PRELUDE

Saturday October 21: evening

“Hello,” said Isabella, anxiously. “I haven’t seen her yet and it’s well past quarter to eight now. In fact it’s just coming up to eight o’clock. ” She gripped her mobile phone more tightly as she listened to the measured tones of the voice on the other end trying to reassure her. She shivered. The autumn nights were becoming cold and a sharp October breeze blew leaves along the path where she was standing. “She was due to be here at quarter to eight!” continued Isabella.
“That’s very strange, she’s always early for everything, your mother. Where are you exactly?”
“Exactly where I said I’d be, at the main entrance to the park, next to the museum.”
“Well, give her till quarter past. I’ll start on my way to meet you. I’m only five minutes away down the road.”
“Okay, but don’t let her see you if she comes.”
“Right you are. Bye.”

On the other side of the park, in her top floor apartment, an old lady sat down heavily in her armchair. Earlier in the day she had been out shopping in the town. She had suffered from arthritis for more years than she cared to remember and had found it hard going to walk for much of the afternoon, so she was glad of a rest when she met an old friend who invited her to have a cup of tea. They sat together in the little teashop and talked of times gone by.

It was gone five o’clock when she bade goodbye to her friend and got into the taxi that the waitress in the little teashop had kindly called for her. On arriving home in the early evening she struggled up the stairs and sat down heavily when she reached her chair. She had always been lively and energetic, but this arthritis will be the death of me, she thought. She looked at the TV for a while and dozed off for an hour or so. When she woke up it was already dark. She went over to close the curtains. She had been gazing out of the window when she heard the sudden screech of brakes and the scream of tyres. She looked down at the road and then moved slowly to the door and went downstairs to see what help was needed.

“What do you remember exactly, Mrs Phelps?” a kindly policewoman was to ask, a few days later. Mrs Phelps was rather confused and found it difficult to answer the simple questions being put to her. She was quite clear at the time that she had witnessed an accident and then realised later that she had only witnessed the aftermath of an accident. This unnerving experience set in train a series of doubts so that after the few days she wondered whether she had witnessed anything significant at all. It was very difficult explaining all this to the young policewoman, though she was very friendly. She did remember the time the event took place. She had looked at the clock on the mantelpiece before going downstairs – seven thirty four, definitely.

Half an hour later, Isabella met up with her accomplice. She was in a fluster because mother had not turned up at all. She had not answered her phone at home or the mobile she had learned to carry with her at all times. Isabella had told her on many occasions, “You must keep your phone with you and keep it switched on.” Her friend saw that Isabella was clearly annoyed. “Her phone’s switched off,” she hissed, as they ate together in a little restaurant. “There’s probably a perfectly rational explanation for it,” said her companion, “perhaps she’s in the library.” “Mother never goes in a library. Anyway libraries closed hours ago.” “Or visiting someone in hospital,” suggested the friend. “She was supposed to be visiting me!” said Bella, the colour rising in her cheeks. “I will have to phone the police,” she said dramatically. “What are you going to say to them?” asked her companion. “I shall tell them what has happened and that mother might have been in an accident or something.” “I can’t see that it’s going to do any good.” “Well, I can’t just do nothing,” replied Isabella firmly, “when I get home I will phone the hospitals and the police.” “Okay, I’ll walk you back to your car when we’ve finished our meal.” “Good, I don’t want to be late getting back home.”

When Isabella sat in the car ready to drive away she felt a mixture of emotions. She wished that her companion had hugged her before he had left her with only a chaste kiss on the cheek. He had been kind, compassionate, full of tact and understanding. This she appreciated. However, she wanted more than that; she wanted some passion, to feel that she was loved. She thought she had been quite daring to be out on a Saturday night with the freedom to make her own decisions. She had never liked being told what to do. And this thought led straight to her thinking of the person who had had most to do with telling her what to do, her mother. Mother had been a great friend and confidante to Isabella, but she often felt smothered and troubled by this maternal friendship. The trouble was that Isabella felt she was being talked down to all the time. She was after all, a woman of twenty-two not a young girl of seven. The other trouble was that she could not articulate her feelings to her mother. She had never been in a position to explain. Conversations would end in an unhelpful silence.

It had been very different with her father. She felt at ease in talking to him, partly because she knew that she could get round him quite easily, if needs be. Her father thought his feather-brained girl of a daughter was wonderful, much more wonderful than her twin sister, Margherita. Isabella liked being the favourite of the two daughters but she did feel sorry for Rita on occasions, who tried so hard to please her father, but whatever she did she invariably seemed to disappoint the man somehow. This set in train the feelings of intense jealousy that she did not attempt to hide from Isabella. “He loves you much more than he loves me,” she would say to Isabella, “so I’ll leave you alone with him.”

Isabella turned on the engine, put the car in gear and made an awkward turn in the road. She drove home slowly, deep in thought, wondering what kind of reception she would get when she arrived home. She hoped that Paul would take her in his arms and hold her close to him. She wanted to snuggle up to him in bed without having to explain herself and without having to listen to his explanations. She dreaded the sound of raised voices, bickering, argumentative, with an undertone of condemnation. A persistent thought hovered at the back of her mind that something terrible had happened to her mother. It did not matter that mother had not been able to keep the appointment, but why did she not get in touch with Isabella and postpone or cancel the meeting? It was so unlike her. She was an efficient businesswoman who thought of every eventuality, made careful plans, never left anything to chance.

Two days later, at nine o’clock on a bright October morning, in a park a middle-aged woman was found under a pile of leaves. She was quite dead. It looked to the two people who found her as if she had been brutally murdered.


CHAPTER ONE

Monday, October 23: morning

From the Abbey in the centre of the City of Bath it is a short walk to the River Avon and the famous bridge over that river – Pultney Bridge. The road then opens into a much broader thoroughfare, the equally famous Great Pultney Street. In high summer, tourists from all over Europe, China and America come to wander up and down this street. They are to be seen looking wistfully at the water playing in the fountain in Laura Place, nearby, and taking photographs of each other on the bridge.

Some perhaps, close their eyes momentarily and imagine themselves to be there in the time of Jane Austen. They hear horse-drawn carriages making their clip-clop way along the cobblestones, taking their passengers to the Pump Room. They see elegant ladies in sumptuous gowns, and glittering jewels being borne by sedan chair to the coffee-houses or to one of the magnificent balls held almost daily at the Assemby Rooms. Here the aged Beau Nash, resplendent in brushed waistcoat, black wig and tall white hat would keep order, fulfilling his self-appointed role of promoting society and good manners.

But now, this street on a fine autumnal day in late October is not so crowded. The wind is chill that blows in the faces of the few pedestrians on their way towards the Holburne Museum of Costume at its end. This imposing edifice faces down Pultney Street in the manner that Nelson peers from his column down Pall Mall, in London. A man pulls his coat closely about him as he hurries purposefully towards his destination. He has no time to admire his surroundings. Another avoids a car trying to park in Laura Place and sets his face towards the museum, which seems to beckon these people like a beacon. A lady reaches for her hat, perched precariously on her head, clamping it down firmly with the palm of her gloved hand.

The visitor turning left at the end of Pultney Street may notice that the traffic travelling east in front of the museum comes to an abrupt halt as it edges its way towards the only other bridge over the river for many miles. The museum backs on to a park, known as Sydney Gardens, its main entrance looking up the road towards the fire and ambulance station and that other bridge - Cleveland Bridge. The roads that flank Sydney Gardens meet at its rear to form the main A36 road to Trowbridge and Warminster, some ten miles distant. This road passes by the village of Bathampton with its toll bridge over the river Avon. Local people have learned to avoid this route; they resent having to pay a fee for crossing a river in twenty-first century England.


Just inside the main entrance, to the left, lies a pair of tennis courts. The main path continues slightly uphill through grassy open spaces and poorly maintained park benches to arrive at a rather imposing Bath Stone building, which is no more than an elegant shelter from the elements. From there the path passes over the main railway line that between Bristol, Bath and London. A few steps later on it forms another footbridge, this time over the Kennet Avon canal that joins the river, several locks and a few hundred yards further on. The path then leads past a second pair of tennis courts to a small entrance at the top of the gardens and out on to the main road to Warminster. What is most noticeable to the visitor on any weekday in Sydney Gardens is the remarkable sense of peace and tranquillity one has so close to a busy city.

Shortly after nine o’clock on the morning of the twenty-third of October, the emergency services were alerted to the fact that the body of a middle-aged woman had been found in the grounds of Sydney Gardens. Detective Sergeant Anna Rossi of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary answered the call, informing the caller that a police car would be at the scene in the next few minutes. On their arrival at the scene, Sergeant Rossi and two police constables, a small group of gardeners and ground staff gathered round to see what would happen next.
“Who found the body?” asked Anna.
“Those two chaps standing over there, the one in the blue jacket with a cap on his head and the one next to him in green,” replied a member of the group. Anna went over to them.
“Good morning, I’m Detective Sergeant Rossi. Can you show me where you found the body, please?”
“Yes,” said the man in green, “come with me. I’m Harry by the way,” He led the police officer down the path towards another entrance to the gardens, talking as he did so. “The other bloke, Albert Harper and I went round the back here just before nine this morning. We saw a large pile of leaves and sticks and branches and went to look at it, because it wasn’t there when we left on Friday evening. We thought it was kids at first, just messing about.” He pushed his way past some bushes and motioned Anna to follow.
They came upon a small area that was being used as a compost dump, the bushes screening the visitor from the sight of compost from the path. There was a clear area of hardened earth between the piles of compost and the bushes. Harry pointed to the fully clothed body of a woman, lying on her back, still partially covered with leaves. Anna could see that she was, or had been, smartly dressed, in neat shoes and an elegant coat. Her handbag was still over her arm, but Anna noticed that it was open. Any objects that were once inside it and had spilled out must have been removed, for there was nothing to be seen near or next to the body.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Disturbed these leaves a bit and found this woman’s body underneath…phoned the police; she was quite obviously dead.”
“You haven’t touched anything, other than the leaves, have you?” asked Anna.
“No, she’s exactly as we found her.”
“Good, I’ll get my two constables to cordon off this area. We must not let any members of the public get anywhere near here.”
“No, I understand that,” said Harry. In a few minutes Anna had everything organised, with a police constable keeping guard over the grisly remains hidden discreetly behind the bushes. She then walked quickly back to the area in front of the main gate to see a tall plain clothes policeman emerging from a second police car, a smart brown leather document case under his arm.
“Good morning, sir, I’m Detective Sergeant Rossi.”
“Good morning to you Sergeant Rossi, I’m Chief Inspector Gerrard.”
Anna explained what had happened and how far she had got in establishing the crime scene.
“You had better show me where the body is and then I’ll take a statement from the gardener.” “SOCOs should be arriving soon,” said Sergeant Rossi, as the two detectives walked side by side towards the compost dump. “It’s through there,” she continued, with a slight tremor in her voice. Gerrard pushed his way through the greenery, leaving his sergeant on her own and cast his expert eye over the scene. He then walked back to the group of workers still waiting to find out what was going to happen to them. Sergeant Rossi joined them.

He thanked them for being so patient and hoped for their full co-operation. He told them that the police were there to investigate the circumstances surrounding the death of the woman that had been found behind the bushes not far from where they were standing. If anybody had any further information however trivial, would they please feel free to approach either him or Sergeant Rossi. They would each be interviewed individually. They were at liberty to leave the area and get on with their work, but no one was to approach the scene where the body lay. Gerrard thanked them for their patience once again and turned to his sergeant.
“Do we need any help in interviewing the rest of this group of people?”
“No, I think we can manage,” said Anna, “I’ve talked a bit to one of the men who found the body. Shall I start talking to the others?”
“Yes. Good, let’s get cracking then,” said Gerrard. “At this juncture, what we need to find, are witnesses, people who saw the accident, or who saw the woman being dragged or carried over to those bushes. Have we got any ID on the body yet?”
“No, but there is a strong chance that there’ll be something in the handbag she had over her arm when we looked at her, something to identify her, I mean. That’s the head gardener, over there, sir,” said Anna pointing out Albert. In a few paces Gerrard strode over to where the man was waiting and introduced himself.
“Is there an office nearby, where we can go and talk?” he asked.
“Yes, just there, by the ice cream kiosk,” replied the man.
“Let’s go in there then.”

The gardener shuffled into the room still wearing his cap. He looked frightened, as if he were going to be made to take the blame for the recent macabre events.
“Take a seat,” said Gerrard in a kindly tone of voice. “Now, your name is?” he asked, trying to reassure the man but, also get on with the business in hand at the same time.
“My name’s Bert, Albert … Albert Harper… but everyone calls me Bert.”
“Okay Mr Harper, please tell me everything you can remember about this morning.”
“You mean finding the body and all?”
“Yes, take your time, tell me everything, every detail. The smallest detail might turn out to be important, so try not to leave anything out. Can you remember what time it was when you found the body?”
“Yes, about two minutes to nine. I come about eight o’clock most days and put on my work clothes. Then I see what jobs need doing.”
“You’re the head gardener here aren’t you?”
“Yes, been working in this kind of work in Bath for about thirty-five years, man and boy so to speak. That’s why I come early… to get everything set up for the others.”
“The other groundsmen?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Well, there are six blokes working here today.”
“Okay. Well, the other police officers will speak to them individually if they have any further information to offer. You tell me what you saw and I will write it down and we’ll try and work it into some kind of statement that I can get written up later, which you can sign.”
“As I say, I went over to that clump of bushes near the other entrance, where we keep some of the compost heaps, ’cos the fence behind needs seeing to. It’s a bit rickety. I was looking at the fence. I didn’t notice anything else at first. But when I turned round I realised I was standing next to a lumpy thing all covered in leaves and twigs.”
“What did you do, then?”
“I bent over to get a closer look. I could see through the leaves that it was a woman.”
“Was she lying on her back or face downwards?”
At this moment Anna knocked politely on the office door and entered. “Excuse me sir… there was a diary in the handbag with her address,” said Anna handing it over to Gerrard. He flicked through it and then turned to the personal section at the front. “It’s here all right, Mrs Fellingham,” he commented. “Can you find out if there is a neighbour or someone we can talk to this afternoon?”
“I’ve already found a telephone number for a Mrs Smith who is a near neighbour of the victim. I rang her just now and I’ve provisionally arranged for us to meet her at the victim’s house at two o’clock this afternoon, if that’s okay with you sir.”
“Yes, excellent. She has a key, presumably, does she?”
“Yes, she does some cleaning for Mrs Fellingham. It seems that they were quite close. She sounded very tearful when I phoned her with the news. I’ll call her back to confirm our meeting then, sir.”
“Yes, please do. Now we have contact with Mrs Smith we need to make contact with Mrs Fellingham’s family.” “I’ll get on to that right away, sir.” Anna Rossi left the room, feeling that she had been of some use to Gerrard.

“Sorry about that interruption. I need to know whether you found the deceased on her back or lying face downwards.”
“She was as you yourself saw her, face upwards, lying on her back or at least, slightly on her side.”
“And you didn’t move her at all?”
“No, absolutely not,” said Albert. Gerrard sat back in his chair and thought for several moments. Eventually Albert asked, “Will there be anything else sir? I’ve a busy day ahead.”
“No, there’s nothing else that I can think of. You realise of course, that the area is now officially a crime scene and consequently sealed off to everybody except my officers.”
“Oh yes sir, I fully understand that. We all do.”
“Good, that will be all then, thank you very much. You’ve been a great help to us.”

Albert Harper left the little office. Gerrard remained, deep in thought. He started to read through all the notes he had taken.

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday, October 21: morning

While the Chief Inspector had been conducting his interview with the gardener, a smartly dressed elderly looking gentleman appeared on the scene, carrying a black bag. He introduced himself to Sergeant Rossi as Dr Stephen Ray, the locum pathologist. “In fact,” he explained, as she escorted him along the path to the compost heap and pointed him in the direction where the body lay hidden behind the bushes, “I am recently retired. They’ve brought me out of retirement for a week or so.”
“What’s happened to our regular pathologist?
“Oh, you mean Dr Terry, presumably?”
“I don’t really know. I’ve never actually met the pathologist. I haven’t been here all that long, with the police in Bath, I mean.” “Dr Eve Terry is the regular pathologist. Unfortunately, she was taken ill last week. It’s nothing serious, but she will take a little time to recover. Now,” he said, abruptly changing the subject, “this is what you’ve got to show me, yes?” They had reached the grim scene, which Anna had looked on earlier. She nodded in affirmation but had no wish to repeat the experience. She was still feeling a bit queasy from her first sighting of the victim.
“Is it all right if I leave you here now to make your examination?” she asked, hoping for his agreement.
“Yes, that’s perfectly all right. I shall take my time and make a thorough investigation,” replied the pathologist. Anna went off to talk to some other members of the ground staff who were still waiting patiently to be interviewed. After a while, Dr Ray emerged from the undergrowth and met with both detectives.
“What can you tell us?” asked Gerrard.
“As you saw for yourselves, it’s the body of a middle aged woman, fully clothed with extensive injuries to her head and limbs and the loss of a lot of blood. The head wounds are consistent with being struck very violently. I’ll tell you more when I get her on the slab, but what I can tell you is that she did not receive her injuries where she was found.”
“Can you be more specific?” asked Gerrard.
“Well, strictly off the record, I’d say she’s been in a car accident as a pedestrian and her body dragged or carried to where she was found, over there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the bushes.
“Any idea of the time of death?”
“No, I can’t say yet,” said Dr Ray, emphatically.
“Oh, come on,” said Gerrard, showing signs of irritation, “you must have some idea!”
“No, no, don’t push me please,” replied the pathologist.
“Give me a hint, please.”
“Okay, but again, this is strictly off the record, I’d say she’s been dead for at least thirty-six hours.”
“So, you think that she died some time on Saturday?” Dr Ray shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel and walked out of the park. Inspector Gerrard turned to Anna as they watched the pathologist go. “Doesn’t waste words does he, Dr Ray?”
“No, he does seem to be rather taciturn,” answered Anna, as she saw the defiant strides the pathologist was making. Then he got into his car and left through the main gate.
“Now,” said Gerrard, “I think you’ve done a really efficient job in getting things so organised before I arrived. Well done!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Anna, smiling at her superior, glad that her efforts were appreciated.
“I think we have a suspicious death here, at the very least. I’d like you to work with me on this case.”
“Thank you sir. It will be a great pleasure to work with you, sir.”
“That’s settled then. By the way, I don’t want to call you Sergeant Rossi all the time. Do you mind telling me your first name?”
“Not at all, sir. It’s Anna.”
“Good, Anna it is.”

Gerrard walked over to see the SOCOs and uniformed police that were at the scene. They had erected some posts and tape, warning that the area was now a crime scene. Gerrard told them that he wanted the place searched for anything that might give them a clue as to how the body had been transported to its resting-place. Footprints could be vital if available and also any drag marks. He also told them to look for any items that might have dropped out of the lady’s handbag while she was being moved, because when the body was found the handbag was open. Anna waited for him near his car. He joined her a few minutes later. “This death does seem to be suspicious,” he repeated. “Bert said he thought she had been brutally murdered and I think he could be right. Let’s hope the SOCOs find something useful.”

As he said these words an ambulance drove in at the main gate and two uniformed men climbed out. They asked for directions and went to remove the body for post mortem examination. Gerrard drove with Anna to the police station, where they both set about making preliminary reports from the notes they had taken. While she was writing, Anna wondered what it was going to be like working for Chief Inspector Gerrard. She had heard a lot about him since joining the police force and coming to Bath.


After two hours intensive work, with hardly a word between them Gerrard looked towards Anna and said. “If our pathologist is right and she was a victim of a car accident we need to locate the driver as quickly as possible. And if, as I think is likely, he or she is not directly responsible for her death, we need to eliminate the driver from our inquiries as quickly as possible, also.”
“Yes sir,” replied Anna. “What I don’t understand is why the body was moved to the bushes. If a passing motorist who didn’t stop knocked her down, why didn’t someone ring 999 and get assistance? You would have thought there would have been some eyewitnesses to the accident. It’s extremely unlikely that somebody could be knocked down and then spirited away without being seen, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s what puzzles me. Shall we get some lunch?”
“I don’t eat much at lunchtime but I’m quite happy to keep you company, sir,” said Anna.
“What do you normally eat?”
“I often have a sandwich and a drink, fruit juice or mineral water.”
“Let’s find ourselves a sandwich and a drink, then,” said Gerrard.
“Is that all right for you?”
“Yes. Perhaps we can sit in the Abbey courtyard to eat them.”
“Waitrose is pretty good for sandwiches and things.”
“Let’s walk round there, then.”
The two were about to leave the building when the Chief Superintendent loomed into view. “Good morning, Peter,” he said, “I hear you’re working on a murder case.”
“News travels fast. We don’t know that yet sir. At present we’re treating it as a suspicious death.”
“Okay, keep me informed of any developments.”
“Well, there is one thing you can help me with,” said Gerrard, “we are going to need as many witnesses as possible. No one has come forward yet. I’ve spoken to the press but I was wondering whether we could put something out on the evening news, on local radio and television, more than just a bulletin I mean?”
“It seems like a good idea to me,” replied the Chief Superintendent, “I’ll leave you to fix it up. Make an appeal for any witnesses to come forward. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Do you want to do the actual broadcast yourself, sir?”
“No, no I don’t think so… I’ll leave all that to you. You know the details of the case and I assume you’re keeping up with the paper work?”
“Yes, sir. We started that this morning. I do have some misgivings about the pathologist, Dr Ray.”
“Oh, they’ve brought him back have they? He was a good man in his time. What’s the problem with him?”
“He did not stay for very long this morning and when I was talking to him he cut short the conversation and walked off. He wasn’t prepared to discuss the case in any detail.”
“Well, he can’t, can he? He gave you enough to go on, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he made a few tentative remarks but was very non-committal.”
“All these pathologists are like that in my experience. They won’t say anything until they have fully examined the body in the lab. Anyway, you’ll just have to be patient and wait for his report.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, as I say, keep me informed.” And with these words he went on his way. “That was Chief Superintendent John Tresillian, if you didn’t know,” said Gerrard to Anna as they stepped out of the police station.

After buying what they wanted in the supermarket, the two detectives made their way to the Abbey courtyard where they found a bench to sit on and entertainment from a street musician. Anna pointed a slender finger towards the Roman Baths and asked Gerrard, “Have you ever been in?”
“Yes, I’m the kind of Bathonian who appreciates the cultural aspects of the city. I’ve been round the Roman Baths several times. It’s much improved in recent years. Have you ever seen round the baths yourself?”
“Yes. My mother has a great fascination for the city. She brought me here when I was a girl. She lives in Florence now. She once showed me a magazine article which called Bath, the Florence of England.”
“Presumably,” answered Gerrard, “because Pultney Bridge in Bath is like the Ponte Vecchio in Florence?”
“Exactly so.”


CHAPTER THREE

Monday, October 23: afternoon

A little after two o’clock, Chief Inspector Gerrard and Detective Sergeant Anna Rossi drove out to the home of the deceased woman. Here, Anna had arranged to meet Mrs Sandra Smith, the next door neighbour and home help of Laura. They drove out of the city, turned up the Warminster road, through the Limpley Stoke Valley and turned off to arrive at a house close to the villages of Farleigh Hungerford and Wingfield, near Trowbridge.

Mrs Smith was there to greet them when they stopped outside the house. “Come on in,” she said, “it’s such terrible news, the poor woman dying like that.” The two detectives entered the house and were shown into the front room, where they sat down opposite the sorrowful Mrs Smith. “It’s come as a huge shock, I can tell you,” she continued.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Smith,” said Gerrard, glad of the opportunity to introduce himself and his colleague when the garrulous Mrs Smith had at last paused for breath. Mrs Smith started again.
“I’ve worked for Laura Graveney for about ten years. I come in to clean and tidy up on a Monday morning. I usually do the brass and polishing on a Monday afternoon, if I’m needed. Sometimes Mrs Graveney helps me… I mean, helped me. I won’t be able to get used to her not being here for a long, long time, and that’s for sure.”
“Why do you call her Mrs Graveney?” interjected Anna. “We were given to understand that her name was Fellingham, Mrs Laura Fellingham.”
“Yes, that’s quite correct, my dear,” said Mrs Smith, “but let me explain it all to you.”
“Please do,” replied Anna.
“I’ve known her for years as Mrs Graveney, and I call her that out of habit. In fact, in 2004 her husband John Graveney died of cancer. He was only fifty five years of age. Anyway, she was much younger. She was forty-two, I think, when he left her a young widow. Well, in January 2005 Jane Fellingham, died in a freak accident. She was hit by a golf ball, when she was out for a walk.”
“Who is Jane Fellingham?” asked Gerrard.
“I’m coming to that, but let me tell it in my own way, or else I will get all confused. It’s quite complicated really.”
“All right, take your time and tell it in your own way,” said Gerrard.
“As I was saying, Jane Fellingham, who was only fifty, by the way, died in an accident when she was out walking. Her husband, David Fellingham, married Mrs Graveney, Laura, later in that same year, in October 2005.” The ages of the people concerned in this tale seemed to be of great importance to Sandra Smith and she also showed the detectives that she had a good memory for this kind of factual detail.

“We still don’t know who these Fellinghams are,” said Anna.
“Be patient, and I’ll tell you.”
“Okay, carry on,” said Gerrard.
“Well, in February, earlier this year, on Tuesday 14th February, Valentines Day, if I remember rightly, Laura’s new husband David Fellingham suddenly died of a heart attack, leaving Laura a widow once again.”
“I see,” said Anna, though she was not sure that she did see.
“Now, this is where it gets complicated. John and Laura Graveney had two twin daughters. They’re identical twins, Isabella and Margherita, known as Bella and Rita to their family and friends. She, Mrs Graveney, wanted her identical twin daughters to have Italian names. She’s the arty one in love with all things Italian.”
“Interesting,” murmured Gerrard.
“Now, David and Jane Fellingham, had twin boys, again, identical twins they were. They married the Graveney girls. Paul married Isabella and Michael married Margherita. So, both couples are named Fellingham.”
“And when Laura married David Fellingham, that made a third couple, named Fellingham,” observed Anna.
“Right you are,” said Mrs Smith, emphatically.
“Are they local people?” began Anna, “I mean do they live locally?”
“Oh, yes, they never moved far away.”
“Where do they live?”
“Paul and Isabella live up on Wellsway and Michael and Margherita live in Bathford.”
“Do you have their addresses, by any chance?”
“Yes, they’re on my Christmas card list. There’s something else you might be interested to know.”
“What’s that?” asked Gerrard, leaning forward in his chair and studying the lady’s face carefully.
“They all met when the children were teenagers and someone was carrying out some research experiment on identical twins. It was to do with… oh, I forget now.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Gerrard.
“Rita did explain it to me. Ah, I remember now. Because identical twins look the same does not mean that they have the same character. I can tell you that myself, without any research, just from my own experience. You couldn’t have more different people than Paul and Michael, or Bella and Rita. It was a psycho… something investigation.”
“A psychological investigation… Now, returning to our investigation,” said Gerrard, “were you aware that Laura Fellingham never returned here on Saturday night?”
“No, I wasn’t,” replied the woman, rather stiffly, “if I had been aware I would have phoned the police straight away, I can tell you.”
“When did you know that she had not returned?”
“When I came this morning. I’ve got my own key and I let myself in but I always ring the bell so she knows I’m coming into the house, it’s only polite.”
“And this morning she wasn’t here?”
“That’s right and then as soon as I’d taken my coat off I heard the phone ring. I don’t normally answer it but I did this morning. It was Bella, you know, Isabella, ringing to find out what had happened to her mother. She’d been phoning the police since late on Saturday night. When I rang off I decided I would call 999, seeing the police had not answered Bella’s call, or at least, they couldn’t give her any information. I then went out and looked in the garage for her car, since it wasn’t parked in the road or on the drive. Her car wasn’t there. Of course, she could have gone off visiting someone, but if she does leave the house overnight she lets me know, so that I can keep an eye on things.”
“Did you know about her proposed meeting with her daughter on Saturday night?”
“No, that must have been family business. I never heard anything about it.”
“Did you see her go out on Saturday evening?”
“No, I wasn’t here myself. I was visiting my daughter in Trowbridge.”
“What kind of car did Mrs Fellingham drive?”
“I think it was a BMW.”
“Do you know the registration number?”
“No, but there’s a notice-board up in the kitchen with various bits and pieces pinned to it. I did see that there was a letter from the garage concerning a car service that she had had done. The registration number is probably on that.”
“Thanks very much,” said Gerrard, as Anna got up to look. She found the number and wrote it down. Gerrard could hear her calling it in to the station to see if the car had been found. In a few minutes she returned. “A parked BMW has been found in Sydney Place,” she announced.

“Do you think I could have a quick look round the house?” Gerrard asked Mrs Smith.
“There’s no reason why not, as far as I can see,” she replied. Gerrard left the two women to talk while he toured through Laura Fellingham’s home. He noticed the clean new kitchen and dining room. He looked briefly upstairs and poked his head round the door of each bedroom. He found his way downstairs once more and located a studio where what looked like fashion designs were done. He spent some time examining various articles. There were many clothes, materials and fabrics in a wide range of colours. Mrs Smith explained that Laura and Isabella Fellingham were in business together, as fashion designers. From what Mrs Smith told him, Gerrard gleaned enough information to understand that Isabella was the young person with the ideas and drawing skills to put down her ideas on paper whilst her mother was the business brains behind the commercial operation. They sold their merchandise, once it had been made up, to small, exclusive, shops in Bath.

After a few more brief words the two police officers took their leave. Mrs Smith had closed the front door and returned to the sitting room when the telephone rang. It was Isabella, saying she was going to call round later on. “I’ll still be here,” said Sandra Smith, “I’ll see you soon.”

On their way back to the city Anna said, “Laura Fellingham probably parked in Sydney Place, opposite the side entrance to the Gardens, and was hit by a car as she tried to cross the road.”
“That seems the most likely explanation,” commented Gerrard. “I asked uniform to make some house to house inquiries to find out if anybody saw anything. I’ll get them to concentrate on the buildings immediately opposite that entrance.”
“We have the ignition keys, found in her handbag, so we might get some more clues from the car itself,” added Anna.
“Yes, that’s possible. Let’s stop at Sydney Place and have a look at that car of Mrs Fellingham’s. It’s on our way.” Anna drove back the way they had come. They saw a dark coloured BMW parked opposite the Gardens’ entrance. Anna managed to park right behind it. They both got out and looked carefully at the car. There was no sign of any damage, so it had not been involved in a car accident. There were skid marks on the road and these had been marked by the police team sent to investigate the abandoned car. Anna looked at the parking ticket attached to the windscreen. “The traffic warden has paid a visit this morning,” she announced to Gerrard, “it’s probably been here since Saturday evening but nobody spotted it until the warden turned up this morning.”
“I don’t think we can do anything more here, but can you make sure that the car is towed away, following normal procedure?” “That should have been taken care of, sir,” said Anna, “but I’ll chase it up.” At the police station they both completed more paper work and finished for the day. “I’ll see you early tomorrow,” said Gerrard. Anna nodded in agreement. As she got up to leave, Anna said, “There’s one thing that puzzles me. If Isabella Fellingham and her mother are, or were, in business together, seeing each other on a daily basis, why would they need to meet in the open air on a Saturday night?” “That’s the question, isn’t it?” replied Gerrard, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shortly after 4.00 p.m. Isabella’s car drew up outside her mother’s house and was noticed by the eagle-eyed Mrs Smith, who was replacing a vase on the window-sill after throwing away some dead flowers. She went to the door and opened it. “Hello,” she said, “how are you, dear?” “Not so bad, under the circumstances, thank you Sandra. I’ve called to see if my mother ever left any instructions in case of her death.” “Well, I’ve never seen anything, but if there is something it would be in the bureau I would think,” replied the neighbour. “I’ll have a look there then.” She went over to the bureau and pulled down the heavy lid.

After a few minutes search she found the address of the undertakers that Laura had used when Mr Fellingham had passed away. She decided to put a notice of death in the local newspaper and in the Daily Telegraph. The notice describing her stepfather’s death she had found in one of the bureau drawers. She decided to adapt it for her own use. After twenty minutes she had written out in her best handwriting: -

FELLINGHAM – Laura Ellen (née Woods) died suddenly and tragically in an accident at Bath, Somerset on 21st October 2006, aged 42 years. Beloved wife of Mr DAVID FELLINGHAM and much loved mother of Isabella and Margherita. No flowers, donations to Cancer Research UK. Inquiries to E.A. King & Son F/S. Tel. 01225 765856.

Then she thought about the funeral itself and decided that she would adopt the same procedure as she had done in the case of her stepfather. She was soon in contact with the rector of the parish church in Claverton. Her parents had both attended rather infrequently but they had attended.
“Hello, I’d like to make provisional arrangements for my mother’s funeral, Mrs Laura Fellingham, please,” she said. “My goodness, I didn’t know that she had died.”
“We only found out ourselves today.”
“What happened to her? Was it a sudden illness?”
“No, nothing like that… a motor car accident.”
“I’m very sorry to hear of it. Please accept my condolences and send my good wishes to the rest of your family.”
“I will,” replied Bella.
“When would you like the funeral to take place?”
“Next Monday on October 30th, if that is at all convenient.”
“It will have to be late morning, I’m afraid. I’m taking a school assembly at 9.00 a.m. I could manage 11.45, if that’s any good.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Is it a cremation or a burial?”
“Cremation.”
“Well, obviously we will have to book the crematorium. Would you like me to do that?”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“I’ll phone you when I have some news.” Isabella gave the rector her mobile number and rang off. She said goodbye to Sandra Smith and went on her way.

At home she rang her sister and brother in law. Rita answered. Bella told her what she had done that afternoon.
“You didn’t consult the rest of us. Don’t I have a say?”
“I remember that I took charge of all the arrangements when our stepfather died. So, I’m taking charge now.” Rita heard her husband pick up the phone in the bedroom. “There’s no need for you to talk to her, Michael,” Rita said.
“But I want to… Bella… thank you very much for taking the initiative. It’s very helpful of you.”

He heard Rita putting down her receiver.
“Has she gone?” asked Bella.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m not getting on with my sister at the moment,” she confessed.
“It’s not surprising is it?”
“Well, c’est la vie,” replied Bella breezily, “I don’t think I’m doing wrong. I’d better go. I’ll see you later.” They said their goodbyes and rang off, Michael dreading what Rita was going to say to him. In fact, she said nothing, her most powerful weapon against him.

Before he headed for home Gerrard recorded a short appeal for HTV describing the scene of the accident and appealing for witnesses to come forward. He emphasised how important the help and co-operation of the public in investigations of this kind was. “If you have any information, however trivial it may seem, that might help in this matter, please get in touch with us,” he said in solemn tones. His appeal, he was told, would be broadcast later that day as part of the evening news bulletin.


CHAPTER FOUR

Tuesday, October 24: morning

On the following morning, Gerrard sat with Anna Rossi in his office. “Let’s consider what we have learned so far,” began Gerrard. “We have a dead woman, whom we think was knocked down last Saturday evening, by a car, travelling perhaps at some speed, into the city, down the main road, past Sydney Gardens. There are two witnesses who found the body. This was not until Monday morning. We have no one as yet who actually saw the accident or incident or the murder if it was murder. We have some background information from Mrs Smith, the victim’s neighbour and nothing yet from the victim’s family. Furthermore, the victim’s daughter and son-in-law were not available for questioning when I tried to contact them last night.”
“We have not got much information have we sir?” asked Anna. “No,” replied Gerrard, “but what I want you to do is to get hold of the daughter and son-in-law and make sure they understand the serious nature of this business.”
“Do I tell them that it is a possible murder inquiry?”
“No, not at this stage. It’s too early for that yet. Now, we need at least one of them to come and formally identify the body. Considering that she probably died on Saturday and today is Tuesday we seem to be taking a long, long time to get even the basics done.”
“Right, sir, I’ll see to it.”
“And get them to come here to be interviewed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m out until lunchtime… there is something I have to do. I’ll see you here soon.”

Anna wondered where he was going and why he wasn’t telling her about it. Gerrard put on his coat, picked up his document case and walked out to his car. He started the engine, and drove out of the south side of the city. He crossed the River Avon at the Churchill Bridge and followed the one way system to turn right on to the Lower Bristol Road. He found himself in thick traffic as he made his way slowly by the river, with the mean streets that make up the district of Twerton on his left-hand side. He started to think about the case as he sat at traffic lights. Why would someone want to run over a middle-aged lady on a Saturday evening, in Bath? Perhaps it was a genuine accident. The driver could have fallen asleep at the wheel. There were half a dozen explanations to hand that were on the accidental list.

Half an hour later the detective pulled up outside a big house, set in its own grounds, with picturesque gardens and a sign advertising itself as a nursing home specialising in EMI, for the elderly mentally infirm. Peter Gerrard had come to visit Jack, his great uncle, aged eighty-seven, who suffered from senile dementia. He remembered the nurse saying to him when Jack was first admitted to the home, “His short term memory is now very bad and has been for some years, but his long term memory particularly of World War II is good. He likes to have photographs around him that remind him of ‘the old days’.” One of the main problems that Jack had as a result of his dementia was that he was constantly losing his personal possessions such as his spectacles and his teeth.

Gerrard rode up to the first floor in the lift and was reminded once again of the tight security in the home as he pushed against a door and then pressed in the code in the panel next to it. They had told him that the security was not so much to stop unwelcome visitors getting in but to prevent the residents getting out. He made his way down the corridor to room forty-three and knocked on the door. He heard a familiar voice shout, "Come,” and entered the room.

There he found the old man sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper with some jazz playing in the background. He knew that Jack had been a jazz musician in the forties, playing alto sax in a small five-piece band. It was Jack who had encouraged his great nephew to take up playing the sax too, and Gerrard found this instrument a great help to his own mental well-being when the stress of his work load got to him. To take the instrument from its case and play a few riffs was still a great joy to him.

“Hello, Peter,” said Jack, “it’s good of you to call.” Gerrard noted that Jack still remembered who he was.
“I know I don’t come very often,” he said, “and I can’t stay very long but it’s good to see you again. How are you keeping?”
“I mustn’t complain. I’m pretty fit really.”
“You still enjoy listening to music then?”
“Yes, I can’t play any more as you know. I haven’t the stamina any more to blow, but I like listening. This is Stan Getz, do you know it?”
“Yes, of course,” replied Gerrard, “He’s a great tenor player. I love his Latin American stuff. This is Desafinado isn’t it?”
“I can’t remember the title. But you’re probably right.”
“Where’s the case for it?” “The what?” “The jewel-box, you know, the case.” “I don’t know.”

Gerrard got up and looked around the room but he couldn’t see anything that looked like an empty jewel case. He went to the window and opened it slightly. It always felt very hot when he went visit, no matter what time of year it was. Old people, who do not walk much, some not at all, need to be kept warm, he reflected as he looked out on an orchard close to the home.

“Someone has probably walked off with it,” commented Jack.
Gerrard sat down again. The music came to a stop and the pair sat in silence for some time, each left with his own thoughts. Suddenly, Jack asked, “What case are you working on?” Gerrard, caught off-guard by the direct question, found it difficult to answer coherently. He drew breath, paused for a moment or two, then said, “We have a suspicious death we are investigating. It was reported yesterday… so we are in the early stages at the moment.” “You think it’s murder, do you?” asked the old man. “It could be, it could be,” murmured Gerrard. Jack returned to his newspaper and started reading aloud. He read only the main headline of an article before going on to another. Gerrard realised that the resident of number forty-three really needed to be wearing his glasses. Just as suddenly as he had taken up the newspaper his hands fell into his lap, his eyes closed and Gerrard could see that Jack was now fast asleep.

Is this what I’m going to come to in forty years time he wondered? His gaze wandered round the room and came to rest on the clock that he had given Jack a year earlier. ‘Half past eleven,’ he said to himself. He closed his eyes and dozed off for ten minutes.

There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered. “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, apologetically. “I thought Jack was alone, I did not realise you had company Jack.” Jack made no response.

“Hello Irene. How are you?” said Gerrard. The nurse, from Singapore, if I remember correctly, thought Gerrard, smiled her beatific smile. “Fine, thanks. I can come back later,” she said in her cheery voice with the strange intonation. She had known Gerrard for more than a year and had been a great help when great uncle Jack had been going through a rough time, having been recently transferred from a geriatric hospital ward as a ‘bedblocker’. Then, he had been very disorientated and become unsteady on his feet. When he had fallen down he had lashed out at any nursing staff who had tried to assist him. Nurse Irene had understood Jack’s loss of dignity in these difficult circumstances. She had been a tower of strength.

“No, that’s all right, please do what you have to do,” said Gerrard, trying to return the smile in the same sunny manner, but failing.
“I have come to take Jack’s BP and his blood sugar levels.”
“Please do… I’ll wander down the corridor.” Gerrard got up and left the room. Minutes later he saw nurse Irene in the corridor. “How is he?” asked Gerrard.
“Oh he’s fine, given his age. He has diabetes as you know, so we have to keep a close check on his sugar levels, but it’s fine at the moment and his blood pressure is fairly normal as well. He’s is in pretty good health.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You remember we agreed that today we would do the review of your great uncle?”
“No, I’d completely forgotten. I’ll go in to say goodbye to him.”

Gerrard entered the room once more and bade the old man farewell He was about to leave when he heard the familiar sound of his mobile phone, emanating from his jacket packet.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, sir,” said Anna. “A lady has telephoned saying that she saw something on Saturday night. I said I would go and see her this afternoon.”
“I’ll be with you soon,” said Gerrard, “and we’ll go together. Any luck with the relatives?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been informed that Isabella, the daughter went to identify her mother’s body this morning.” “Good,” said Gerrard and rang off abruptly.

He closed Jack’s door behind him and marched swiftly down the corridor to see nurse Irene in her glass-fronted office. He smiled at her as he waited for her to open the door to him. “Come in and sit down please. I’ve filled in a lot of the details already on this form… the things I told you about earlier,” she told him. “Good,” he replied.

She continued to describe his great uncle’s state of health in some detail, reading out the list of medications that the nursing staff were administering on a daily basis. He had seen the chiropodist, dentist and optician recently. He gets on quite well with the other residents. When he realises he cannot remember things he gets very stressed. She mentioned the importance of photographs “He does like looking at photographs. He spends a long time each day gazing at the photo albums you brought, in of his relations,” she reminded him. “They go back many years, and bring back many happy memories,” said Gerrard, reflecting on how important were photos, postcards and pictures generally in his own work. How often had witnesses and suspects, for that matter, had their memories jogged with the introduction of some pictures to the interview room? Yes, mused Gerrard, photos are of the utmost importance.

Irene turned to the issue of things the old man might need. At the top of her list was the word ‘Shoes’. “He really needs new shoes… like me … look at these.” She took off one of her own shoes and held it up for Gerrard to see. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, innocently. “Look! The sole is coming away from this part… what do you call it?” “The upper,” replied Gerrard. “Does Jack wear shoes much?” “Yes, and we encourage it. He goes down to the lounge, and out into the enclosed garden. He likes to sit out in the sun… when there is any. We have the new bar now along the corridor from Jack’s room. He likes to go there every Friday morning for coffee and most evenings after the meal he goes along. Sometimes he is allowed his alcohol free lager. We play games and hold general knowledge quizzes there, as well.” “I suppose it’s good to get out of bedroom slippers and into shoes.” “Yes, and he still walks quite well. He doesn’t need a stick any more… like when he first came here.”

“I’ll try and get some shoes for him, I know his size and what he likes,” said Gerrard. “You can get some for me while you’re at it,” she said, and laughed loudly. “I don’t know your size or what you like.” “Size four, and I need ordinary flat shoes for working here.” “No heels?” “No, definitely not heels. I have to climb up on chairs and do all sorts of unladylike things like that. Heels are not appropriate for this kind of work.” “I suppose slip-ons are better for him than lace-ups,” mused Gerrard, out loud. “Yes, older people don’t like bending down to tie up shoe laces… neither do I for that matter. Give me a pair of simple slip-ons any day. Like these ones I am wearing,” replied Irene, pushing her toes into the shoe she had recently taken off. She completed the form and laid down her pen. “That’s finished,” she said, with a sigh of relief.

“I really must be going now,” he said, rising from his chair. Gerrard descended in the lift and went out to his car. It had been raining while he had been inside the home but now the skies had cleared and the journey back to Bath would be a more pleasant if uneventful one. He drove in silence, deep in thought, forgetting to switch on the CD player in the car. How long would great uncle Jack remain in his present condition? When would the serious decline happen? How long had he yet to live? These were the questions that vexed him. And the crucial one – was there enough money to keep him in that place until the old man passed away? Gerrard had taken on the legal responsibility for Jack’s money and it was a responsibility he wanted to discharge well.

From quite a distance Gerrard saw the board outside the newsagent’s shop advising the general public of recent news headlines in the Bath Chronicle. WOMAN’S BODY FOUND IN PARK. It looked a bit torn… probably there since Monday night, thought Gerrard. There was a parking space available right outside the shop. Gerrard braked and swung into it. He went inside and bought a copy. On the front page he saw a small paragraph giving a few sparse details of the case.


It was close to one o’clock when Gerrard turned into the police car park in Bath once more. Anna was in the office, head bent over a PC keyboard, writing up reports. She looked up when he entered the room. “Have you seen today’s Chronicle, Anna?” he asked tersely. She could tell by that he was upset about something. “I can’t say I have, sir,” she replied softly, trying to mollify him a little. He held up the newspaper for her to see. “Did you tell them that, I quote, ‘the police, are baffled by the discovery of the body’ … did you tell them that?” he demanded. “No sir, it’s their gloss on what I did say to them.” “Which was?” “That an investigation is under way into the cause of death.”

Well, thought Gerrard, you must have given some indication that we are stumped by this case, before it’s even begun. Don’t let Anna Rossi speak to the press again. But, he kept these thoughts to himself. “I think I need to ring the press office and clarify a few things,” said Gerrard, “and in future, when the press ask you anything you say, ‘no comment’. Is that understood?” “Yes sir,” said a tight-lipped Anna Rossi.


CHAPTER FIVE

Tuesday, October 24: afternoon

Gerrard and Rossi were en route from the police station to Sydney Place, the large row of houses opposite Sydney Gardens. They had given up on the car and decided to walk through the city. It was while they were making their way along Pultney Street that Gerrard recognised a familiar figure approaching him, a rather shapely figure, Dr Eve Terry the police surgeon. A forensic pathologist, who was also an amateur painter, even while she had been in medical school in London, Dr Terry had known Gerrard for ten years. She was carrying what seemed to be a picture under her arm.
“Hello Peter, how are you?”
“I thought you were supposed to be ill?”
“Who told you that?”
“That long streak of misery, Dr Ray.”
“Yes, ‘Sting’ is a bit of a misery. Got anything interesting on at the moment?” Ignoring her question he asked her directly, “What’s been wrong with you?”
“Chest complaint, bronchial pneumonia. I’m convalescing at the moment, I’ll probably be back on Monday. Are you going to introduce us then?”
“Oh, you don’t know each other?” Gerrard introduced her to Anna and then asked, “What have you got there, one of your paintings?”
“Yes, it’s a small portrait. I’m getting it framed and I’ve lugged it from my car, parked miles away. I do portraits and landscapes. I’m going to the exhibition at the museum down the road, you know, the city one, not the Holburne, opposite the music shop, Milsoms, end of Pultney Bridge.”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
“What was that?”
“You can be very perverse at times. I asked, are you doing anything interesting at the moment, regarding police work?” “Yes, a suspicious death, which is how I met Dr Ray.”
“Tell me more.”
“We don’t know a lot at the moment. A woman’s body was found in Sydney Gardens yesterday morning. It’s probably been there since Saturday evening, that’s all.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Yes, I think it is… how about coming round to see me soon.” “When?”
“Are you free tomorrow, early evening, about seven, say?” “Yes, I think I can manage that. I’ll call you if I can’t for any reason.”

As they moved away from the pathologist Anna was conscious that she had not contributed a single word to the conversation. She was also conscious of feelings that she did not realise until then that she had. I don’t understand it. There’s no reason for me to feel this way, she thought. I’m going to fight these feelings, they’re not me. But, yes they are. Gerrard was pointing the way and saying something about evidence, but she was neither hearing his voice nor seeing his gesticulations.

She could think of nothing else but Eve; a trained scientist and a trained artist. Anna could not articulate these deep feelings of resentment, even hatred that she harboured towards the woman they had just left. Not only that, Eve was attractive, beautiful. And yet, Gerrard did not seem to be that attracted to her. He treats her as he treats me, as a colleague… and a friend. Am I a friend? What is she to him?
“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, Anna. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“No, I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, that’s all.”
“A penny for them?”
“No… no… I’ll keep them to myself.” And now she began to wonder whether CI Gerrard had guessed or worked out what the matter was with her. She sighed to herself as they arrived at the end of the road and waited at the crossing by the Holburne Museum.

The pair of detectives crossed the road and looked for the numbers on the buildings. They went up to the top floor of one house, to be greeted by an old lady waiting for them on the landing. “I saw you arrive,” she said. “I was looking out of the window.”

The police officers introduced themselves and learned that the lady was Mrs Vera Phelps. They went inside and sat down in the front room, overlooking the park. The room was spacious and sparsely furnished. An old looking television set stood in the far corner of the room on the opposite side of the sash windows that gave out on to Sydney Place and the gardens. The ceiling was high with an elaborate rose at its centre from which hung an equally elaborate electric light. There were wall lights all round the room and many mementoes along the mantelpiece over the new gas fire in the old hearth.

“I got up to draw the curtains,” Vera explained. “I wasn’t actually looking out of the window. I was looking at these curtains. The window is very high and it is hard for me to reach up there and pull them across."
“This window looks directly out on the entrance to the park,” observed Anna. “Do you spend a lot of time looking out of the window?”
“I suppose I do, yes. Well, I looked out of the window immediately after I heard the noise.”
“What sound did you hear?”
“It was definitely the sound of screeching brakes, you know, from a car. A second later I looked out as I heard the scream of tyres on the road.”
“What did you actually see?”
“I saw a yellow car.”
“You’re sure it was a yellow car?”
“No, I can’t be absolutely sure, because it was so dark but I’m fairly certain.”
“Do you know what make of car it was?”
“No, I don’t know anything about cars, but it was a sports car, I would say.”
“Did you see the registration number, or any part of it?” asked Gerrard.
“No, I’m too far away, up here and my eyesight is not very good, now.”
“Was the car coming down or going up the hill?” he asked.
“It was coming down past here, towards Bath.”
“Did you see whether the driver was male or female?” interjected Anna
“No, I couldn’t see the driver properly. It could have been a man or a woman … I just don’t know.”
“And then…what did you do or see?” asked Gerrard.
“I saw the car hit the woman.”
“Where did the woman come from?”
“I don’t know. I assume she was crossing the road. One second the road was clear, the next moment this woman was being hit by the car. She went flying and came to rest on the other side of the road. Half in the road, half on the pavement, she was.”
“Did you do anything yourself after you had seen her being knocked down?”
“I started to go downstairs to see if I could help the woman. But when I got out on the street both the car and the woman had gone, completely disappeared. Mind you, it took me a long time, may be five or six minutes by the time I’d got the front door open and out into the street and crossed the road.”
“Did you raise the alarm?” Anna gently asked the old lady.
“No, I didn’t raise anything.”
“Why not? Why didn’t you call the emergency services?” demanded Gerrard.
“I didn’t think there was any emergency!”
“But you had just seen a woman knocked down by a car.” “Yes, but when I got down there, and they’d both disappeared I began to wonder whether I did see anything. I found it all very confusing.” Anna could see that her boss was getting extremely agitated by the replies given by Mrs Phelps. She tried to keep the atmosphere calm by asking her questions in subdued tones.
“So, did you tell anyone else what you thought you had seen, a neighbour perhaps?
“No, nobody.”
“To be absolutely clear,” said Gerrard, “if you were looking at the curtains and you did not look at the road until after you heard the sound of screeching brakes and screaming tyres on the road, it’s fair to say, isn’t it, that you didn’t actually see the accident, did you? You saw the lady lying in the road and the back of the only car in the road which was the yellow one, as it sped by?”
“As soon as I heard the noise I looked down. The driver braked before he hit the woman. And the hard braking caused the tyres to scream, again, before he hit the woman. I may be old but I’m not daft inspector.”
“No, you’re not daft,” agreed Gerrard, “I need to establish exactly what you saw, given that you say you were confused.”
“What I’ve told you is the truth,” said Vera.
“I don’t doubt it.” He paused and then said, “Good. Thank you very much. You have been a great help to us. All we need to do now is find the car.” Having established the truth, to his own satisfaction, and with some definite information, Gerrard now seemed a little calmer. He turned to his sergeant, “Let’s get a call put out so we can trace this car and its driver,” he said.
“I’ll do that straight away, sir,” said Anna, getting up to leave the room.
“Have I done wrong, inspector?” queried Mrs Phelps.
“No, not wrong, I just wish you had reported the incident sooner.”
“As soon as I saw it on TV I knew it had actually happened.”
“But that wasn’t until late Monday night, and you did not phone us until this morning. We’ve wasted a lot of time since Mrs Fellingham died on Saturday evening.”
“I’m sorry, inspector, I didn’t want to be a nuisance to the police.”
Anna re-entered the room. “The call has gone out, and I’ve contacted a local radio station to ask if anyone knows of a yellow sports car within a twenty mile radius of the city, sir,” she said to Gerrard.
“Good! Let’s hope it brings some quick results,” he replied. He thanked the old lady for her time and trouble, apologised to her for being rude and the two police officers left the building.

“Before we go, let’s have another look at the crime scene,” said Gerrard. They crossed the road and made their way to the bushes in the park, which were still sealed off from the public and under police guard. Gerrard poked about in the undergrowth for a while. “She was fully clothed and her clothes had not been tampered with, so I don’t think she was attacked or sexually assaulted.” “If she had been knocked unconscious as a result of a motor accident she wouldn’t need much attacking if someone was going to steal her belongings,” suggested Anna. “We won’t know if any personal items are missing until we speak to one of the family. The daughter, Isabella is probably the one to know. Has anyone got in touch with her yet?” “Yes. A constable went to her home to inform her of the death,” said Anna, “though the husband wasn’t in at the time.”
“I think we ought to see her and her husband as soon as possible.”
“I’ll try and arrange something, shall I?”
“Yes,” said Gerrard.

When Gerrard returned to his office he was confronted by press and a TV camera crew, all baying for information like a pack of hounds scenting a fox. “I’ll go into my office and prepare something for you,” he told the producer of a local news programme. “Are you prepared to make a statement yourself Chief Inspector?” she asked. “Yes, just hold on. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll come and talk to you.”

With that he departed for the relative peace of his office to work out a statement, where Anna was trying to contact Isabella by phone. “Hello, is that Mrs Fellingham? This is sergeant Rossi from Bath and North East Somerset police. We’d like to talk to you.”


CHAPTER SIX

Tuesday, October 24: evening

Gerrard and Rossi were now on their way to see Isabella Fellingham. They found her at home on Wellsway, as Mrs Smith had told them, in one of the avenues off Bear Flat, that each bear the name of famous English poets Milton, Shakespeare, Kipling, Longfellow. When they had introduced themselves and sat down, Gerrard wanted to get straight down to business, but he was surprised when Isabella asked the first question.

“Do you know what happened to my mother?”
“No, we don’t as yet. I’m hoping you will be able to shed some light on the events of Saturday night.”
“I drove into Bath from here and went along the bottom of Sydney Gardens. I turned right up Beckford Road and parked on the left-hand side of the road, not far from the main entrance to Sydney Gardens. I had arranged to meet my mother.”
“What time would that be?”
“She was due to meet me at 7.45 p.m. I arrived at 7.40, and walked down the road. I suppose it took me a minute to reach our meeting place.”
“Did you meet your mother?”
“No, she never turned up. I waited until 8.30 and then left.”
“You went away by car?”
“No, I went to get something to eat.”
“Where did you eat?”
“At a little bistro, down the road, near Pultney Bridge.”
“Were you eating alone?” continued Gerrard.
“No, my husband had joined me,” she replied.
“How did he know about it?”
“When my mother failed to put in an appearance I phoned Paul and he met me at the restaurant.”
“He just happened to be in Bath at the time?”
“No, it was a prearranged meeting.”
“And the people in the bistro will confirm this presumably?”
“Yes,” said Isabella.
“Could you let us have a picture of you and your husband that we could borrow for a few days?” Anna asked Isabella, who went to a table in the corner of the room, pulled open a drawer and rummaged around for a few moments. She pulled out a small photograph and handed it to the policewoman.
“I don’t understand this, Mrs Fellingham,” said Gerrard, decisively. “How could you be meeting two people in different places at the same time?”
“I wasn’t meeting two people. I was meeting two people one after the other, my mother and then my husband.”
“So you kept your husband waiting while you met with your mother?”
“She didn’t turn up though,” said Isabella.
“But that was the plan wasn’t it?” persisted Gerrard, “that he would hang around while you met your mother and then join you in the restaurant.”
“He did not hang around as you put it, he went to the restaurant, got a table for both of us, sat down and waited.”
“What did you do when you had finished your meal?”
“Paul walked me to my car. I then drove him to pick up his car.”
“Where was that parked?”
“In the park, Henrietta Park, off Pultney Street.”
“But that is closer to the restaurant than where you were parked.”
“Yes, but the one way system makes it easier to do it the way we did it.”
“Does it?”
“Yes, we think so anyway.”
“What was the purpose of your meeting with your mother?”
“It was effectively a business meeting.”
“On a Saturday evening in the open air in October?” said Gerrard, looking quite startled.
“Yes, I had already made arrangements with Paul to see him and then I had to fit my mother in. She was going on elsewhere.”
“Where is your husband now?”
“He had to go back to London on Sunday night. He is still there.”
“When is he coming home?” asked Anna.
“Late tonight or perhaps tomorrow morning. I don’t know,” replied Isabella.
“Ask him or rather tell him we want to see him at the police station as soon as he is able to get there,” said Gerrard.
“Okay, I will pass the message on,” replied Isabella.
“It would help if you could phone him beforehand,” said Gerrard with growing impatience. “Your mother died on Saturday night. It’s Tuesday night now. That’s a big time gap. We need as much information as possible early in the inquiry. You and your husband are the only people we know of so far who were definitely in the vicinity at the time of your mother’s death. Your husband does know what has happened to your mother?”
“Yes, I contacted him on his mobile as soon as I found out.”
“I would have thought he would have made it a priority to be with you in your hour of need,” observed Gerrard.
“Well, to be honest, so would I, but Paul is not very good at coping with such situations. And I do have a twin sister and brother-in-law.”
“Yes, Michael and Rita.”
“You know of them?”
“Yes, your mother’s help, Mrs Smith told us.”
“Of course, she would.”
“Do you mind?”
“No, why should I?”
“You grimaced when I mentioned her, that’s all.”
“Well, she’s a bit of a busybody and talks, talks, talks, non stop.”
“Are you close to your sister,” asked Anna.
“Not quite as much as I used to be,” admitted Bella, “not since we got married really. We live very different lives. Our paths don’t cross all that much in our day to day lives. We meet together quite often at family events, birthdays and so on.”
“You haven’t been married very long, have you?”
“No, a couple of years.”
“You work, or rather worked with your mother?”
“Yes, we design clothes. We both work at my mother’s studio at her house. We get the clothes made up and supply a retail shop in Bath.”
“Does your sister have a job?”
“Yes, Rita trained to be a nurse after she left school. We both went to the same school. She works at the R.U.H.”
“The Royal United, in Weston?” Isabella nodded her assent.
“And Michael, what does he do?”
“He teaches in a sixth form college, somewhere,” said Bella, trying to show as little interest as possible.
“Okay, let’s leave it there,” said Gerrard

“What do you think of her story?” Gerrard asked Anna when they were in Gerrard’s car on their way back to the station.
“There is one part of it that doesn’t add up at all,” replied Anna.
“And which part is that?”
“The bit about meeting her husband and then him walking with her all the way to Beckford Road. If he were parked in Henrietta Park he would drive her. They’d go to Laura Place, you know where the fountain is in Pultney Street and then left at the end of Pultney Street, then right into Beckford Road. There’s no one way system. You can’t turn right out of Pultney Street, but you can turn left.”
“I think it’s a moot point,” replied Gerrard. “In fact, my instinct would be to go in the other direction and come out near Cleveland Bridge.”
“Then they would be going in the wrong direction.”
“You can get round that way, but the thing is, the roads around Henrietta Park are very congested with parked cars. That’s why I think it’s a moot point.”
“Do you believe her then sir?”
“No, because I think it’s very strange for her to meet her mother alone. Why wasn’t her husband at the meeting?”
“Perhaps it was girl talk. You know that they are in business together, perhaps it really was a business meeting, without the husband, to agree something or other.”
“Let’s go to this bistro place and see what the people there have to say. We might get a bite to eat there ourselves while we’re at it.”
“Very good, sir. I like eating out. It will save me having to cook tonight.” They drove on in silence, each deep in thought.

“Do you remember seeing this lady and her husband on Saturday evening last?” Anna asked the proprietor of the bistro, showing him the photograph.
“Yes, they were in here, all right. The man came in first and then went off to meet her and they both reappeared at about quarter to nine. She was looking rather worried.”
“Do you know what she was worried about?”
“No, not really, but I overheard them talking about someone else who had not turned up to meet them.”
“Can you remember anything else that might help us in our inquiries?” asked Anna.
“No, not that I can think of,” replied the proprietor.
“Thank you for your kind co-operation,” said Gerrard, “now we would like something to eat ourselves.”

A waiter brought a menu to each of them. They sat in silence perusing the contents. The made their choice and gave their order. Anna broke the silence by asking Gerrard if he thought there was anything like a criminal personality.
“That’s a bit of a philosophical question isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“There has been a lot of research by criminologists and sociologists and some by psychologists. I’ll tell you what I have learned, if you’re interested.”
“Oh, very much so, sir,” she replied.

While Gerrard and Anna debated the niceties of criminal personality Paul Fellingham was back in London, still not able to confront Bella with his suspicions. Miss Katerina Ostrovsky, an attractive young lady, in her late teens, was entertaining him to dinner and she made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed his company. She turned to smile at him as he stood behind her to ease her coat from her shoulders. They both sat together on a bench seat against the wall of the dimly lit room. A candle flickered on the table in front of them and Paul’s companion nodded her head gently in time to the slow music playing unobtrusively in the background. She noticed that a few couples in a corner of the room were dancing.

“What would you like to drink, Katerina?” Paul asked her. “I’d like some white wine,” she replied warmly, “and please call me Kate everybody else does. Paul ordered a bottle of wine and the waiter promptly brought it for him to taste before pouring some into two glasses. Paul ordered their meals and continued the conversation.

“Whereabouts are you from?” asked Paul. “I was born here, in London, but my mother is Greek and my father Russian. They are divorced now. My father returned to Russia when the soviets fell from power and my mother went back to live once again in Greece. “Do you see them at all?” “My father, no. My mother lives in Kiffissia. It’s near Athens. She runs some holiday homes there. I have been on holiday there sometimes.” “Do you speak Russian or Greek?” “Not Russian, no, but I do speak some Greek, but I don’t use it much now. I’ve no need of it.”

They both ordered something to eat. “Will you dance with me?” said Kate, taking hold of Paul’s hand and rising from her seat. “Well I …” he faltered. She slipped off her jacket and hung it on a chair on the other side of their table. “Come on,” she said, with an encouraging smile, taking his other hand and pulling him towards the tiny dance floor. He went with her. They stopped still for a brief moment and then she pulled him towards her. He could feel the warmth of her slender body against him. As they moved round slowly in a circle she rested her head on his shoulder. He became conscious of her sweet perfume, which seemed to envelop him in her loveliness. At that moment his mobile phone rang. He answered it on the dance floor, making no attempt to stop dancing. “Hello,” Bella’s voice said in his ear, “what are you doing?” “I’m relaxing after a hard day’s work.” “I can hear voices, where are you relaxing?” “In a little eating house not far from the firm’s headquarters.” “Who are you with?” “Some people from the office,” said Paul, stretching the truth, for there were some people from the office in the same eating house. “You need to come home Paul. The police want to talk to you. It would be best if you came home tonight and went to see them tomorrow morning.” “I’ll get a train from Paddington at 10.30 or 10.45, so I won’t be home until the early hours of the morning. Don’t wait up for me, will you?” “No, but why so late in leaving London?” “I’ll explain everything later. See you soon,” he answered and rang off. He then switched off the mobile, so she could not ring him back.
Paul caught sight of the waiter taking a tray of food to their table. He led Katerina by the hand and sat down once again next to her. When they had finished eating she said, “Will you see me home?” “Yes, of course,” replied Paul. They took a taxi to Little Venice, where Katerina had an apartment not far from the railway station. “I’ll put some coffee on,” said Katerina as she opened the front door. “I can’t stay long,” replied Paul. She went towards the kitchen taking off her coat and jacket and throwing them over the nearest armchair. “Take a seat,” she said, “ make yourself at home.”

She returned with two cups of coffee and placed them on a small table next to her visitor’s armchair. She sat on the floor next to him with her back against his legs and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. In an instant she turned round to face him in a kneeling position, smiling up at him. Her smile was captivating, her personality warm and engaging. She took hold of his hands and held them to her breasts, which were full and firm.

“Will you sleep with me?” she asked, in a matter of fact voice. “I have to get back to the West Country. That was my wife on the phone.” Kate put her hands behind his head and pulled him towards her. Their mouths met and she kissed him hard on the lips, her tongue making contact with his. He did not pull away but let her do what she was intent on doing. She removed her other clothes and sat on his knee, naked. “Phone her with some excuse,” she said, “and sleep with me.” “I really can’t,” he said. “Well, make love to me before you go.” “I haven’t time,” said Paul, “and I would be thinking about what I have to do in the morning. I have to make a statement to the police.”
“What about?”
“The circumstances surrounding my mother-in-law’s death,” he replied. She was shaken by this news. “She died in strange circumstances on Saturday night,” he went on, “and the police need to eliminate me from their inquiries.” He drank his coffee, picked up his coat and left the apartment quickly, saying goodbye over his shoulder.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Wednesday, October 25: morning

Anna and Gerrard met together once again to review the flimsy evidence they had so far. They read through the various statements given by the ground staff at Sydney Gardens and some eyewitness accounts, which said they had seen a car driving at high speed near Sydney Gardens, possibly corroborating the evidence given by Vera Phelps. At 9.40 a.m. a police constable knocked and entered the room. “Someone on a phone-in programme late last night called a local radio station, saying they knew the driver of a yellow sports car,” he announced. “The chap’s name is Dickinson, Phillip Dickinson. He lives at Claverton Down. Uniform have checked this out and it seems that he is a likely contender for your driver, sir.” Gerrard got up and made towards the door.

“Right, thank you,” he said to the young constable. Turning to Anna, he said, “Let’s get on to that right away.” She left the room with him.
“There’s a Mr Paul Fellingham to see you sir,” said the desk sergeant, as Gerrard was on his way out, “he’s in the first interview room.”
“Okay,” replied Gerrard “I’ll be there in a moment. Anna, get round to the path lab and find out what is happening with the report and the forensic, please. We’ll leave Mr Dickinson for the time being. I want us both to be there to interview him.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna prepared to leave whilst Gerrard turned on his heel and retraced his steps to interview Laura Fellingham’s son-in-law.
“Good morning, inspector,” said Paul standing up as Gerrard entered the room.
“You know who I am?” asked Gerrard, surprised.
“Yes, I saw you on TV last night when you were asking for any information concerning my mother-in-law.”
“I thought you were in London.”
“I was, but I got a phone call from Bella and came home last night. I switched on the TV when I was getting ready for bed. So, your face is fresh in my mind.”
“It’s taken you a long time to come forward,” said Gerrard.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that.” There was a knock on the door and Anna reappeared. “I’ve tried to contact Phillip Dickinson by phone at his home address but there was no reply. He’s probably at work. I’ll try again after I’ve been to the lab.”
“Do keep trying. And find out where he works. We’ll go there, to his workplace, this afternoon if we have to.” Anna withdrew, leaving her boss with Mr Fellingham.
“Now, your wife has told us that on the Saturday in question, October 21st, you came home from London in the afternoon. Later, you met Isabella, in Bath, and you went for a meal together.”

“No, that’s not what happened.”
“The restaurateur has confirmed your wife’s account. We showed him a photo.”
“It only confirms my own suspicions. The restaurateur wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between me and my twin brother Michael.”
“So, you think it was Michael who met your wife?”
“Undoubtedly. That’s why I came home early. I have suspected this for some time.”
“Now, your wife says that you both went home, made inquiries to hospitals and police for your mother-in-law but were told that a person missing a meeting is not a missing person.”
“No, that’s not true either.”
“Well what is the truth?”
“Bella came home and then we started making inquiries.”
“Did you know she had been with Michael?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her where she had been?”
“Yes, she said that she had been to see her mother and her mother did not turn up.”
“But she came home quite late. Did you not ask her where she had been in the meantime?”
“I didn’t need to. I knew when I arrived home from London that Isabella had a meeting at 8.00 p.m. I saw it on her computer diary. This I now know was the meeting with Michael. She had arranged to meet her mother at an earlier time.”
“So, you stayed at home overnight?”

“Yes. We did not get much joy when we continued to phone all the local hospitals and police on Sunday morning. Isabella kept on during the day. Meanwhile I went back to London. By this time my brother was also making inquiries.”
“You were in touch with him?”
“Yes. We are quite a close family really. That’s why I was not unduly worried at first when I found out that Bella was seeing Michael. They have always been good friends.”
“But now you think that they are more than good friends, lovers in fact?”
“I have suspected it but I have no hard evidence for it.”
“Does your sister-in-law think the same as you?”
“I don’t know. When I said that we are quite a close family I didn’t mean Rita, so much. She is the exception.”
“In what way?”
“She is a bit of a law unto herself. She has always seemed to remain slightly aloof from the rest of us. She has always been a bit of a loner. I don’t mean that she cut herself off from us. I feel that she never confides in any of us. Michael, I know, feels the same way. I’ve talked to him about Rita, from time to time but he cannot come up with a satisfactory explanation, apart from going into his psychological gobbledegook, none of which I understand. Rita is an enigma. None of us know what she is thinking, or what she is going to do next.”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“Yes, you ought to know… I decided to go into Bath myself at about 7.30. I thought I would confront the two of them together. I went to a restaurant I have been to on one or two occasions with Bella, but neither she nor Michael for that matter ever showed up.”

“How long did you stay?”
“I decided to eat there and left about nine thirty. I asked if any one had made a booking in the name of Fellingham, but no one had. I assumed I had got the wrong place.”
“Although the restaurant people could confirm that you were there they couldn’t tell you apart from your brother could they?”
“No, but they would have a record of my payment details.”
“Yes, but if you and your brother were in the vicinity of Sydney Gardens on the night in question, no eye-witness would be able to identify either one of you?”
“No, that’s true.”
After an hour of intensive questioning Gerrard shook hands with Mr Fellingham and escorted him from the building. Paul Fellingham left the police station a worried man. His first worry was that his wife had lied to the police. Why? His second worry was that his wife and his brother were having an affair. He needed to find out from Rita if she thought that there was any substance to this.

In the meantime Paul had some business to attend to in Bristol. He was due to meet his colleague, Jeremy Thomas, for lunch, in Clifton. His worries would have to be put on one side for the time being. He drove to Bristol and up to the Downs. The sight of Clifton suspension bridge always impressed him. Jeremy was already waiting for him when he arrived at the little pub. “Hello Jeremy,” said Paul, “it’s been a long time.” “Yeah, about eighteen months I reckon. Let’s go through to the lounge bar, shall we?” replied Jeremy. “How are you keeping?” “Not bad. You’re going through it a bit though, aren’t you?” “With mother-in-law’s death, yes, very much so. Thanks for inviting me out for lunch. It’s a welcome break.” Paul explained the circumstances surrounding Laura’s death and then insisted on changing the subject.

They ordered drinks and food from the menu written in long hand on the wall. Paul then proceeded to tell Jeremy of his personal problems unconnected with the family. “I haven’t said anything to anyone about this but I know that I can trust you and I need to tell someone.” “What is it?” “Well, the fact of the matter is… I am deep in debt. My financial situation is critical. I’ve been playing the stock market and I’ve lost heavily. I’ve invested money, which I cannot afford to lose. Someone gave me financial information that turned out to be false. I have bought a lot of shares that have lost value.” “How much do the losses amount to?” “Just short of a hundred thousand,” said Paul, tonelessly. “Whew,” replied Jeremy, “how on earth are you going to pay that off?” “It’s worse than that. I’ve got to pay interest on the loan as well.” “That’s terrible.”

“It gets worse I’m afraid. I’m being blackmailed.” “Who on earth is blackmailing you?” “A girl from work, my headquarters in London.” “Sex, presumably.” “Yes,” said Paul, “but I’m going to have to brazen it out. If she tells Isabella I’ll just have to suffer the consequences.” “Which are?” “I dread to think… end of marriage I suppose.” The waitress arrived with the meals on a large tray and served the two men. The conversation dried up immediately. When the waitress had left for the kitchen Paul said, “So you see, I’m between the proverbial rock and a hard place.” “You have my deepest sympathy,” said Jeremy, “I was in the same predicament myself not too long ago. Fortunately my father came to my aid and bailed me out. Good old pa.”

“I don’t have a pa,” said Paul. “Isn’t there someone in the family you can turn to?” “At this precise moment? No, nobody.” “What about your mother-in-law? I know this may not be the right time to talk about inheritance and so on, but won’t you be left some money?” “We haven’t heard what’s in the will yet, but I’m pinning my hopes on that source of money, yes.” “Won’t Isabella be on hand to help. She worked with her mother didn’t she?” “Yes, but you see, if the blackmail girl tells Bella everything I’m going to be stuffed, aren’t I?” “I see what you mean.” “If my father hadn’t married my mother-in-law I would have been all right. As it is the money will be split four ways.” “But you mother-in-law’s money will add to it surely?” “Not split four ways instead of two, it won’t.”

“I see,” said Jeremy. “Anyway, we’ll see what happens.” “Yeah. I’ll get the bill. Fancy a walk across the bridge.” “Sure.” “Then,” said Jeremy, “I’ll take you back to the office and you can look at our plans for the new computer system. I’ve arranged for you to meet our technical department, because as you know, I’m strictly non-technical. You can stay as long as you want.” “That’s fine.” The two men walked to the suspension bridge and gazed down into the foaming waters of the Bristol Channel below. They did not stay long. The wind across the bridge was very strong and biting cold. They pulled their coats tightly around them and made their way back to their cars. Paul followed his friend to the port of Bristol at Portishead, to spend the next few hours pouring over detailed proposals for a computer system.

When Anna arrived at the laboratory she was ushered in to see Dr Ray almost immediately. They sat together in an office. He maintained his brusque manner of their previous meeting and insisted on going through all the details of the procedure, which were already quite well known to the police sergeant. “The visit to the scene of the incident gives me a chance to establish the background to the case,” he began. “I was able to take some samples before the body was moved.” Anna shuffled restlessly on her chair as Dr Ray continued his peroration. “As you know, I as the forensic pathologist am responsible to the coroner for establishing the medical cause of death. In this case there is no clear cause to write on the death certificate. Therefore, the coroner has instructed me to carry out a post mortem examination to determine the cause of death. That will take place this afternoon at half past twelve.” “How long will it take?” asked Anna. “If the autopsy is straight forward it should take a couple of hours, if not it will take a lot longer, may be four hours.” “Are there any facts that you can tell me now?” asked Anna, “before the post-mortem.” “She was definitely the victim of a road traffic accident. She sustained injuries to her head and shoulder. Until my autopsy is completed this afternoon I cannot tell you any more.” “Okay, thank you Dr Ray, you’ll send us your report as soon as possible?” “Yes, as soon as possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get on with some work.”

On her way back to the police station Anna thought about her conversation with Dr Ray. Shouldn’t she have seen the body? Was he trying to protect her from such a gruesome sight as a corpse? He had treated her as if she had never seen a corpse before. Perhaps Gerrard would have made a better job of seeing the locum pathologist. Perhaps he would have treated a male police officer very differently. She did not know. She did not like Dr Ray at all. She was looking forward to the return of the regular pathologist, Dr Eve Terry.

When Anna returned, Gerrard summarised the facts that Paul Fellingham had given him, reading from a small notebook.
“Paul Fellingham, aged twenty-four, husband of Isabella Fellingham, left secondary school when he was sixteen at the end of his fifth year. He worked in a local bank for several years, then attended a computer course sponsored by the bank. He subsequently left the bank and now works as a computer specialist for a large oil company, a job obtained through his father. He travels a great deal and is often away from home.” Gerrard filled Anna in with all the details concerning the Saturday night, and then said, “From what Paul Fellingham told me I was left with the impression that Rita was not unduly worried about her mother’s failure to turn up for the meeting. She did not regard her absence as a disappearance. Have you got anything from the lab yet?”
“No, not much.” Anna explained that Dr Ray spent some time going through the details of what would happen in the post-mortem to be held that afternoon but was not very forthcoming about anything else apart from the injuries Mrs Fellingham had received as a result of her involvement in a motor accident. She did not mention her dislike of Dr Ray. “Let’s catch up with this Dickinson, the driver of the yellow sports car and hear what he’s got to say. Then we need to find the other two Fellinghams and establish the truth about their movements on Saturday night.”


CHAPTER EIGHT

Wednesday, October 25: afternoon

On Wednesday Phil Dickinson was at home. His girlfriend Lynne, a tall woman in her late twenties, with long ash blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and a large pair of gold earrings was trying to comfort him. She had not seen him for a week because she had been ill with a minor ailment. Now she had recovered she had decided not to go into work after lunch, as she had promised her boss. She had called round to see Phil after a rather difficult conversation on the telephone. She had her own key to his tiny apartment. Lynne opened the front door and called his name, but heard no reply. She walked along the passage, looking in all the rooms and eventually found him in the front room, motionless, his face a pasty white colour. “You look awful Phil. What on earth is the matter?” she asked, but again, he made no response. She threw herself down on the sofa next to him, kicking off her shoes and took hold of his hand. “Why couldn’t you tell me on the phone?” she continued, but still elicited no response from him.

He turned towards her, putting his head on her breast and his arms around her. She could feel his heart beating as he began to sob gently. He tried to fight back the tears, but he couldn’t stop them. She felt for her handbag lying on the sofa next to her, opened it and produced a tissue from its dark interior, shaking it open as she did so. She gave it into his hand. He dabbed at his eyes like a small child and then held it against his face. He was choking with emotion, too much so to say anything. She stroked his hair and kissed him, first on the forehead and then on the cheek. Whatever mental anguish he was suffering she wanted to share it. She knew it was going to take some time for her to coax any information out of him and she could see that he was deeply upset.

“I’ve done a stupid thing, Lynne, and the police are coming here now, to grill me.” “What have you done?” asked the young woman, but as she did so, the doorbell rang and Phil went to answer it. After showing Gerrard and Rossi into the living room they all sat down together. Both detectives showed their warrant cards and then Gerrard began the questioning.
“You are Phillip Dickinson?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve come to talk to you about the events of Saturday night. Can you tell us where you were and what you were doing?”
“On Saturday night I’m driving down North Road to Bath City on to the Lower Bristol road, out towards Keynsham.”
“What’s the purpose of your journey?” asked Gerrard maintaining the present tense of his interviewee. “Look, I have a phone call from someone and go and see them at short notice.”
“Shouldn’t you drive straight down the road, Bathwick Hill and turn left past the magistrates court. Why go down North Road?”
“Look,” said Dickinson for the third time, “my girlfriend Lynne, here, and her mother live on Bathwick Hill. Either one of them might see me going out and think I’m with someone else but I’m on a business trip. Right?”
“Right,” said Anna joining in the fun.
“So it’s down North Road to the city… avoids any hassle,” continued Phil.
“And what car are you driving?” asked Gerrard.
“I drive a Subaru Impreza Sti Type RA-S. S.350 bhp metallic green.”
“Not bright yellow?”
“No.”
“And you are definitely driving it on early Saturday evening last?”
“Yes.”
“What time precisely are you driving it on Saturday night?”
“Set off from here about 7.30 I should think.”
“You hit someone.”
“Yes.”
“Where did this incident take place?”
“On the main road outside Sydney Gardens. It was an accident though.” In his agitated state he forgot to speak in the present tense
“What was the cause of the accident?”
“I suddenly see this woman standing in the middle of the road. One second the road is clear the next she’s there. I swerved to avoid her.”
“But you didn’t avoid her?”
“No, but I didn’t hit her full on, it was a glancing blow.”
“Enough to throw her to the other side of the road.”
“Was it that bad?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“You didn’t stop?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d had a couple of drinks. I wasn’t supposed to be going out.”
“Well, the person you hit is now dead, and you may be held responsible.”
Dickinson sat in silence, his head in his hands, numb with shock, lost for words. Eventually he uttered one disbelieving word, “Dead?”

“Yes, she died on Saturday night, but whether it was the result of her injuries or not we don’t yet know,” said Gerrard
“Where is your car now, Mr Dickinson?” asked Anna.
He seemed unable to speak, still overcome with the news of the enormity of what had taken place.
“Am I right in thinking,” asked Gerrard softly, “that the car you drive is not your own?”
“No, it’s the garage’s car – the firm I work for.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a car salesman.”

“And where is the car now?” “At the garage, where I work, being repaired. The boss was furious when he found out what I’d done. It’s being repaired now, in fact. I haven’t been into work this week after taking it in on Monday. I’m due to go in tomorrow; Lynne will drive me.” Dickinson was a little more composed now. Having to answer questions and face up to what he had done seemed to have settled his nerves.
“You will have to come with us for further questioning and to make a written statement. Whether or not you are responsible for the woman’s death or not, from what you have told us so far, you still face charges concerning the fact that you didn’t stop at the scene of an accident when someone has been injured. So get your coat please.”

The two detectives escorted the hit and run driver to their waiting police car and drove back to the police station, leaving the bewildered Lynne standing on the doorstep. “I’ll come and see you in an hour or so at the police station,” she called after him, but he made no reply.

Later that day Dickinson entered the police station accompanied by the two detectives. In the interview room Gerrard went over the familiar ground once again, but this time it was all written down in a formal statement. “I hit the woman and did not stop. I was in a hurry. However, when I realised what I had done I turned up Bathwick Hill and went home.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Yes, a neighbour.”
“You will be charged for the offences of reckless driving and failing to stop at an accident when someone is injured.”
“I understand.” “Charge him, please Sergeant Rossi,” said Gerrard.
“Yes sir.”
When Dickinson had left the building Gerrard found Anna and said, “He will appear before the magistrate in the morning. I see no reason for opposing bail.”
“No sir,” she replied, “we now need to find our murderer.”

On Wednesday afternoon, two teenagers were meeting at Bath Spa railway station. They were an ill-assorted pair as they walked along the canal towpath together. The girl, Samantha Bennett, was quite fashionably, though not expensively dressed. The youth with her was very ragged and extremely dishevelled. He wore faded denim jeans, a torn sweatshirt and a woolly hat, together with a dirty woollen pullover that was full of holes. On his feet he had a pair of filthy trainers, almost totally worn down at the heels. His very unkempt hair had obviously remained unwashed for many weeks. As soon as she had seen him emerging into the station courtyard her face had lit up with a radiant smile. “Hi, Tommy,” she had called to him, “it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. I’ve really missed you.” His careworn face had managed a weak smile in return. He had put his arms round her waist and had hugged her tightly.

“I got your message on my mobile, Tommy. How did you know my number?”
“I can remember it,” replied the youth.
“And where did you get a mobile phone from? You’re supposed to be a down and out.”
“I found it,” said Tommy.
“Oh really!”
“I’ve got a watch as well. I was wondering whether you could sell it for me,” he said, pulling a lady’s wristwatch from his pocket.
“No, absolutely not, no way.” Her response alarmed him. He avoided looking into her eyes as she started to question him. “You didn’t find them did you? You stole them.” She took the watch from him, and examined it carefully, turning it over and reading the inscription on the back. “It’s inscribed here … to Laura from David.” She held it out, in front of him her anger rising.
“Okay, I stole it and the phone, but I was drunk, out of my head. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“It’s still not like you to steal stuff like this. Being drunk is no excuse. Why did you do it?”
“I told you… I didn’t know what I was doing. I was hungry, I had no money. I was getting cold. I know it was stupid…” His voice trailed away. “You know,” said Sam, “I haven’t got much money but what I have I can give to you.” “You weren’t here. You were miles away in Bristol…”
“I want you to get back on your feet, Tommy, not be living rough,” she said tenderly, taking hold of his hand, trying to reassure him. “Where are you living now, by the way?”
“In a squat, out Twerton way,” replied Tommy.
“And I bet it’s pretty rough,” rejoined Sam.
“Yes, it is. I got some credit cards as well, by the way, but I haven’t been able to use them so I threw them away.”
“Where did you get them from?”
“I saw a woman lying in the road outside Sydney Gardens. She looked as if she had been injured by a passing car. I picked her up and carried her into some bushes. These things were in her handbag.”

“The lady died. Tommy, you stole them from a dead or dying woman… It was on the news.” At these words the lad looked stupefied. “The police are trying to trace those involved,” she went on. She could see by his vacant look that Tommy was now a very frightened individual as he contemplated the full horror of what had taken place a few days previously.
“I… I didn’t kill her,” he stammered. Sam looked hard into his eyes as she summoned up all her emotional strength. She took a deep breath and sighed. Then she asked what was to her the crucial question.
“Was she still alive when you left her?”
“Yes. She was unconscious, but still alive, I’m pretty sure of it. There was a lot of blood from her head wound, but I made sure none of it got on me.”
“You’re not certain she was alive?”
“No, not a hundred per cent.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I’d stolen those things, hadn’t I?”
“So, a woman has died for the sake of a mobile and a watch.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t kill her. I panicked and ran off. I went to a nearby pub and tried to sell the watch, but no one would buy it.”

“That’s hardly surprising is it? It’s not working is it? It must have been broken in the accident, when the lady was knocked down.”
“Yes, I suppose so. What am I going to do?”
“Well, you must go to the police, own up to the robbery and say that you did not kill her,” said Sam.
“No, I can’t… I can’t do that.”
“You must. It’s for your own good in the long run.”
“I’m frightened of them.”
“I know someone in the police. I’ll get in touch with her and explain.”
“I don’t want you to do that.”
“I’m going to anyway, whether you want me to or not. And we’d better get you cleaned up so that you make a better impression on the police and others when the time comes.”
“I’m an adult now, not a kid. I’ll probably be sent to prison.”
“No, you’ve not committed any offence as far as I can see. You’ve no criminal record. You have nothing to worry about. Give me the mobile.” She took it from him as he meekly handed it to her. She put it along with the watch in her shoulder bag. “I’ll make sure they are handed in,” she told him. “If you are honest with the police it will be much better for you.”
“Okay, I’ll do as you say.”
“Let’s get the train now to Bristol. We can walk to my house in Bedminster from Temple Meads. My mother will be out until quite late and my father doesn’t come in from work until about eight o’clock. You can have a shower and I’ll see if I can find you a change of clothes.”
“Thanks, Sam,” replied Tommy, meekly, “I’m very grateful to you. I do love you.”
“And I love you,” said the girl, “but I’m not getting too close to you until you are clean. Let’s go then.” They turned round and made their way back along the canal, crossed over the footbridge which leads to Bath Spa railway station and bought tickets for Bristol. When Anna returned to her desk she found an email on her PC from the mortician at the pathology lab.

Hello Sergeant Rossi
Dr Ray concluded his forensic post-mortem this afternoon. This included a very detailed external examination during which every area of trauma was analysed and recorded. However, Dr Ray was taken ill this afternoon. It was probably brought on by the accompanying vapours when the stomach contents were analysed! He’s just gone home taking his interim report with him. He says he’ll rest this afternoon and give you the completed report in the morning.”

She read it out to Gerrard who frowned at the news. “That is far from satisfactory. We’ve still not got any definite information as to the C.O.D. have we?” “No sir,” said Anna. “I’ll get off home now. Eve’s coming round at seven. I want a rest before then.” “I’ll see you tomorrow then. By the way, sir, would you like to come round to my place tomorrow evening for a bite to eat?” “Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” replied Gerrard, “I do like being looked after. What time shall we make it?” “Shall we say half past six for seven?” “Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he went on his way, leaving Anna to get on with paperwork.


CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday, October 25: evening

Wednesday evening found Gerrard at home, an angry man. It was all taking too long. This business with the lab report on Laura’s death was ridiculous. He could do nothing more. Perhaps it would be better to sit at home for a while and relax. But he couldn’t take his mind off the case. Why would anyone want to move the body or the injured person into bushes?
His musing was interrupted by the telephone.

“Hello, Gerrard speaking.”
“There has been a development, sir.” Gerrard recognised the excited tones of Anna’s voice. “A teenage girl called Sam has contacted me by phone. I had some dealings with her a couple of years ago. She says she has some information regarding Laura Fellingham. I’m meeting her in Bristol in a few minutes time. I thought you ought to know. I’m on the train at the moment. We’re just pulling in to the railway station at Temple Meads.”
“Good. Thank you. Please keep me informed of any further developments.”
“Yes sir,” replied Anna. He wished her goodnight and rang off.

Gerrard sat in his chair thinking. He wondered where Eve had got to. She was supposed to be calling round at seven. Now it was gone seven, only a few minutes admittedly, but it was gone seven. So where is she? This time his impatient, silent questioning was interrupted by the sound of a text message arriving on his mobile.

Sorry I’m running late, I’ll be another 5 minutes, bringing food. Eve

Damn the woman. Why can’t she come on time? Still, it’s no use sitting here brooding, wondering. He got up and went to find some plates and cutlery, assuming that the food that Eve was bringing required eating irons. After a short while he heard a knock on the door and smiled with relief, knowing that she had arrived. Why can’t she ring the doorbell like everyone else? She always knocked the door in the same way… tap, tap, tap. Gerrard opened it. “You got here at last,” he said. She drew herself up to her full height. “And I’ll go away again if you play the grumpy old man with me. Didn’t you get my message?” “Yes, thanks.” “Why didn’t you reply to it, then?” “I didn’t think there was any need. Come in. What have you brought with you?” “A Thai meal you can do in the microwave. Have you got any chop sticks?” “No, I don’t know how to use them. I don’t want to know how to use them.” “My goodness, you are tetchy tonight. What’s the matter with you?”

She went into the kitchen, put a carrier bag on the table and extracted various items in cellophane packaging, which she proceeded to put in the microwave, which was standing on the work surface. She knew her way around Gerrard’s kitchen and he noticed, did not need to read any cooking instructions. “It’s this case, I suppose,” he said, in reply to her question. “The press think I’m baffled by it and the chief super thinks it’s murder.” “Are you baffled by it?” “Yes, but that’s not the point is it? Not good for PR, if the public think we’re baffled by it. Anyway we’ve hardly started.” He took two wineglasses and a bottle of red wine from the cellarette and set them on coasters on the dining room table, then rejoined Eve in the kitchen in his search for a corkscrew. “It won’t be long,” she told him.
When they finally sat down at the table together Gerrard seemed to be a bit more relaxed. They ate in silence, enjoying the meal and the moment, Eve obviously taking great pleasure in the fact that Gerrard appreciated her culinary skills. “Now then, Peter… are you going to tell to me about this case of yours?” “There isn’t much to tell,” replied Gerrard, “but I do wish you were working on it as pathologist and not that long streak of misery Dr Ray.” “I’m glad you appreciate my work… From what I gather from the news media, it wasn’t the car driver who knocked your victim down who killed her?” “No, he just drove off. He was a hit and run man. We interviewed him this afternoon. We’re looking for someone who moved the body from the road into the gardens, but didn’t call the emergency services. It’s all very odd.” “So the woman died of the wounds inflicted by the driver’s car?” “It looks like it.” “That is odd.”

Anna alighted from the train and found the girl waiting for her on the platform. “Hello Sam.” “Hello,” returned the girl. “Shall we go and get a drink here somewhere?” Anna asked the girl.
“Yes, there’s a place near the ticket office,” said Sam. When they had bought some drinks they settled themselves at a table.
“How are you?” Anna asked the girl.
“I’m all right,” she replied.
“Keeping out of trouble?”
“I was only in trouble once and that was because of a stupid mistake.”
“What do you want to see me about?”
“My friend,” replied Sam. “What about him?” “Can I trust you?” “Yes, of course. What’s happened to your friend? You said something about him being connected with Laura Fellingham’s death.”

“Yes, he found her lying in the road after she was hit by a car and he carried her into Sydney Gardens and hid her in the bushes.” “Was she dead?” “No, unconscious but not dead.” “Why on earth did he put her in bushes?” “I don’t know. He stole some things from her bag and then panicked.” Sam reached into the pockets of her jeans and pulled out a watch and a mobile phone. She placed them on the table in front of the police officer. “Perhaps,” she continued, “he thought he would have more time to get rid of this phone and watch, if he hid the lady.” “Why didn’t he call an ambulance?” “I don’t know. He just panicked. He’d been drinking all day with some down and outs he knows. He wasn’t thinking straight.” “What’s his name?” “Tommy… Tommy Mattheson.” “Tell me about him, Sam.”

“He’s nineteen years old. He had his birthday a month ago on the twenty-eighth of September. He left school when he was seventeen.” She started to become quite tearful. Anna took out a handkerchief and handed it to the girl to help her compose herself. “Take your time, Sam,” she said kindly, “carry on please, when you’re ready.” After some moments Sam started again.

“As I was saying… Tommy left school when he was seventeen. That’s where I met him, at school. He’s really a nice boy, very caring. He had started his ‘A’ levels but he was thrown out of his home in Bristol because his mother remarried after her divorce and the new husband took against him. They hated each other. Tommy developed a lot of hatred for him and anybody else in authority.”
“Would you describe him as your boyfriend?”
“Yes, but I don’t see much of him. He’s not welcome in my home either. My dad hates the idea of me going about with what he calls a vagrant. He’s homeless. He thought he would stand more chance of finding somewhere to live in Bath, but he never has. He’s lived out on the streets for a long time, but he managed to get a place in a squat. There is no chance of getting a job because of the state of him.”
“You still live at home, do you Sam?”
“Yes, I live with my parents; the same place I was living in when we met up before.”
“Yes, I remember, in Bedminster isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Anyway, I’m still at school, so I can’t help Tommy with money. I want to finish my ‘A’ levels and go to college. I know that Tommy steals what he can, when he can. He gave me this watch and mobile to sell but I’m giving them to you. They belong to Mrs Fellingham.”

“Thank you,” said Anna kindly, “and where may I find Tommy now?” “I wrote down his address on this,” she replied, handing the police officer a crumpled scrap of paper. “You’ve been a great help,” said Anna, smiling at the girl, “if you like I’ll walk you home to Bedminster.” “Thank you. It is a bit late for me to be out on my own.” “Will your parents be worried about you?” “No, I told them I was meeting a friend and would be home within the hour.” They walked to the girl’s home but she did not want to have to introduce her parents to a police officer. Anna made herself scarce before Sam went inside.

By now Gerrard and his guest had reached the coffee stage of their meal together. They sat in the living room in comfortable armchairs. “That picture you were having framed when we met you, was it one of your portraits?” “Yes, I painted it last year when I was on holiday.” “Are you working on anything at the moment?” “No, I’m trying to recover from this recent illness.” “I wonder if I could commission you to paint my great uncle’s portrait, great uncle Jack that is?” “Yeah, I should be delighted to do it if I can find the time. Would he be prepared to sit for me though?” “He spends most of time sitting, stock still, in fact. And he has an interesting face, lived in, I think you would describe it,” said Gerrard. “He’s the old man you have told me about before, isn’t he, the man who was a jazz player?” “Yes, I went to see him the other day. He’s quite cheerfully listening to jazz these days.”

“Do you still play yourself?” “Sometimes, not very often, now. I don’t seem to have the time.” “Like me and my painting.” “Perhaps we ought to make the time.” “Well, let’s make it now… play something to me Peter.”

Gerrard got up, went into his back room, rummaged around in a corner and took out his alto sax. It had indeed been many months since he had last taken it from its case. He pushed home the mouthpiece and took the instrument along with a volume of music he had found, back into the living room. He withdrew the CD from the rear of the music and put it in the player, switched on and tuned carefully to the C given out by the disc. He enjoyed playing along with the accompaniment on a CD. It felt as if he were playing in a jazz band. But he had forgotten his music stand. He went once more into the spare room and rifled through more unused possessions until he found it. At last he was ready to play. He liked to play the old standards, especially the music of Ellington. He started with Take the ‘A’ train, and then went into Perdido, followed by Chelsea Bridge. He then settled into Solitude, Sophisticated Lady and Concerto for Cootie. He sounded pretty good he thought, for somebody who had not touched the instrument in a while. The idea that he could make his own entertainment when he wanted to, and not sit gawping at a television set filled him with immense pleasure. “Bravo!” said Eve as he dutifully cleaned the instrument and carefully put it back in its case. “Yes, I’m resolved to play it again soon,” he murmured to himself. “And I’m resolved to get home,” said Eve, “I need a good night’s sleep. Thanks very much for a lovely evening… we must do it again soon… at my house.” They said their goodbyes. She collected her things and was gone very quickly, into the night.

Gerrard made himself a mug of cocoa and was thinking about going to bed when his phone rang again. He answered it in his customary manner, surprised to hear the voice of the locum pathologist.
“This is Stephen Ray… I’m sorry to disturb you at home but I have something that can’t wait any longer.”
“I’ve waited long enough already.”
“I know and I do apologise.”
“Well, what is this something which can’t wait any longer?”
“Mrs Fellingham was stabbed.”
“Stabbed? With what?”
“Probably, a nail file, a metal nail file.”
“Where was she stabbed?”
“In the back of the neck, at the base of the skull.”
“When did you discover this?”
“Earlier today.”
“When exactly?”
“At lunchtime or shortly after, when I had seen your assistant, the young lady, Sergeant Rossi.”
“And you have waited all this time to tell us!” thundered Gerrard.
“I’m sorry but I was feeling too ill earlier on to do anything. The autopsy report will be with you first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You may have jeopardised the investigation.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry, and there’s nothing more I can do or say,” said Dr Ray firmly and rang off. Gerrard held the receiver to his chest for a few moments and then slammed it down. This investigation was proving to be very trying. ‘Here we are, five or six days after the murder with no witnesses to speak of, no suspects and no leads. Unless Anna Rossi turns up something important, we look pretty silly. We’ve absolutely nothing to go on.’

He was tired and irritable. He wanted to sleep. He rang Anna on her mobile. There was no answer. Perhaps she had gone to bed. He tried again. Still no answer. His patience had worn very thin by now. Perhaps he ought to do what he was going to do and go to bed himself, but he wanted Anna to have this information, because in a way it changed the whole nature of the case. If Mrs Fellingham had been stabbed it could have been no accident; it was murder. He tried to ring Anna again. This time she answered. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” he said in an exasperated voice. Anna felt she needed to give a full explanation. “My battery on the phone was flat and I was recharging it. I really wasn’t expecting any calls at this time of night, otherwise I would have left it switched on.” Gerrard told her the news. “We have to find someone who uses a nail file,” she said. “So, we’re looking for a woman,” asserted Gerrard. “Not necessarily,” said Anna. “Men use nail files.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll see you in the morning early.”
“Yes sir, but I think you ought to know the outcome of my chat with Samantha, Samantha Bennett, in Bristol.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I’ll give you all the details tomorrow. sir, but the girl handed me the watch and phone that belonged to Laura Fellingham and she also gave me, rather reluctantly, the address of the young man who took them from her.”
“Excellent,” said Gerrard, “well done, Anna.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
“Yes,” said Gerrard, “goodnight.”


CHAPTER TEN

Thursday, October 26: morning

Dr Ray was as good as his word. After a good night’s sleep, Peter Gerrard arrived at the police station early to find the pathologist’s report waiting for him on his desk and Anna Rossi sitting nearby, anxious to learn its contents.

“Good morning,” he said, as he sat down, taking hold of a paper knife and slitting open the buff envelope in front of him. “You got here early,” he commented. “You asked me to be here early, sir,” said Anna. He made no reply, but sat motionless for several minutes in silence, reading. At length, without a word, he handed the document to his colleague. She took it and read it eagerly. It told her that the forensic post-mortem showed that the deceased had suffered a fractured skull and dislocated collarbone. “Mrs Fellingham must have taken quite a knock when she was struck by the car and hit the deck,” said Anna. “Yes, as it says, she would probably have died from these injuries if left unattended,” said Gerrard, “but we now know for certain that the cause of death was the stab wound to the neck. It says that ‘trauma was present internally in the stab wound from blunt force but after a detailed examination of the organ systems, no internal trauma was found.’ I can’t understand how Stephen Ray could miss a stab wound when he first looked at the body. There must have been a considerable amount of blood. He couldn’t have confused it with the blood from the head wound could he? It seems to me that he has been grossly negligent. Anyway, the question is … why would anyone want to do such a thing as stab Mrs Fellingham? We now know it was murder, not just a car accident, but what is the motive for such a murder?”

“I don’t know sir,” Anna replied, “but the girl I talked to last night, Samantha Stone, is the girlfriend of the young man, Tommy, who found Laura Fellingham lying injured in the road and carried her into Sydney Gardens. I had a long talk with her. She’s given us a good deal of useful information, including Tommy’s address.”
“We need to find him without delay.”
“I’ve already asked uniform to find him.”
“There’s some forensic evidence according to this report,” said Gerrard, having just picked up another document from his desk. “It says they’ve found blood on leaves, twigs and other bits of wood and footprints, but no murder weapon, no nail file or sharp instrument.” “The murderer probably took it with him or her,” said Anna. “Do you think Tommy isn’t the murderer?” asked Gerrard. “According to Sam, Tommy left the victim alive, alive but unconscious.”

While the two detectives were mulling over the new developments and writing their reports on recent events, two constables in a police car were on their way to call on Mr Mattheson at his temporary address in Twerton. They drove along the Lower Bristol Road and took a left turn up Jews Lane to Lansdown View. They turned again and found the house they were seeking. Unfortunately, however, they were not able to locate Tommy. The other residents of that rundown accommodation in Twerton told them that he had left the premises very early that morning, taking very little with him, but then, he didn’t possess very much.
“Do you have any idea where he was going?” one of the two constables asked. “I think he was off to London,” said an oldish man from a dark corner. “He didn’t say which way he was going to London by any chance?” “No, he didn’t.” The two constables returned to their patrol car and decided to look for him in the M4 motorway service stations. They cruised up and down for an hour or more but they did not spot him. “We’d better get in touch with Wiltshire Constabulary,” said the driver.

It had already crossed Tommy’s mind that the police would look for him at motorway service stations. H had decided to try his luck hitching a ride on the main road, the A4 to London. Starting just after six o’clock in the morning he tramped through the city, emerging at Cleveland Bridge, from where he walked along the London Road with his thumb out; past Snow Hill flats until he reached a small group of shops at the Balustrade. There, a van stopped and Tommy got in and told the driver he was heading for London. “I’m only going as far as Chippenham, mate,” said the driver. “Okay, please drop me off there on the main road.”
“What you going to London for?” asked the driver, trying to make conversation.
“I want to settle down there and get a job, I’m fed up of living where I’ve been living.”
“And where’s that?”
“In Bristol and then in Bath.” When he reached his destination the driver stopped the van and let Tommy out. He shivered in the cold breeze of the early morning. October days were drawing to a close and it would soon be winter. There might still be bright sunshine in the last few weeks of autumn, but today was dull and Tommy had to fight hard mentally to keep up his spirits.

In Chippenham he tried hitching a ride once more, but no one stopped. He had been standing there an hour. He walked on a little way and then saw a car, an old Astra, parked up a side street. A window had been left slightly open. He managed with great difficulty to slip his hand in and open a door. Within a few moments he was sitting in the driving seat and quickly hot-wiring the engine. He tried starting it and it fired immediately. He carefully eased it into gear and released the handbrake, took his foot gently off the clutch and accelerated. The car pulled away erratically. He did not want to attempt any difficult manoeuvres such as turning round, so he went by way of the back streets until he found his way on to the A4.

He drove through Calne in the direction of Marlborough. He had been travelling for about twenty minutes when he caught sight of a police car in his rear-view mirror. There was no reason why the police car should have paid any attention to him. Tommy panicked. He accelerated hard and almost lost control as he negotiated a bend in the road. He had never driven a car before. As he was leaving Calne, Tommy glanced in his mirror once more and saw the police car with headlights flashing, obviously pursuing him. He heard the siren wailing, as the police car began to gain on him. He ignored the speed limit and pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator.
In the early morning open countryside there was nothing on the road in front of him going in his direction. As he accelerated away from the police car he began to look for some means of losing them by turning off sharply down a side road. Nothing suitable came into view. He drove on, glancing at the speedometer from time to time. It read 70 mph, then 75, and then hovered at 80. The following police car had fallen behind now. Tommy thought that there was a good chance that he would be able to shake off his pursuers soon. He saw the roundabout rather late, but managed to brake hard and negotiate his way round it, though he found it a very frightening experience.

He soon left Silbury Hill and the Long Barrow behind him and pushed on towards Fyfield. He thought he had lost the police car and slowed down to within the 30-mph speed limit. As he approached the outskirts of Marlborough another police car pulled across the road in front of him. He tried to swerve round it and almost hit a lorry coming in the opposite direction. The car he was driving went out of control as he over-corrected his swerve by violently turning the steering wheel in the opposite direction. The Astra mounted the pavement. Tommy braked sharply and the car came to a halt with its bonnet in a hedge, close to Marlborough School.

A mad panic set in as he quickly released the seatbelt and opened the door. He slammed it behind him and ran along the path for some time before realising that his haste was making him conspicuous. He slowed down to a walking pace as he arrived in the main street. There were not many people about, but he thought he could blend in with his surroundings and manage not to draw attention to himself. He took off his hat and stuffed it in his coat pocket. He crossed the road and went into the Waitrose supermarket in the middle of the town. As he was entering the shop he saw two police cars coming down the road towards him. He felt reasonably safe. They did not know what he looked like, did they?

Then he began to rack his brains, trying to remember whether Sam had ever had a photograph of him. He thought not. He felt in his trouser pocket for the money he had left out of the £30 he had stolen from Laura Fellingham. That was only last Saturday. ‘Now it is Thursday,’ he thought, ‘but it seems that it was weeks and weeks ago that the incident in Sydney Gardens happened.’ He bought a few items that he could call breakfast and went to the checkout. The girl at the till hardly seemed to notice him. He paid for the goods and walked out of the shop at the back entrance, finding himself in the car park. There, he found a seat and sat down to eat.

The four policemen from the two cars had split up and began searching any business premises that were open at that time. Few were. Tommy looked down the side alley of Waitrose, half expecting the police to appear on the scene at any moment. If they did, he would make a run for it, back through the supermarket. He sat there for some time, anxiously awaiting developments. Then the inevitable happened. A police constable appeared from nowhere and stood at the back entrance to the store. Another appeared in the side alley whilst a police car drove into the car park. Tommy looked around for a means of escape, somewhere to take refuge, but there was nowhere left to run.

The policemen cautioned him, arrested him and bundled him into the nearby police car. He was taken to the police station at Trowbridge, where he was charged with stealing the car, driving without a licence and dangerous driving. It was some hours before Bath and North East Somerset police were in contact with Wiltshire police and had made arrangements to have Tommy brought back to Bath.

At half past ten, Gerrard sent his sergeant to the home of Paul and Isabella Fellingham. Anna rang the doorbell and was met by Isabella. “Hello Sergeant Rossi,” she said, and welcomed the policewoman inside asking her to seat herself in the front room. “Is there any more news?” “Yes, I’m pleased to say that there have been some developments recently,” replied Anna.

“Would you like some coffee?” “Yes, please.” “Come into the kitchen then, and talk to me while I make it. Anna followed the young woman and sat on a stool while Isabella busied herself with kettle, milk, coffee and mugs. They sat together at the kitchen table whilst Anna told her of the recent turn of events. She mentioned the young man who had moved Isabella’s mother from the road into Sydney Gardens.
“How did you find him?” asked Isabella. “He has a girlfriend, it seems, who lives in Bristol. She doesn’t see him very often but he phoned her, using your mother’s mobile and they met up. He told her what he had done and she urged him to come forward, but he refused. She then contacted me.”
“Have you arrested him yet?”
“No, he’s done a runner but we know where he is and he will be brought back to face the music presently.”
“Why did he move her?”
“He was stealing from her handbag and reckoned he’d have more time to get rid of the stuff, sell it that is, if he hid your mother’s unconscious body.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like on the Saturday evening?” asked Bella, suddenly interested. Anna consulted her notebook and turned back a few pages.

“Well, the Wiltshire police have described him as a lad of nineteen, in blue jeans, a sweat shirt and a cap on his head. He wore rather dilapidated trainers. He’s been living rough for some time, and that’s exactly how he looks – rough.”
“I saw him running out of the main entrance to Sydney Gardens. I was walking down the Beckford road and he almost ran into me.”
“What time was this?”
“Just after 7.40 p.m. I looked at the clock in the car when I parked.”
“And you would recognise him again?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Bella, warmly.
“Well, that could be useful,” replied the police officer, and then after a pause she added, “we now have reason to think that your mother was murdered. She did not die of her injuries in the car accident.”

“Why do you think she was murdered?” asked Bella, alarmed. “The pathology report describes a blow to the back of the neck with a small, sharp instrument, such as a nail file. Do you use a nail file? I ask as a matter of routine inquiry.” “No, just nail scissors,” replied Bella, “but I know that my mother did. She often took it out of her bag and started filing her fingernails. I didn’t mind it at all but it drove Paul to distraction.”
“We didn’t find it with the rest of her things,” said Anna.
“So this vagrant must have killed her with her own nail file and then disposed of it somewhere.” “We don’t know that. There seems to be no motive. You don’t kill someone for the little that he stole.”
“What other explanation is there?”

“There isn’t another explanation at the moment. It’s a mystery.” The two women looked across the table at each other in silence. Then, Anna said, “There’s another mystery that needs solving and you are the one who can solve it.” “Oh,” said Bella, trying to display an air of innocence, but knowing full well what the policewoman was going to say, “what might that be?” “You told Chief Inspector Gerrard and me on Tuesday that you were meeting your husband last Saturday evening, but that isn't true, is it?” “No, it was a lie. I was meeting my brother-in-law, Michael.” “Why did you lie to us?” “I didn’t want you to know that I was meeting Michael.” “Have you something to hide?” “Yes, I suppose so. My relationship with my brother-in-law. It has no relevance to the inquiry though, does it.” “At the moment, as far as I can see, no.” “Is that all then, Sergeant Rossi?” “Yes, for the moment.”
“I’ll show you to the door then.”
(TBC)

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Texte: Bergotte
Bildmaterialien: Bergotte
Lektorat: Bergotte
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.10.2012

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