill.
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up with it.” “Don’t tell me what to do.” “Okay. My chief concern is with your son.” “What will happen to him?” “He’s being held in custody pending further inquiries.” “I can’t do anything for him.” “You could send him some money via his girlfriend. He also stole a car, which he crashed. So, even if he avoids a murder charge, which I think he will do, he will still face these other charges.” “I see. Will he go to prison?” “Perhaps, for a short time, because he’s never been in trouble with the police before.”
Whilst Gerrard was on his way home from Bristol he thought long and hard about Tommy Mattheson. How could a nineteen-year-old youth slip through the net like that. Why hadn’t social services picked him up? Why hadn’t Tommy put himself in care come to that? Now he had got himself in trouble and it was more than likely he would go to prison rather than a young offender’s institution. What a terrible waste of life for someone who was a good lad, but had been sorely let down by his mother and step-father.
When he stepped inside his front door Gerrard felt exhausted. He was also rather depressed. The investigation was proving much more difficult than he had anticipated and now for a brief interval he wanted to forget about it and clear his mind. Anna had invited him round for supper and then they would go together to see Michael Fellingham at nine o’clock.
Gerrard looked at his watch. Six thirty. He sat down and closed his eyes. Very soon he drifted into a deep but not dreamless sleep…
Meanwhile, Anna decided on what to cook and went to the kitchen to start the meal. She looked in cupboards to make sure she had all the necessary ingredients and took a few items from the fridge. Gerrard was due at seven thirty. She began to slice some onions and fry them gently in some olive oil whilst listening to some jazz emanating from a CD player in the living room.
She put some water on to boil and made some stock. She took down the rice container and carefully measured out what she thought would be enough for two people. She took her time. She was not used to cooking for two. She was not used to doing anything for two in her social life… not that she had much social life. Work took up most of her time. She put the rice in the pan with the stock and added some frozen corn. She turned down the gas and went to sit down for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. She was awoken by the sound of her doorbell and got up to receive her visitor. Gerrard was standing at the door. He was early but she did not mind.
“Come in,” she said amicably, “and make yourself at home.” Gerrard went into the living room after handing Anna his coat. She hung it in the hallway and followed her inside. “I’m doing risotto, sir,” she announced, “would you like to come and talk to me in the kitchen while I see to it.” Gerrard dutifully followed her into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “You can open a bottle of wine for us if you’d like some.” “Yes, is it in the living room?” “Over in the corner, in the cabinet. You’ll find a bottle of red,” answered Anna. “I see,” he called to her and set to work with the corkscrew, which he also found in the cabinet. He returned to the kitchen. “You like jazz do you?” he asked.
“I like all kinds of music including jazz. I’ve heard that you play the sax.”
“Yes, I play alto sax.”
“Do you play in a band?”
“I play with a band some times but I haven’t played in a band since my university days.”
They had finished eating and were drinking coffee when Gerrard said, “Now, before we go round to Michael Fellingham’s house, let’s go over the evidence again.” Anna consulted her notebook and reviewed everything they knew about the case. “Laura & Isabella Fellingham have arranged a meeting for 7.45 p.m at Sydney Gardens. At 7.15 p.m. Laura drives from her home between Farleigh Hungerford and Wingfield village, near Trowbridge, through the Limpley Stoke Valley down the A 36 Warminster road towards Bath. She parks her car at 7.32 p.m. in Sydney Place, on the left, just above the Holburne Museum of Art. As she crosses the road at 7.33 p.m. to go round to the main entrance of the park she is struck by a passing motorist, driving at speed in a yellow sports car. She is knocked down and badly injured. The driver does not stop but turns left and drives on towards Bath, but he is so shocked by what has just taken place that he abandons his plan to take the Lower Bristol road and drive to Keynsham. Instead, he turns left up Bathwick Hill and returns home to Claverton Down. Laura Fellingham lies unconscious, but only for a few seconds because Tommy Mattheson appears on the scene, who lifts her bodily and carries her into the park, through the side entrance and buries her behind some bushes covering her with leaves and twigs. He takes a watch, a mobile, some credit cards and £30 in cash from her handbag.”
“He runs away through the park. At some time within the next half-hour, she is struck on the back of the neck, at the base of the skull by Tommy or a person unknown. It is from this injury that she dies. Meanwhile Isabella has driven in the opposite direction from her house on Wellsway, over the Old Bridge and follows the A36 to Beckford Road where she parks on the left hand side of the road, not far from the main entrance to Sydney Gardens. She walked back to Sydney Gardens to wait for her mother at the main entrance to the park opposite Cleveland Bridge Road. Isabella had arranged with Michael to meet him after her showdown meeting with her mother and have dinner with him in a little bistro off Pultney Street, near Pultney Bridge. She waited until 8.15 p.m. then rang Michael who came himself by 8.25 p.m. They try phoning Laura but get no answer, and assume that her phone is switched off. They go off to eat. Paul F arrives home early from London, suspicious of his wife’s activities and goes to Pultney Street to confront Bella, however he is in anther restaurant and fails to meet either her or his brother.” Paul Fellingham is supposed to be away in London, but he himself has suspicions of his wife, having seen an e mail message on her computer about her dinner engagement with someone at 9.00 p.m. thought to be his mother in law, but possibly his brother Michael.”
“Now he has arrived home unexpectedly and gone to the bistro to find them. But they are not at the one he thinks. He eats alone and then walks along Pultney St wondering what to do next but eventually goes home. Isabella arrives home to be confronted by her husband Paul, but she is preoccupied by thoughts of her mother’s whereabouts. Paul tries phoning Laura Fellingham at her home, but gets no answer. He contacts Michael but he doesn’t know where she is. In the early hours of Sunday morning after phoning hospitals and friends they phone the police. On Monday morning just before 9.00 a.m. the body of Laura Fellingham is discovered by park gardeners in Sydney Gardens behind some bushes at a rubbish heap, whilst clearing leaves.”
Gerrard seemed happy with her summary. She smiled as she put away her notebook and prepared to leave. “We’ll take my car tonight as it’s outside. I’ll drive you. Are you ready to go?” “Yes, I’ll just lock the back door, grab a coat and we’ll be off, sir.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thursday, October 26: evening
Michael Fellingham was sitting at home, alone and unhappy, when the doorbell rang. He rushed to answer it, thinking that it might be Rita returning home, but changing his mind when he realised that she would use her own key to open the front door. He saw two strangers standing on the doorstep. “Good evening, sir. I am Detective Sergeant Rossi and this is Chief Inspector Gerrard. We’d like to talk you if we may.”
“Come inside,” said Michael. He led them to the sitting room and motioned to them to sit down. “My wife Margherita is not here at present. She’s a nurse on night duty.”
“When will she be back?” asked Anna, softly. She could see by the sorrowful look in his eyes that Michael Fellingham was very upset. “She won’t, at least not tonight. She left home today. She says it is for good.”
With these words he handed Anna the letter that Rita had left for him. Anna read it and without making any comment passed it to her superior officer. Gerrard leaned forward in his chair and looked into the downcast eyes of the man in front of him. Michael caught his gaze and looked up at the policeman. “Did it come to you as a great shock as the letter says?” Gerrard asked him directly.
“Yes and no,” replied Michael, “Rita is a very difficult woman. I thought that perhaps we could get through this crisis.”
“Was she aware of your close relationship with her sister?”
“Women have this sixth sense, I think. What comes as a shock is her saying that she never really loved me anyway. I thought she did. Anyway, why have you come to see me?”
“We came to see both of you. We need to know your movements on the night of your mother-in-law’s murder.”
“Murder?”
“Yes. We have good reason to believe she was killed deliberately, not accidentally as we were led to believe at first.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“Yes,” said Gerrard, in the hope that if he answered Michael’s question, Michael himself would be more forthcoming.
“How was she killed?”
“We don’t know exactly, but we think it was with a metal nail file,” Gerrard replied, carefully observing Michael’s reaction to this statement. The young man showed no signs of disquiet however. He said, simply, “I’ve got one and so has Rita. I used to use it a lot, because I play classical guitar and I needed to trim the nails of my right hand very carefully.”
“You don’t use it any more?”
“No, some years ago my teacher advised me to use emery boards. They are better for your nails.”
“Do you still have your file? We can then eliminate it from our inquiries.”
“Yes, it’s upstairs, I’ll fetch it,” replied Michael. He left the room. Whilst he was away Gerrard said, “What do you make of the letter?” Anna pointed out the spelling mistakes. “I don’t think she would have made a doctor if her spelling is that bad.” “You don’t have to be good at spelling to be a doctor do you?” replied Gerrard. “No, I suppose not but it does indicate a certain level of education.” “Perhaps,” said Gerrard, hearing his phone ringing in his pocket. He answered it and gave Anna the news. “Tommy Mattheson, that young man living rough, who moved Laura Fellingham has been brought back to Bath. He’s been put in the cells overnight. We can see him in the morning. I understand that he has some blood stained clothing. They’ve taken it from him and also his footwear. Forensics should be able to tell us more tomorrow.”
Michael Fellingham returned, handing the nail file to Anna. She took
Whilst Gerrard was on his way home from Bristol he thought long and hard about Tommy Mattheson. How could a nineteen-year-old youth slip through the net like that. Why hadn’t social services picked him up? Why hadn’t Tommy put himself in care come to that? Now he had got himself in trouble and it was more than likely he would go to prison rather than a young offender’s institution. What a terrible waste of life for someone who was a good lad, but had been sorely let down by his mother and step-father.
When he stepped inside his front door Gerrard felt exhausted. He was also rather depressed. The investigation was proving much more difficult than he had anticipated and now for a brief interval he wanted to forget about it and clear his mind. Anna had invited him round for supper and then they would go together to see Michael Fellingham at nine o’clock.
Gerrard looked at his watch. Six thirty. He sat down and closed his eyes. Very soon he drifted into a deep but not dreamless sleep…
Meanwhile, Anna decided on what to cook and went to the kitchen to start the meal. She looked in cupboards to make sure she had all the necessary ingredients and took a few items from the fridge. Gerrard was due at seven thirty. She began to slice some onions and fry them gently in some olive oil whilst listening to some jazz emanating from a CD player in the living room.
She put some water on to boil and made some stock. She took down the rice container and carefully measured out what she thought would be enough for two people. She took her time. She was not used to cooking for two. She was not used to doing anything for two in her social life… not that she had much social life. Work took up most of her time. She put the rice in the pan with the stock and added some frozen corn. She turned down the gas and went to sit down for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. She was awoken by the sound of her doorbell and got up to receive her visitor. Gerrard was standing at the door. He was early but she did not mind.
“Come in,” she said amicably, “and make yourself at home.” Gerrard went into the living room after handing Anna his coat. She hung it in the hallway and followed her inside. “I’m doing risotto, sir,” she announced, “would you like to come and talk to me in the kitchen while I see to it.” Gerrard dutifully followed her into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “You can open a bottle of wine for us if you’d like some.” “Yes, is it in the living room?” “Over in the corner, in the cabinet. You’ll find a bottle of red,” answered Anna. “I see,” he called to her and set to work with the corkscrew, which he also found in the cabinet. He returned to the kitchen. “You like jazz do you?” he asked.
“I like all kinds of music including jazz. I’ve heard that you play the sax.”
“Yes, I play alto sax.”
“Do you play in a band?”
“I play with a band some times but I haven’t played in a band since my university days.”
They had finished eating and were drinking coffee when Gerrard said, “Now, before we go round to Michael Fellingham’s house, let’s go over the evidence again.” Anna consulted her notebook and reviewed everything they knew about the case. “Laura & Isabella Fellingham have arranged a meeting for 7.45 p.m at Sydney Gardens. At 7.15 p.m. Laura drives from her home between Farleigh Hungerford and Wingfield village, near Trowbridge, through the Limpley Stoke Valley down the A 36 Warminster road towards Bath. She parks her car at 7.32 p.m. in Sydney Place, on the left, just above the Holburne Museum of Art. As she crosses the road at 7.33 p.m. to go round to the main entrance of the park she is struck by a passing motorist, driving at speed in a yellow sports car. She is knocked down and badly injured. The driver does not stop but turns left and drives on towards Bath, but he is so shocked by what has just taken place that he abandons his plan to take the Lower Bristol road and drive to Keynsham. Instead, he turns left up Bathwick Hill and returns home to Claverton Down. Laura Fellingham lies unconscious, but only for a few seconds because Tommy Mattheson appears on the scene, who lifts her bodily and carries her into the park, through the side entrance and buries her behind some bushes covering her with leaves and twigs. He takes a watch, a mobile, some credit cards and £30 in cash from her handbag.”
“He runs away through the park. At some time within the next half-hour, she is struck on the back of the neck, at the base of the skull by Tommy or a person unknown. It is from this injury that she dies. Meanwhile Isabella has driven in the opposite direction from her house on Wellsway, over the Old Bridge and follows the A36 to Beckford Road where she parks on the left hand side of the road, not far from the main entrance to Sydney Gardens. She walked back to Sydney Gardens to wait for her mother at the main entrance to the park opposite Cleveland Bridge Road. Isabella had arranged with Michael to meet him after her showdown meeting with her mother and have dinner with him in a little bistro off Pultney Street, near Pultney Bridge. She waited until 8.15 p.m. then rang Michael who came himself by 8.25 p.m. They try phoning Laura but get no answer, and assume that her phone is switched off. They go off to eat. Paul F arrives home early from London, suspicious of his wife’s activities and goes to Pultney Street to confront Bella, however he is in anther restaurant and fails to meet either her or his brother.” Paul Fellingham is supposed to be away in London, but he himself has suspicions of his wife, having seen an e mail message on her computer about her dinner engagement with someone at 9.00 p.m. thought to be his mother in law, but possibly his brother Michael.”
“Now he has arrived home unexpectedly and gone to the bistro to find them. But they are not at the one he thinks. He eats alone and then walks along Pultney St wondering what to do next but eventually goes home. Isabella arrives home to be confronted by her husband Paul, but she is preoccupied by thoughts of her mother’s whereabouts. Paul tries phoning Laura Fellingham at her home, but gets no answer. He contacts Michael but he doesn’t know where she is. In the early hours of Sunday morning after phoning hospitals and friends they phone the police. On Monday morning just before 9.00 a.m. the body of Laura Fellingham is discovered by park gardeners in Sydney Gardens behind some bushes at a rubbish heap, whilst clearing leaves.”
Gerrard seemed happy with her summary. She smiled as she put away her notebook and prepared to leave. “We’ll take my car tonight as it’s outside. I’ll drive you. Are you ready to go?” “Yes, I’ll just lock the back door, grab a coat and we’ll be off, sir.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thursday, October 26: evening
Michael Fellingham was sitting at home, alone and unhappy, when the doorbell rang. He rushed to answer it, thinking that it might be Rita returning home, but changing his mind when he realised that she would use her own key to open the front door. He saw two strangers standing on the doorstep. “Good evening, sir. I am Detective Sergeant Rossi and this is Chief Inspector Gerrard. We’d like to talk you if we may.”
“Come inside,” said Michael. He led them to the sitting room and motioned to them to sit down. “My wife Margherita is not here at present. She’s a nurse on night duty.”
“When will she be back?” asked Anna, softly. She could see by the sorrowful look in his eyes that Michael Fellingham was very upset. “She won’t, at least not tonight. She left home today. She says it is for good.”
With these words he handed Anna the letter that Rita had left for him. Anna read it and without making any comment passed it to her superior officer. Gerrard leaned forward in his chair and looked into the downcast eyes of the man in front of him. Michael caught his gaze and looked up at the policeman. “Did it come to you as a great shock as the letter says?” Gerrard asked him directly.
“Yes and no,” replied Michael, “Rita is a very difficult woman. I thought that perhaps we could get through this crisis.”
“Was she aware of your close relationship with her sister?”
“Women have this sixth sense, I think. What comes as a shock is her saying that she never really loved me anyway. I thought she did. Anyway, why have you come to see me?”
“We came to see both of you. We need to know your movements on the night of your mother-in-law’s murder.”
“Murder?”
“Yes. We have good reason to believe she was killed deliberately, not accidentally as we were led to believe at first.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“Yes,” said Gerrard, in the hope that if he answered Michael’s question, Michael himself would be more forthcoming.
“How was she killed?”
“We don’t know exactly, but we think it was with a metal nail file,” Gerrard replied, carefully observing Michael’s reaction to this statement. The young man showed no signs of disquiet however. He said, simply, “I’ve got one and so has Rita. I used to use it a lot, because I play classical guitar and I needed to trim the nails of my right hand very carefully.”
“You don’t use it any more?”
“No, some years ago my teacher advised me to use emery boards. They are better for your nails.”
“Do you still have your file? We can then eliminate it from our inquiries.”
“Yes, it’s upstairs, I’ll fetch it,” replied Michael. He left the room. Whilst he was away Gerrard said, “What do you make of the letter?” Anna pointed out the spelling mistakes. “I don’t think she would have made a doctor if her spelling is that bad.” “You don’t have to be good at spelling to be a doctor do you?” replied Gerrard. “No, I suppose not but it does indicate a certain level of education.” “Perhaps,” said Gerrard, hearing his phone ringing in his pocket. He answered it and gave Anna the news. “Tommy Mattheson, that young man living rough, who moved Laura Fellingham has been brought back to Bath. He’s been put in the cells overnight. We can see him in the morning. I understand that he has some blood stained clothing. They’ve taken it from him and also his footwear. Forensics should be able to tell us more tomorrow.”
Michael Fellingham returned, handing the nail file to Anna. She took
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