Death at Rainbow Cottage by Jo Allen (novel24 TXT) 📕

When he came in, she looked up. ‘You were at the post-mortem?’

He nodded. He must be getting old. There had been a time, not so long ago it seemed, when he could get by on a few hours’ sleep, but there had been too many late nights recently. ‘Yes. I was just heading home, but I thought I’d stop by and update you.’

‘I’m glad you did. There’s something I want to ask you.’ Silence hovered between them and she reached out for the other half of the Double Decker, peeling down the packet and looking at it thoughtfully. ‘I think I can guess how it went. Exactly the same as Len Pierce. Am I right?’

‘Yes. A single blow to the heart from a knife. A kitchen knife. Blade six inches. Red plastic handle. One of a set.’

She jumped up, crossed to the door and switched on the light. ‘You’ve found it, then?’

‘Yes. And from what I understand there’s every indication that it’s the same knife that killed Len Pierce.’

‘Where was it?’

‘In a bin on King Street, just outside Lloyds Bank. It was wrapped in a man’s overcoat. The bin caught fire last night, while we were securing the churchyard, and someone living in the flat over the road put a bucket of water on it because they thought it must be vandals, and we had enough on our plate so that they didn’t need to bother us. The guys found it last night and sent it off to the lab.’

‘I know you shouldn’t curse a good citizen, but sometimes I can’t help myself. What time was that?’

‘The fire was about seven, I think. They found the knife late last night.’ He could understand her frustration, had felt just as impotent at the valuable information that would have been lost to flame and water when Doddsy had broken the news to him. ‘Just when everything was kicking off. It wasn’t a big fire, by any means. The coat had been shoved right down and there wasn’t a lot of smother from it. It had pretty much burned itself out by the time they got there.’

‘Has it gone off for analysis?’

‘It’s at the lab now. And the coat looks as if came from a charity bag. There were some open bags in the doorway of one of them.’ Now, at least, they knew the route the killer must have taken, another piece of the jigsaw to ponder and slot into place. ‘I’ll keep you in the loop.’ As though she’d give him any chance to leave her out of it.

‘Good.’ She sat down again, swung her chair round to face him. ‘And as I said. There’s something else I want to talk to you about.’

Something in her tone caught his attention. Defensive? Yes, that was it. Someone, braver than he, had Faye on the back foot. ‘Of course.’

She scowled at him over her glasses as though he was a school pupil answering a teacher back. ‘Do you know a woman called Marsha Letham?’

‘Yes. From the local paper.’ Jude wasn’t good with the press and tended to leave that kind of interaction to others, but he made a point of knowing who they were because they could equally be allies as enemies. Chris spent a lot of time cultivating them, but Chris spent time cultivating everyone, a network of people who felt it might be glamorous to play a part in the ongoing process he made look like a fight between good and evil. ‘She’s very much on the local community side, I think. I’d be surprised if they’ve put her on anything like the Pierce case.’

‘She rang me this afternoon on the pretext of writing up a column inch or two on a new post in the police, asking me why I left Cheshire.’

‘That makes sense. Fits with her brief.’

‘Does it, indeed?’

‘Yes. Nothing to it, I’d say. They’re local newspaper and probably desperate for copy.’

‘It must be a very quiet day if an appointment at my pay grade is considered newsworthy. Chief Constable, perhaps. Assistant Chief Constable, also possible.’

No doubt Faye harboured ambitions of progress to high office in the police, but something told him that this kind of attitude, rather than her capabilities, would be what held her back. Quiet news day? ‘It’s certainly not that.’

‘Was your appointment in the paper?’

‘I don’t believe it was. But I wasn’t interesting. I was a local boy making my way up, step by step.’ By contrast Faye, shipped in from outside to a senior post amid rumours of her predecessor’s misbehaviour and with a mission to bring redress, was newsworthy.

‘Okay. And we have two murders in the news and half the district in a state of complete panic, and you expect me to believe that the local papers are interested in my appointment.’

‘I don’t think I said that. But local papers talk to each other. They’re asking questions. How you answer them is up to you. I don’t think it’s a story.’

‘I don’t need your opinion.’

He was annoyed by that. ‘Then what? I speak to the newspapers all the time. It’s part of my job.’

‘I’m aware of that. I’m asking you to be very careful what you say to them in future.’

For a moment her fragile temper and high sensitivity reminded him of Phil Garner. If she’d been a witness or a suspect he’d have been wondering what she had to hide. Ashleigh’s attitude to life was much healthier than Faye’s — not flamboyant, not obvious, but an acceptance of facts and an absence of denial when challenged. What happened, happened and you moved on. But Faye, unlike Ashleigh, was the type who made enemies along the way. ‘Write the copy yourself if you’re that worried. They’d be delighted. But it’s a non-story. I’m more worried about what they might do