All Passion Spent by Bergotte (red white royal blue .TXT) đź“•
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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it, put it in a small bag she had taken out and put it in her handbag. “Thank you,” she said.
“Now, what else do you want to know?” asked Michael.
“Where were you on the Saturday evening in question?” continued Gerrard.
“I met Bella in Bath,” replied Michael.
“When we asked Isabella, she said she was with her husband and then changed her story. Now can you account for your movements on the evening in question with some specific times please?”
“I’ll do my best. I arrived in the city by bike at about 7.30. I locked the bike in the cycle racks at the Podium, opposite the main post-office, turned the corner and walked along Pultney Street. I intended to see Bella at the main entrance to Sydney Gardens, without her or her mother seeing me. However, before I got there I had a call on my mobile from Bella, saying her mother had not arrived yet. I went to the restaurant and waited for her.” “Did you know that Paul was also in the city at that time?” “No, was he?”
Gerrard made no reply. “Where was your wife on that Saturday night?”
“She was on night duty at the hospital,” replied Michael.
“We have checked with the hospital already. She was on duty from eight o’clock onwards but she did not arrive at the hospital until the stroke of eight o’clock.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. But, yes, that’s when her shift starts. She might have been delayed in traffic. She never mentioned it to me. You will have to ask her about it.”
“What time did you leave home?” asked Gerrard.
“At about half past six.”
“Did you tell your wife where you were going?”
“I told her I was going to cycle into the city and that I would probably meet up with some colleagues from college who usually go for a drink together in Bath on Saturday nights.”
“But you didn’t go there?”
“No.”
There was a pause whilst Gerrard looked closely at Michael as he struggled to find words. Eventually, he said in a very quiet voice, “Margherita and I have an understanding. There are times when I need to get away, get out of the house and be quite alone. She suffers from mood swings and these affect me.”
“Is this a serious condition?” asked Gerrard, showing a concern for the troubled young man.
“Yes, her mood swings between being very talkative, overactive and impulsive to being morose, withdrawn, and on occasions, depressed.”
Gerrard recognised this as manic depression, but he made no comment. He did not want to alarm Michael. He then thought that as a psychology teacher he would surely know that his wife had this condition, but he did not want to refer to it by name. If Michael wanted to bring the subject up he would do so. “Anything else you would like to mention?”
“Her sleep patterns are frequently disturbed, and sometimes she may go for several days at a time without sleep. This does not seem to bother her. In fact, I am more upset by it than she is. I must tell you that when she is quite happy and full of energy she doesn’t really understand the effect that her behaviour has on other people.”
“What sort of behaviour?”
“She makes over ambitious plans. They never get carried out. For example, she’ll have a grand idea to travel to an exotic holiday resort.”
“Does she ever become aggressive?” asked Gerrard.
“Not in my experience, no,” answered Michael.
“What you are describing is a condition of psychosis, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Has your wife ever received any treatment for her condition?”
“Yes. She has undergone some form of psychological therapy for psychosis. It’s a kind of what’s known as cognitive behaviour therapy. She sees a therapist who tries to get her to examine the evidence for her distorted beliefs. Then, with the help of her therapist, she considers various alternative explanations of her experiences. The point is to increase her understanding of her symptoms and their cause. The aim is that even though the symptoms persist, she may more easily tolerate them.”
“Are the hospital authorities aware of her condition?” “Yes.”
“Does her condition affect her work?”
“Not adversely, no.”
“What do you mean?”
“Going without sleep helps if you are on night duty.”
“Does she do a lot of night duty?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you Mr Fellingham, you have been very helpful,” said Anna.
“Is that all?”
“For the time being, yes,” said Gerrard rising from his chair. He could see that Michael was relieved that the interview was over. The psychology teacher escorted the two police officers to the door where they said goodnight and took their leave.
“What do you think?” Gerrard asked Anna as they drove away from the house. “I’m still thinking about it all.” “There’s a pub at the bottom of the hill here,” said Gerrard pointing in the direction of the main road back to Bath, “do you fancy a drink and a chat?” “Yes sir.” Anna pulled into the car park and the two entered the lounge bar. After settling down with their drinks Gerrard asked Anna once again for her thoughts.
“From what we know so far, Tommy Mattheson has to be our number one suspect. I don’t believe he did murder Laura Fellingham, because he had little or no motive. However, on the evidence we have, the facts as we know them, there is a prima facie case against him. My working hypothesis is that Phil Dickinson knocked down Laura Fellingham, Tommy Mattheson then removed her unconscious body into Sydney Gardens where he opened her handbag and rifled through it. He found watch, phone, credit cards and cash, which he stuffed into his pockets. Laura Fellingham started to regain consciousness. Tommy panicked, saw the nail file in her bag and plunged it into her neck leaving her dead, or to die of her wounds. He ran from the park out of the main entrance, where Isabella Fellingham saw him. He went to the pub up the road where he tried to sell the watch, but because it had been broken when Laura Fellingham was knocked down, nobody wanted to buy it. Tommy Mattheson left the pub and went to his temporary accommodation in Twerton. What do you think of my hypothesis sir?”
“I think your analysis of the events of that Saturday evening is splendid. There are two outstanding problems. There ought to be a definite blood spatter on somebody inflicting an injury with a nail file on a person’s neck and killing her. If the forensic report shows that there are bloodstains on Tommy Mattheson’s clothing but no blood spatter I think he’s in the clear. Obviously, we depend on what the forensic team says. That’s the first problem, the second is this, if Laura Fellingham was thrown across the road by the car and sustained the injuries which the police surgeon’s report describes she would never regain consciousness until much later, if at all. But again, we need to seek the medics’ advice.”
“What are your thoughts on what happened, sir?” “I don’t have a very different explanation of events to the one you’ve given, Anna. I have more questions. One of the most important, which we must ask tomorrow morning is, did Tommy Mattheson know Laura Fellingham? In other words is there any link between these two people, however tenuous, that gives him a motive for killing her. And if Tommy Mattheson denies any previous knowledge of Laura Fellingham do we believe him? Should we dig into his personal life and try and find something, or would this be an entirely fruitless inquiry? He came from the Bristol area to Bath quite recently, so it’s not that probable that he knew her.” Gerrard had at the back of his mind, a suspicion that if he spent time on that particular avenue of inquiry he would have Tresillian breathing down his neck, accusing him of wasting police resources. Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Perhaps he should have asked the relevant questions when he visited Tommy’s school and spoke to his mother earlier in the day. A phone call could put that right though. Anna drove her boss home and was glad to get home herself.
Michael was on the verge of calling Isabella when his telephone rang. He put the receiver to his ear and heard her familiar voice. “I was afraid that Paul would answer if I called you at home. I then thought of getting you on the mobile, but you still might be questioned by Paul.” “I’m at my mother’s house,” said Bella, “I’ve still got a business to run.”
“I’ve had the police round here.” “When?” “They left a few minutes ago.” “What did they ask you?” “They wanted to know my movements on Saturday night. Your mother was murdered not just knocked down by a car.” “Murdered! How?” “They think it was with a metal nail file,” said Michael calmly, simply repeating what the police had told him. “Have they got any suspects?” “They say they have but they didn’t elaborate.” “I’m going to do a bit of investigating myself… going to go through all our accounts to see if she owed money to anyone or if there is a disgruntled customer out there somewhere…” “…who would commit murder?” asked Michael, finishing the sentence for her. “Stranger things have happened,” said Bella, defensively. “They also told me that Paul was in the area on Saturday night.” “In Sydney Gardens?” “They didn’t specify, but he must have been checking up on us.” “Yes, but he hasn’t said anything to me about it. He only knows I was supposed to be meeting my mother last Saturday.” “He knew that I was meeting you,” said Michael. “Yes, we talked about it this afternoon. I admitted to him that I was seeing you. I said that there has not been any sexual relationship.” “Fair enough. He must be very angry all the same to think that his brother has been deceiving him.” “Yes, but he has been deceiving me.” “Has he?” “Yes, and you have been deceiving Rita.” “Yes, but she’s gone. She left today, leaving a letter that told me she was not coming back.”
“I want to see you as soon as possible.” “Do you think that is wise under the circumstances?” “Yes, as I said, I want to see you as soon as possible. Have you any free time?” “It just happens that I will be free tomorrow afternoon. There’s a career lecture on for all my students and thankfully I don’t have to attend, so I will leave college at lunchtime, one o’clock.”
“I’m going to the inquest tomorrow morning. So, if I come over to Bathford in the afternoon, at half past two, usual place, we can go for a walk together.” “Yes, that sounds fine to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Until tomorrow.”
Isabella replaced the receiver and sat back in her chair. So, mother was murdered, she thought. Our relationship may have been strained to breaking point recently but she didn’t deserve to be murdered, did she?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Friday, October 27: morning
The custody sergeant looked in through the cell window to see the face of a youth who lay stretched out on the narrow bed, fast asleep. He unlocked the door and entered. The sound of his key in the lock had woken the occupant, who now looked up rubbing his eyes, obviously wondering where he was. “I’ve brought you some tea and a bite to eat,” said the policeman in a friendly voice. The youth mumbled his thanks and turned over
“Now, what else do you want to know?” asked Michael.
“Where were you on the Saturday evening in question?” continued Gerrard.
“I met Bella in Bath,” replied Michael.
“When we asked Isabella, she said she was with her husband and then changed her story. Now can you account for your movements on the evening in question with some specific times please?”
“I’ll do my best. I arrived in the city by bike at about 7.30. I locked the bike in the cycle racks at the Podium, opposite the main post-office, turned the corner and walked along Pultney Street. I intended to see Bella at the main entrance to Sydney Gardens, without her or her mother seeing me. However, before I got there I had a call on my mobile from Bella, saying her mother had not arrived yet. I went to the restaurant and waited for her.” “Did you know that Paul was also in the city at that time?” “No, was he?”
Gerrard made no reply. “Where was your wife on that Saturday night?”
“She was on night duty at the hospital,” replied Michael.
“We have checked with the hospital already. She was on duty from eight o’clock onwards but she did not arrive at the hospital until the stroke of eight o’clock.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. But, yes, that’s when her shift starts. She might have been delayed in traffic. She never mentioned it to me. You will have to ask her about it.”
“What time did you leave home?” asked Gerrard.
“At about half past six.”
“Did you tell your wife where you were going?”
“I told her I was going to cycle into the city and that I would probably meet up with some colleagues from college who usually go for a drink together in Bath on Saturday nights.”
“But you didn’t go there?”
“No.”
There was a pause whilst Gerrard looked closely at Michael as he struggled to find words. Eventually, he said in a very quiet voice, “Margherita and I have an understanding. There are times when I need to get away, get out of the house and be quite alone. She suffers from mood swings and these affect me.”
“Is this a serious condition?” asked Gerrard, showing a concern for the troubled young man.
“Yes, her mood swings between being very talkative, overactive and impulsive to being morose, withdrawn, and on occasions, depressed.”
Gerrard recognised this as manic depression, but he made no comment. He did not want to alarm Michael. He then thought that as a psychology teacher he would surely know that his wife had this condition, but he did not want to refer to it by name. If Michael wanted to bring the subject up he would do so. “Anything else you would like to mention?”
“Her sleep patterns are frequently disturbed, and sometimes she may go for several days at a time without sleep. This does not seem to bother her. In fact, I am more upset by it than she is. I must tell you that when she is quite happy and full of energy she doesn’t really understand the effect that her behaviour has on other people.”
“What sort of behaviour?”
“She makes over ambitious plans. They never get carried out. For example, she’ll have a grand idea to travel to an exotic holiday resort.”
“Does she ever become aggressive?” asked Gerrard.
“Not in my experience, no,” answered Michael.
“What you are describing is a condition of psychosis, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Has your wife ever received any treatment for her condition?”
“Yes. She has undergone some form of psychological therapy for psychosis. It’s a kind of what’s known as cognitive behaviour therapy. She sees a therapist who tries to get her to examine the evidence for her distorted beliefs. Then, with the help of her therapist, she considers various alternative explanations of her experiences. The point is to increase her understanding of her symptoms and their cause. The aim is that even though the symptoms persist, she may more easily tolerate them.”
“Are the hospital authorities aware of her condition?” “Yes.”
“Does her condition affect her work?”
“Not adversely, no.”
“What do you mean?”
“Going without sleep helps if you are on night duty.”
“Does she do a lot of night duty?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you Mr Fellingham, you have been very helpful,” said Anna.
“Is that all?”
“For the time being, yes,” said Gerrard rising from his chair. He could see that Michael was relieved that the interview was over. The psychology teacher escorted the two police officers to the door where they said goodnight and took their leave.
“What do you think?” Gerrard asked Anna as they drove away from the house. “I’m still thinking about it all.” “There’s a pub at the bottom of the hill here,” said Gerrard pointing in the direction of the main road back to Bath, “do you fancy a drink and a chat?” “Yes sir.” Anna pulled into the car park and the two entered the lounge bar. After settling down with their drinks Gerrard asked Anna once again for her thoughts.
“From what we know so far, Tommy Mattheson has to be our number one suspect. I don’t believe he did murder Laura Fellingham, because he had little or no motive. However, on the evidence we have, the facts as we know them, there is a prima facie case against him. My working hypothesis is that Phil Dickinson knocked down Laura Fellingham, Tommy Mattheson then removed her unconscious body into Sydney Gardens where he opened her handbag and rifled through it. He found watch, phone, credit cards and cash, which he stuffed into his pockets. Laura Fellingham started to regain consciousness. Tommy panicked, saw the nail file in her bag and plunged it into her neck leaving her dead, or to die of her wounds. He ran from the park out of the main entrance, where Isabella Fellingham saw him. He went to the pub up the road where he tried to sell the watch, but because it had been broken when Laura Fellingham was knocked down, nobody wanted to buy it. Tommy Mattheson left the pub and went to his temporary accommodation in Twerton. What do you think of my hypothesis sir?”
“I think your analysis of the events of that Saturday evening is splendid. There are two outstanding problems. There ought to be a definite blood spatter on somebody inflicting an injury with a nail file on a person’s neck and killing her. If the forensic report shows that there are bloodstains on Tommy Mattheson’s clothing but no blood spatter I think he’s in the clear. Obviously, we depend on what the forensic team says. That’s the first problem, the second is this, if Laura Fellingham was thrown across the road by the car and sustained the injuries which the police surgeon’s report describes she would never regain consciousness until much later, if at all. But again, we need to seek the medics’ advice.”
“What are your thoughts on what happened, sir?” “I don’t have a very different explanation of events to the one you’ve given, Anna. I have more questions. One of the most important, which we must ask tomorrow morning is, did Tommy Mattheson know Laura Fellingham? In other words is there any link between these two people, however tenuous, that gives him a motive for killing her. And if Tommy Mattheson denies any previous knowledge of Laura Fellingham do we believe him? Should we dig into his personal life and try and find something, or would this be an entirely fruitless inquiry? He came from the Bristol area to Bath quite recently, so it’s not that probable that he knew her.” Gerrard had at the back of his mind, a suspicion that if he spent time on that particular avenue of inquiry he would have Tresillian breathing down his neck, accusing him of wasting police resources. Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Perhaps he should have asked the relevant questions when he visited Tommy’s school and spoke to his mother earlier in the day. A phone call could put that right though. Anna drove her boss home and was glad to get home herself.
Michael was on the verge of calling Isabella when his telephone rang. He put the receiver to his ear and heard her familiar voice. “I was afraid that Paul would answer if I called you at home. I then thought of getting you on the mobile, but you still might be questioned by Paul.” “I’m at my mother’s house,” said Bella, “I’ve still got a business to run.”
“I’ve had the police round here.” “When?” “They left a few minutes ago.” “What did they ask you?” “They wanted to know my movements on Saturday night. Your mother was murdered not just knocked down by a car.” “Murdered! How?” “They think it was with a metal nail file,” said Michael calmly, simply repeating what the police had told him. “Have they got any suspects?” “They say they have but they didn’t elaborate.” “I’m going to do a bit of investigating myself… going to go through all our accounts to see if she owed money to anyone or if there is a disgruntled customer out there somewhere…” “…who would commit murder?” asked Michael, finishing the sentence for her. “Stranger things have happened,” said Bella, defensively. “They also told me that Paul was in the area on Saturday night.” “In Sydney Gardens?” “They didn’t specify, but he must have been checking up on us.” “Yes, but he hasn’t said anything to me about it. He only knows I was supposed to be meeting my mother last Saturday.” “He knew that I was meeting you,” said Michael. “Yes, we talked about it this afternoon. I admitted to him that I was seeing you. I said that there has not been any sexual relationship.” “Fair enough. He must be very angry all the same to think that his brother has been deceiving him.” “Yes, but he has been deceiving me.” “Has he?” “Yes, and you have been deceiving Rita.” “Yes, but she’s gone. She left today, leaving a letter that told me she was not coming back.”
“I want to see you as soon as possible.” “Do you think that is wise under the circumstances?” “Yes, as I said, I want to see you as soon as possible. Have you any free time?” “It just happens that I will be free tomorrow afternoon. There’s a career lecture on for all my students and thankfully I don’t have to attend, so I will leave college at lunchtime, one o’clock.”
“I’m going to the inquest tomorrow morning. So, if I come over to Bathford in the afternoon, at half past two, usual place, we can go for a walk together.” “Yes, that sounds fine to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Until tomorrow.”
Isabella replaced the receiver and sat back in her chair. So, mother was murdered, she thought. Our relationship may have been strained to breaking point recently but she didn’t deserve to be murdered, did she?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Friday, October 27: morning
The custody sergeant looked in through the cell window to see the face of a youth who lay stretched out on the narrow bed, fast asleep. He unlocked the door and entered. The sound of his key in the lock had woken the occupant, who now looked up rubbing his eyes, obviously wondering where he was. “I’ve brought you some tea and a bite to eat,” said the policeman in a friendly voice. The youth mumbled his thanks and turned over
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