CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Saturday, Oct 28: morning

At the first light of dawn, a little after 7.30, two police divers slipped into the cold, murky waters of the Avon Kennet canal in Sydney Gardens and began their search in the mud and detritus for the missing murder weapon. After an hour of fruitless endeavour they eventually brought a grimy item to the surface and handed it up to the forensic team that was waiting to deal with it. It was, as they had suspected, a small metal nail file. “Not much of a weapon is it?” was the rhetorical question from one of the forensic team. They bagged it up in the hope that under closer examination some bloodstains might be found, if not finger prints.

Anna awoke when she heard her alarm clock at 7.30. It was a bright Saturday morning with the sun streaming through the flimsy curtains of her cluttered bedroom. She felt hot, and realising that she had forgotten to switch the central heating off the night before, she took off her pyjama top and through it across the room, aiming at a chair, which she missed. Some free time at last, she thought. She caught sight of herself in the nearby mirror, leaning against the wall, waiting to be fixed to that wall. She stretched herself to full length, on her side on the bed, studying her image. Thirty-six years old and still not married. She heard mamma’s voice now, the voice in her head, constantly repeating these words to her, on the telephone from Italy. It was like a mantra with her mother… trenta-sei anni. Yes, she thought, it would be good to wake up next to someone on a Saturday morning, and be held in his arms. It would be good to have someone to share the decision-making. It would be good…
The telephone rang, disturbing the mantra. She stretched out an arm and answered the call, hoping it was not her mother at nine o’clock in the morning. “Hello,” she said. “Hello Anna, this is Gerrard. I’m sorry to disturb you at home like this, but we need to talk. Can you get round here fairly pronto?” “I’m not up and dressed yet sir, I’ll be there in an hour or so.” “That’s fine. I rang early, so you didn’t make any other plans.” The phone went dead. Anna replaced the receiver annoyed that she should be so summarily summoned to Gerrard’s presence. What is so important that it can’t wait until Monday? Why not talk to me on the phone? Why have I got to go to his home? Once again she took time and trouble in deciding what to wear. Then she stopped herself. She decided on jeans and a sweater. She was not going to get dressed up for Gerrard on a Saturday morning. She was not going to think about Eve…

As she drove up to it in the daytime Anna could see Gerrard’s house in all its glory. It was quite a place. Situated in Bailbrook Lane, not far from the college where Michael Fellingham taught Bailbrook Cottage was a delightful detached house in its own grounds with a view across the valley where the London Road ran near the river Avon. Gerrard had inherited it from his parents, both now deceased. Peter Gerrard had been their only child. Anna had not noticed any of this when she had dropped him off the previous night. Now he was showing her inside. She wondered if he would offer to show her round the house, but no, that was not what men did, she concluded, when he ushered her into the spacious living room.

“You probably wonder why I asked you here instead of telling you on the phone.” “Yes sir,” said Anna, rather coldly. “So you are a bit angry with me?” “Yes sir,” was her stiff response. “I’m sorry. I suffer from depression and I wanted someone to talk to.” On hearing these words Anna’s coldness was somewhat dissipated. She looked into Gerrard’s face and saw at once the change that had come over him. She perceived the mental anguish running through him. She realised that this was more than a mere sadness, but an intense feeling of helplessness, even hopelessness. “You see Anna, when you are sad or upset or depressed, there is a reason for it… someone has let you down, something has gone wrong, some plan or other of yours didn’t work out. My depression is of a different order, because there is no reason for it. Therefore it’s a clinical depression. I don’t sleep, I don’t eat, I don’t enjoy anything. Because you are working with me on this case I want you to see how I am at other times, when I’m not firing on all six cylinders, when I am withdrawn not willing to do anything. I hope you will understand.”

Anna was shocked to hear him talk like this. She was glad that he felt able to confide in her. “There is treatment available isn’t there?” she asked. “Yes. I am prescribed certain antidepressants. Depressives like me suffer from the dysfunction of three major neurotransmitter systems in the brain. These, which you may have heard of, include serotonin, dopamine, and noradrenaline. I take an antidepressant, which is a 5HT reuptake inhibitor. It works by blocking the reuptake of serotonin and nonadrenaline in the brain. Its name is fluoxetine, more commonly known as Prozac. When my depression sets in I am unable to make decisions.”

There followed an awkward silence. Anna felt very uncomfortable. She decided to talk about the case. “So,” she said,“we need to find a genuine motive for killing Laura Fellingham?” “Absolutely. I think we deserve some time off though. We’ll start in earnest on Monday.”

Despite what he had told Anna, later on in the morning Gerrard went in to the office and began to review the case once more. He decided to look again at Laura Fellingham’s mobile phone, read through her address book and any text messages left on it. He started to scroll through the many messages. Laura did not delete them very often. Most of them however, were quite perfunctory. Mixed in with all this dross were some golden nuggets from Gerrard’s point of view. They gave some indication of the rift that had developed between Laura and Isabella Fellingham. ‘You’re not taking me seriously. I will dissolve our business partnership if your behaviour continues.’ What did she mean precisely? Was the behaviour on the part of Bella to do with business or pleasure? Gerrard thought the latter. If Laura could not trust Bella in her private life she perhaps felt she could not trust her in her business life either. Perhaps Laura had got wind of the adulterous relationship with Michael and this she could not stomach.

Another scroll down the VDU and the screen displayed another nugget. You don’t want to come to lunch with P. you’d rather be with M. Be v. careful. This seemed to implicate Michael as well as Isabella. But what did it implicate them in? Murder? It was going to extreme lengths to kill someone because they disapproved of your behaviour. What if the business partnership were dissolved? It would not be the end of the world for Mrs F’s daughter. She was young and presumably talented. She could set up her own business and be her own boss. Do these messages give a motive for murder? No, thought Gerrard, not on their own. But in conjunction with other pieces of evidence there might be a case…

Gerrard speculated that if she wanted to set up her own business she could ask Paul for financial help. But then Gerrard came across another nugget. It appeared that Paul himself was in dire financial difficulties. There was a text message from Paul appealing to his mother-in-law for help. In dire straits, need money urgently, can you spare £5000? There was no reply to this message, but if the answer were no and Paul desperately needed financial backing for whatever reason, would he murder his mother-in-law in the hope of receiving something in the will. Gerrard noted that he had to find out what was in Laura Fellingham’s will because it could have a direct bearing on the case. He needed to know who the beneficiaries were even just to eliminate them from his inquiries.

One text message suggested another line of inquiry. This was from Paul once more, this time mentioning one of his business associates. Your help might persuade Jeremy Thomas to help also. So, Gerrard concluded, Paul needed more than the £5000 he was asking Laura Fellingham for. The final message that stood out from the rest was one from Isabella to her mother to the effect that she knew, or thought she knew, that Paul was unfaithful to her, on a fairly regular basis. This introduced a new dimension into the situation. Gerrard realised that it was not simply a case of Bella deceiving her husband but her husband deceiving her. What a tangled web we weave when those we love we do deceive thought Gerrard. There is plenty of work for us to do next week. He switched off the phone, replaced it in its evidence bag and shut it in a drawer, locking it as he did so. The only person who was not involved in Laura’s texting was Margherita.

But, thought Gerrard, mobiles are not allowed in hospitals and Laura was more likely to phone Rita on a landline or email her. Enough for one day. Time to go home and get some well-deserved rest. Now he needed to switch off and think no more of the case. On his way out the custody sergeant told him that Tommy had arrived back in Wiltshire and would appear before a court on Monday. Gerrard considered whether he should get in touch with Tresillian, as he was taking such an interest in the case. On reflection he decided against it. He had had enough of the Chief Super for one week. He would face that problem on Monday as well.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Saturday, Oct 28: afternoon

Lynne was visiting her car salesman boyfriend, Phil Dickinson, at his home. She had brought a fish and chips lunch for him. The hit and run driver was now on bail, awaiting trial. “I expect to get a fine, not a custodial sentence. It was an accident after all,” he told her. “But you didn’t stop did you?” she said to him. “No, that was my big mistake. I didn’t stop. I panicked. If I had stopped that youth, what’s his name?” “Tommy.” “Yes, Tommy, wouldn’t have moved the woman…” “Laura Fellingham.” “Yes, he wouldn’t have moved Laura Fellingham and she would still be alive.” “I think there’s a good chance you will be banned from driving for a time.” “Don’t say that. How am I going to my job if I’m not allowed to drive a car?” To this she made no reply.

The Fellinghams had arranged to hold a sort of ‘family conference’ at Laura’s house to discuss the state of affairs and the future. At about 1.30 p.m. Margherita Fellingham, having just finished lunch, received a telephone call from her brother-in-law Paul. He wanted to make sure that she would keep to the commitment she had made. “Are you going to come over?” he asked, rather petulantly, she thought. “Yes, if you want me,” she said, with an air of injured innocence. Paul told her that she, with the others, had agreed to meet. Rita was not going to make it on time though and she confessed as much to Paul. He asked her to get there as soon as she could and rang off. Rita made her excuses to Sally and promptly left. 134
Meanwhile, Bert Harper and Harry were busy in Sydney Gardens. They were on overtime, mending the fence that had been left over since Monday. It was as Bert told the police, a bit rickety and needed seeing to. As they put in new posts and panels Bert whistled softly under his breath, then burst out into song, “T’was on the fifth of August, the weather being fair, unto Brigg Fair I did repair for love I was inclined.”
Michael Fellingham arrived at the family conference with Isabella. While they all waited for Rita to come, Isabella went to the kitchen to make coffee. Michael followed her. He had brought a flyer with him from college, which he now withdrew from a trouser pocket, in a rather crumpled state. He handed it to her without a word.


She looked at it and smiled. She was thinking of days in the past, when she had gone to discos on a weekly basis, with not a care in the world. And now there was all this trouble in the family, and the funeral, which she had arranged, almost single-handedly, to take place on Monday. “Would you be free to go with me?” he whispered. He stood behind her as she reached into a cupboard for coffee cups. “I will make myself free. I’ll pick you up at about ten past seven. Okay?” “Yes,” he said, turning on his heel and returning to the living room.

The Bristol Paddington train pulled into the station at 2.30. Sam got off and ran down the stairs from the platform at Bath Spa, where Tommy Mattheson was waiting in the station forecourt. He kissed her passionately and held her tight. “Thanks for coming over,” he said. “You’re in a lot of trouble,” she replied. “I know, let’s go this way,” pointing in the direction he wanted them to take. He took her by the hand and led her through the tunnel under the railway lines and along the footbridge over the green, sluggish River Avon. They came down on the other side and walked towards the point where the canal joins the river. When they reached the lock gate they found a seat. Tommy told Sam that he was due in court the following week, on Thursday. She wanted him to get back on his feet, as she put it, but that would be very difficult with a criminal record. She wanted him to finish his ‘A’ levels, get some qualifications. Impossible, he thought. She suggested he study on his own, make use of the library, with its internet access, then put himself in for the exams. “It might work,” he said, “but why are you so keen on helping me?” “Because,” she replied, simply, “I love you.”

The doorbell rang. Paul went towards the door to answer it. He said to the others, “That will be Rita.” “So,” said Bella, “she’s turned up at last.” Paul ignored her unkind remark, went into the hall and opened the door. He greeted Rita. She stood on the doormat in the hallway and took off her coat. Paul noticed that her coat was exactly the same as Bella’s, but he mad no comment about it. Instead, he said softly, “I overheard my brother inviting your sister to a college disco tonight. He’d brought a flyer with him and gave it to her.” She looked impassively at Paul and after a few moments hesitation, she replied defiantly, “I’ve left him, I don’t live with him any more. I’m past caring. It doesn’t bother me what he does.” She pushed past her brother-in-law and strode into the living room to join the others.

At 2.45 p.m. Mrs Vera Phelps was called upon by her good friend and neighbour Dolly Payne, a sprightly eighty year old who had called round on the pretext of wanting to borrow an egg. She wanted to know if there was any more news of the suspicious death. “Only what has been in the paper,” Vera told her. “I think it’s murder,” replied Dolly. “You don’t expect that kind of thing in this neighbourhood, do you?”
Detective Sergeant Anna Rossi was standing outside the brass plated door of Chief Superintendent Tresillian, consulting her watch. On the stroke of 3.00 p.m. she knocked hesitatingly. On hearing the monosyllable “Come!” emanating from within, entered. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, “you wanted to see me?” “Ah, Detective Sergeant, nothing to worry about, take a seat, my dear.” Anna did as she was bidden, though rather resenting the appellation ‘my dear’. “How are you getting on with Peter Gerrard?” “Very well,” she replied, trying to fathom out whether there was any ulterior motive for Tresillian’s invitation to meet him. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. What progress are you making with the Laura Fellingham case?” Anna told him that they had interviewed everybody connected with the case. Also, they had eliminated two suspects, the driver of the car and the young man who removed Mrs Fellingham from the road and carried her into Sydney Gardens. Tresillian wondered whether they had any more suspects. “Not at this stage, no sir,” said Anna. The Chief Superintendent thanked her for coming to see him and she went on her way.

Mrs Sandra Smith looked at the clock on her mantelpiece, as it started to strike three o’clock. She was busy talking to Mary, an elderly widow, next door neighbour and fellow churchgoer and the Closes, also neighbours. She had decided on a little tea party for them all. They sat together in her tiny front room, a large teapot standing proudly on a mat in the centre of a glass topped coffee table. Cups and saucers had been laid out neatly in front of each guest. There was a small sugar bowl, an elegant milk jug and an equally elegant slops bowl, in addition to a stainless steel tea strainer standing in its own receptacle. A large fruitcake lay waiting on the sideboard on a chintzy cake stand. “Well,” said Mr Close, “what’s all the gossip, then?” “This murder, I should think,” returned his wife, with a twinkle in her eye. “What do you know about it, Sandra?” piped up Mary from her armchair. “Well, this I can tell you,” Sandra replied, “Isabella had fallen out with her mother. They had a big argument the other week over Mr Michael.” “He’s very clever, but not at all practical,” interjected Mary, apropos of nothing in particular. “He was a chorister years ago, at the church in Claverton, as I remember,” contributed Mr Close “… sang in the Diocesan Festival at Wells Cathedral, one year.” “Quite musical, he was,” said Mrs Close.

Meanwhile, the Fellingham family sat round their mother’s dining-room table. Isabella told them of the funeral arrangements she had made for the following Monday. She showed them a copy of the service she had had printed and the hymns she had chosen. Michael observed that service was in ‘old English’. “That’s what she would have wanted,” responded Bella. “How do you know? Did she tell you that’s what she wanted?” sneered Rita. “We did discuss it some time ago, after our step-father died. She wrote it all down. She wanted traditional language.” Isabella went to the bureau and took a sheet of paper from the top drawer. She handed it to her sister, who looked at the neat hand written document, and then gave it back, without comment.” “Thank you for organising it all,” said Michael.
The same afternoon, just after three o’clock, Gerrard arrived in Weston village, parked his car outside a neat semi-detached house and rang the bell. A pretty young woman in her early twenties answered it, neatly dressed in black jeans and a white, low-cut tee-shirt. She bent down to pick up a black cat that was taking advantage of entering through the newly opened front door, exposing a large pair of breasts, as she did so. Gerrard noticed, he couldn’t help noticing that the girl, for so she seemed to him, was wearing nothing under her shirt. “Good afternoon… Miss Sally Stoneham?” “Yes.” “Chief Inspector Gerrard, police,” he said, showing his warrant card. “May I have a word with you, please?” “Yes, please come inside.” He followed Miss Stoneham into her front room, where she motioned to him to sit down in an armchair in the bay window. He looked round the room and saw that it was quite comfortably furnished. He wondered how she could afford it on a nurse’s pay. The carpet was thick and unworn, the curtains lined and heavy. A bookcase, with the contents arranged neatly on the shelves, stood in a corner, near him. He glanced at the titles; there was some fiction and some poetry but mostly they were medical books. He fixed his attention on the girl now sitting opposite him “It’s about your friend and work colleague, Margherita Fellingham?” he began and then paused to draw breath. “What is she like, your friend?” asked Gerrard, laying heavy stress on the word friend, by repeating it. “Very sensible, rather emotional. A good nurse.” “Any odd behaviour?” “Yes, I must admit… there are times when she acts strangely. For example, she has got it into her head that her mother dislikes, or rather, I should say, disliked her. Rita wouldn’t speak to her on the phone. She would pretend that she wasn’t in or if I answered the phone would tell me to say that she wasn’t available to take the call.” Gerrard asked her if there was anything else that she could call to mind. Sally told him of Rita’s desire to be a doctor, not a nurse, but having no support from her parents. “But,” she said, “she just isn’t bright enough. She would never have made it to med. school. She must know that.”

At about the same time that Gerrard was talking to Sally, Albert Harper and Harry were sitting in the tool shed. They had finished their work on the fence and cleaned their tools. Harry said, “They’ve let that Tommy Mattheson bloke go free. In the local rag, here somewhere.” He rummaged around the shed and eventually found a torn and tattered newspaper. “Here it is.” He read the short article out loud.
Police today released from custody, Mr Thomas Mattheson, the 19 year old homeless vagrant, who was thought to have murdered Mrs Laura Fellingham, in Sydney Gardens, early on Saturday evening, October 21. The murdered woman had been knocked down by Mr Philip Dickinson, 38, a car salesman in a ‘hit & run’ car accident whilst crossing the main road outside the gardens. After suffering serious but not fatal injuries, Mrs Fellingham was carried by Mr Mattheson into Sydney Gardens, where she was brutally stabbed with a nail file or similar object. After an extensive search of the area, police have admitted that the murder waepon has not been found. Chief Inspector Gerrard of Bath CID said that there was no reason to charge Mr Mattheson with the murder. He appealed for any witnesses to come forward immediately. “It’s my opinion he done it,” said Harry. “He just panicked and stuck her with the nail file.”
The Fellinghams were in deep and earnest conversation. “By the way,” said Paul, “there’s a report of the inquest findings in today’s Chronicle. He picked up the newspaper he had brought with him and proceeded to read it out. ‘At an inquest at Bath Magistrates Court the coroner yesterday recorded a verdict of unlawful killing over the death of Mrs Laura Fellingham. Mrs Fellingham's body had been discovered by Mr Albert Harper, a gardener, who had found Mrs Fellingham, 42, dead at Sydney Gardens, Bath shortly after 9.00 a.m. on Saturday, 21 October . James Linton, the Bath and North East Somerset Coroner said: "I am driven to the conclusion that Laura Fellingham was unlawfully killed and that's the verdict I am going to record today." Detective Chief Inspector Peter Gerrard said the circumstances of Mrs Fellingham's death were "extremely suspicious". Mr Linton was not permitted by law to name anyone who might have been responsible for Mrs Fellingham's death but her family said they were pleased with the verdict. "We were expecting this outcome but rather dreading it," said her daughter, Isabella Fellingham.’

Michael said, “I suggest that an opportunist, a thief who appeared on the scene, after Tommy who panicked and stabbed mother.” “There wasn’t anything to steal then, was there?” was Paul’s quick response. “Anyway,” he continued, “that’s for the police to sort out, not us.” “I think we ought to phone the police to see if they have any more news of the case,” proposed Isabella. “I don’t think they know any more than we do,” observed Michael. “Perhaps, you’re right. I’m going to phone them anyway,” said Bella, picking up the receiver next to her chair. Perhaps the others noticed that Rita had kept very quiet during the previous conversation but Paul challenged her. “Where were you at the time of your mother’s death?” “At work, of course,” she replied calmly. Michael interrupted her. “Your shift doesn’t start till 8.00 p.m. though, does it?” “I’ve got to get there, haven’t I?” she replied “It’s a long way from where we live to the hospital. I don’t suppose you’ve ever thought of that, Michael.”


CHAPTER NINETEEN

Saturday, Oct 28: evening

Shortly after graduating from university on 4th July a few months after his twenty-first birthday, Michael Fellingham was appointed to teach psychology at St Brendan’s VI Form College following a year’s teacher training in Bristol. Founded in the nineteen seventies by four enterprising Catholic businessmen the college had grown in popularity within a decade and boasted a thriving department of social sciences specialising in psychology and sociology. Situated in its own grounds just off the main A4 road to London it was in easy cycling distance for the young, athletic Mr Fellingham. He enjoyed his life there. His students were reasonably interested in the subject and some of them quite bright. He had a small group of personal students in his tutor group and his marking load was not too heavy. Since joining the college he had planned to start a distance learning M.A. in psychology but had never got round to it. His wife seemed to demand a lot of his time since he had been married.

Twice a term, on a Saturday night the students held a disco in the main hall to which they invited all the teaching staff. Only once before had Michael been to one of these discos. He had taken Rita with him. It had not been a great success. Rita had not liked the various teenage female students asking him to dance with them and had insisted that they return home early. Michael had not realised how jealous and possessive Rita could be. He had been genuinely shocked at her reaction. He also still did not realise how attractive these girls found him. This was the problem vexing him now. It had somehow got round the college that his wife was no longer living with him. A certain number of the girls thought that this gave them carte blanche to visit him at home on the pretext of getting help with their academic work. However, academic work was not at the forefront of the mind of the girl who had turned up at Michael’s house out of the blue on early Saturday evening when Michael returned from Laura’s funeral.

Lucy Banks, in her second year of sixth form study was dressed in the shortest of mini skirts and tight fitting blouse with the top buttons unfastened. Her long black hair waved as she shook her head and laughed as Michael told her he had not expected to see her and that he would be going out soon. She asked him if he would be going to the disco later on in the evening. He reluctantly admitted that he was. “I’ll see you there, then,” she said breezily, as Michael’s heart sank. She pulled out a lipstick and began applying it. In a few moments her lips were a gaudy red colour. Michael looked across the room at her and saw the long eyelashes and mascara that she had obviously worn for his benefit. “What have you come here for, precisely?” asked her teacher, getting a little short of patience. “Oh, this is just a social call, to see how you are, in the circumstances.” “What circumstances?” “Your wife leaving,” returned the girl.

“That’s none of your business,” said Michael, hotly. “No, I know it isn’t, but I don’t mean any harm.” “But you might inadvertently do harm. How did you know where I live?” “I came up here to see a friend, Julia, more than a year ago and I saw you getting out of a car and going into you’re your house. It’s all right, nobody else knows. I’ve kept the information to myself.” “It’s not all right,” asserted Michael, “seeing you socially amongst a group of young people at college is okay, but a one to one encounter in my home is out of order!” said Michael vehemently. “Yes, I suppose it is. I honestly didn’t realise that until you explained it just now. I’ll get going now. I’m at Julia’s now, I only popped down here to see you for five minutes. I won’t tell anyone about my visit, as long as you promise to dance with me at the disco tonight.” “I’m not making any promises,” said Michael firmly, “now please, go.” She got up and kissed him quickly on the cheek before making a swift exit via the front door.

Whilst Michael was remonstrating with Lucy, Isabella was at home with her husband Paul, in the process of angrily telling him that she was definitely going out to the disco that night with his brother and she wasn’t going to be stopped. He was reading a Saturday evening newspaper and seemed to be paying her scant attention. This added insult to injury. “The way I look at it is, that you have kept me tied down too much and just this once I’m going to have a little fun in my life. It’s time for me to start enjoying myself. I’m going to put ‘me’ first from now on.”

“You’ve always put yourself first, you know you have. How you can think of going out at a time like this beats me,” said Paul. “A time like what?” demanded Bella, knowing full well what he meant. “When we’ve just had your mother’s funeral. You might show a bit more respect.” “Well, you didn’t, did you? While she was lying in the mortuary you went off to London.” “But, I needed to get back to work.” Realising that things had come to a head, Paul was determined not to give in to her. He was the head of the household and if she would not listen and obey then there was nothing for it, he would have to use force. He had gradually psyched himself up for this moment.

Paul put down his newspaper, got up from his chair and seized hold of Isabella by the wrists. She tried to wriggle free but he held on even more tightly. “Let go,” she cried out, “you’re hurting me.” “Keep still, then you won’t get hurt,” he shouted back, still gripping hold of her wrists. “No, let go of me, you bully,” she wailed, the tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re not going out tonight with Michael or anyone else,” he shouted, and threw her down on the sofa, where she continued to sob. She wiped her eyes with a tissue that she took from a box resting on one of the arms of the sofa, then soothed her red and swollen wrists with each hand. She looked up at him with eyes that were full of hatred and resentment. “I will be going out tonight. There is nothing you can do to stop me,” she said very softly but firmly.

Paul sat down heavily in his chair once more and picked up the newspaper. “You are married to me. You are not going out with anyone else,” he said. “What is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose,” replied Bella. “What’s that supposed to mean?” yelled Paul. “Someone called Katerina or Kate contacted me the other day,” said Bella, flatly, “she told me that on Tuesday evening, after I had phoned you, she had sat naked on your knee, whilst you kissed her on the mouth, your tongue down her throat. You would have slept with her if you hadn’t had to come home to see the police.” Bella left the room, slamming the door behind her, and went upstairs to wash and change in preparation for going out to the disco. Paul remained motionless in his chair. So, the wily Katerina had done what she had threatened to do, to find out his home telephone number and tell his wife what he had been doing in London unless he paid her a large sum of money. He had had no intention of paying her money, but he had not reckoned on her ability to be able to contact Bella.

Isabella came downstairs and went straight out to her car. She made no attempt to speak to Paul. She got into the driving seat and called Michael on her mobile to say that she was leaving and would be with him within the next half-hour. She wanted to think as she was driving that Katerina was merely mischief making and that Paul was more faithful than he really was. But she knew nothing of the blackmail threat that the Russian-Greek woman had made against her husband. By exposing her husband like this and going off the way she had, she knew that her marriage was in jeopardy. But there was no going back now on what she had done. Isabella was still very angry and upset when she arrived at Michael’s home and parked her car on his drive.

When Michael answered the door he saw immediately the state she was in and the emotional turmoil she was going through. “Is Paul giving you a tough time?” he asked. “He most certainly is,” she said, heatedly, “but I did not think he would use physical violence on me.” “He hit you?” asked Michael, incredulous at her suggestion. He grabbed me by the wrists and hurt me,” she complained. “No lasting physical damage done, then,” Michael said. “No, not physical damage but I feel emotionally bruised, I can tell you.” “Yes, I do understand,” he said sympathetically, motioning her to sit down. She sat on the sofa and beckoned him to sit next to her. She put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, glad of a few moments peace and told herself that she needed to calm down before leaving for the college.

“Let’s have a drink before leaving, shall we?” asked Michael. “Only a mineral water for me, I don’t want anything alcoholic, I’m driving, remember.” Michael went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. “So,” he said, when they had sat down together again, “why is my brother violent towards you?” “Because I’m going out with you.” “It’s out of friendship rather than love though, isn’t it?” “Yes, I think so, and you think so, but Paul doesn’t know that.” “Doesn’t he? Didn’t you tell him?” “No,” said Bella, “I didn’t really get the chance. All I want to do now is to forget my argument with Paul, to go out and have a good time. I do enjoy being with you.” “If you’ve finished your drink, let’s get going, I’ll just lock the back door and make sure my bike’s put away.” “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

A short car journey brought Michael and Bella to the gates of the college. The car park was full, but they managed to find a space near a wall. The two walked hand in hand through the grounds, towards the main hall. Michael’s heart sank when he saw his unwelcome visitor Lucy waiting with her crowd of friends, outside the hall. “Hello, Mr Fellingham,” she shouted. Michael ignored her and looked away. “Hello, Mrs Fellingham,” she shouted, a bit louder. Isabella looked across at her and nodded her head, acknowledging the girl’s existence. “So they think I’m Rita,” said Bella, contentedly. “Why shouldn’t they? You look exactly like her. “I’m not dressed the same though.” “They see Rita so rarely they wouldn’t know.” They entered and made their way to the bar. “What would you like to drink?” asked Michael, “it’s all non-alcoholic here by the way, I’m afraid. We’ve got sixteen and seventeen year olds on the premises.” “Fruit juice will suit me, pineapple please,” said Bella, smiling at him.
At a little after 8.00 p.m. Rita phoned Michael at home, but he was either not there or not answering her call. She guessed that he had gone to the disco with her sister and she now decided, on the spur of the moment, to go too and confront him. She went upstairs to Sally’s bedroom, where she found her friend recently returned from the shower, her hair under a dryer. She waited for a few moments, watching Sally pass the brush through her hair several times and then switch off the machine. Silence fell. “I’ve got to go out for a bit,” she announced, abruptly. “I thought we were going out together,” replied Sally. “Something’s come up.” “To do with Michael?” “Yes, I’ll be back later,” Rita said, on her way downstairs. “I’ve got my phone,” she called, and closed the front door behind her, without hearing her friend say that she was going out herself.

When Rita walked into the hall she could see a happy, smiling Isabella dancing with Michael and her blood boiled. All the ‘I don’t care’ attitude, that she had displayed earlier in the afternoon at the funeral, evaporated, disappeared like a puff of smoke. Now a jealous rage descended upon her. It was as if some external force had enveloped her. She was like something possessed of an evil spirit. She waited and watched, seething with indignation, hardly able to control her feelings of intense animosity. She wanted to pounce on her sister like a caged lion let loose and scratch and tear at Isabella’s flesh with her claws, digging her nails into that soft, soft skin, pulling out her hair and permanently disfiguring her.
Rita watched as Michael escorted Isabella to the table where they were sitting. But he did not stay with her. One of the other girls, obviously a sixth-form student was now pulling him towards the dance-floor. Isabella did not seem to mind in the least as the skimpily clad girl led Michael off. Rita ground her teeth as she watched this Delilah’s body gyrating very close to her husband. It seemed to her like a simulated sex show, the drums and bass of the accompanying music seeming to accentuate every sensuous thrust of the young girl’s torso. What was even more galling was the fact that Rita had never experienced the sheer exuberance of being with Michael on the dance-floor as this unknown girl did. She constantly flashed her white teeth at him in a smile of total abandonment and ecstasy that she had never encountered for herself.

Rita no longer cared if she created a scene at the disco. She went over to the table where Isabella was sitting and hissed at her, “How could you do this to me?” Bella said, “Hello Rita, grab a chair and sit down.” Rita did as she was bidden and then repeated her question. Calmly, Isabella replied, “You’ve left him, you can’t have it both ways.” Michael returned to the table. “Good evening Rita,” he said stiffly. At this point, something in Rita seemed to explode. She did not go for her husband but for her sister. She had always suspected her of seducing him, of enticing him away from her. She lunged at Bella, pulling her from her chair and throwing her to the floor and grabbing her by the wrists while she simultaneously head butted her in the chest. Some of the other students were now staring in disbelief at seeing the two Mrs Fellinghams fighting.

Michael grappled with his wife, prizing her away from Isabella and holding her on the floor with her hands behind her back. When he thought she had calmed down sufficiently he let her go. She rose from the floor and sat at the table in a sulky silence. Michael poured some fruit juice into a glass and passed it to her. She later went to the bar herself where she bought several bottles of mineral water. Occasionally some of the students during the rest of the evening asked her dance. She complied with their requests, trying to make Michael jealous but realising after some time that he was happy in Isabella’s company and didn’t seem to notice her antics. She left the hall without a word. As the evening wore on Michael and Isabella prepared to leave the dance. Michael noticed something on the table amongst the empty bottles and glasses, glinting in the lights. He picked it up, visibly shocked when he did so. “What’s the matter?” asked Bella. “Oh, nothing,” replied Michael, “it’s just late, that’s all. It’s been a long day.” He silently slipped Rita’s wedding ring into his pocket as they rose from the table to leave.


CHAPTER TWENTY

Saturday, Oct 28: evening

On the return journey to Sally’s home, now her home, in Weston, Rita realised she should have visited the Ladies room before going to the car park. She desperately needed the toilet. She drew up in the road but there was no parking space. She drove a few yards down the road and managed to squeeze her car into a tiny space. It was then that realisation dawned; she had not got the front door key Sally had given her on Thursday. She had made sure to put it in the pocket of the jeans she was wearing but had decided to change, at the last minute, into the shortest mini-skirt she could find in the wardrobe, leaving the key behind.

As she walked along Sally’s garden path her high heel shoes clattered on the paving stones. There were no lights on in the house. She rang the doorbell several times but there was no answer. Her friend was still out. She glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o’ clock. There was nothing for it. She would have to go. She went across the front lawn and found a corner of the garden. Gingerly she crouched down, hoping that the garden hedge would hide her from public view of the street.

To her horror the next door neighbour’s front door opened and a man stood with two empty milk bottle in his hand. He put them on the front step and stood up straight looking across the garden. He went away, leaving his door slightly open. Rita then became suddenly aware of a powerful beam from a flashlight shining directly at her. The beam was not trained on her face or upper body but straight at her open legs. “Switch that light off!” she shouted.

The man did as he was commanded. “I’m very sorry Miss,” he said, in a rather cultured voice, “I heard footsteps earlier and saw a silhouette in the garden. I wanted to know what was going on.” “Now you do,” retorted Rita, straightening up and pulling her clothes about her. “It’s not good behaviour… using someone’s garden for that purpose,” replied the man. “I live here. I’ve not got a key. I’m locked out and…” Her voice trailed away as she started to cry. “Come inside and get warm,” called the man. Rita hesitated, but several thoughts flashed through her mind. She was wet from lowering her backside on to long wet grass. Her clothes were wet and she was now very cold. The alternative was to wait in her car, damp and cold, but for how long? She went through the gate and up the path of the man next door.

She tried to see what he was like. He must have been in his fifties, dressed in a long, dark red dressing gown. He looked quite nice, she thought and did not seem to present any threat. “There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs,” he said gently, pointing in that direction. “Thank you,” she said, as she took off shoes and mounted the staircase.

In the bathroom she removed her wet tights and pants, screwed them tightly into a ball and thrust them into a compartment of her handbag. She washed thoroughly and applied some perfume she had with her, to her wrists and behind her ear lobes. She made her way downstairs into the living room, where she saw the man sitting in an armchair next to a log fire. She saw that he had earlier left the fire to go out but now had put on a fresh log. “Do sit down. Warm yourself,” he urged. She sat in the other armchair opposite him.
“I was just going to have a night-cap… would you like to join me?” he asked. So polite, thought Rita. She looked around the room. It was clean but not tidy. Rita felt that it was lived in. There was a wall lined from floor to ceiling with books and a cabinet containing CD player and radio, small, discreet, wall mounted speakers. “Yes,” said Rita confidently, “what does it consist of?” “I have different things. How about a cup of tea with a drop of the hard stuff in it?" “I’ve never drunk whiskey before,” replied Rita. “Like to try it?” “Okay. What’s your name, by the way?” “Let’s not introduce ourselves, let’s make up names… like Jack and Jill.” “Okay… Jack.”

The man left the room. Rita closed her eyes and drifted into a dream-sleep. She was Jill and he was Jack going up a hill to fetch … something… what? Fire… heat and a scorching feeling running up her legs. She hoisted one leg over the arm of the chair, out of harm’s way. He returned some time later carrying two large steaming mugs and a bowl of sugar on a tray, which he put down, in the middle of the room. He dragged two small tables from a nest of three and put one to the side of each chair, placing a mug on each table. Rita opened her eyes, reached out for the mug, tasted the hot tea and then helped herself to a spoonful of sugar. Jack sat down opposite her. She knew that her skirt had ridden up to her waist and was acting as no more than a pelmet. She didn’t care. She would lead Jack on and probably give in to him if that’s what she decided she wanted.

“Do you like it, the tea?”
“Yes, it’s very good, very warming. And sitting by the fire is so peaceful as well.”
“I’ll put on some soothing music… you look as if you have been through it a bit.”
“I have,” returned Jill. Jack rose from his chair and selected a CD from one of shelves. When the music started Jill did not recognise it, but she liked it. Miles Davis in a mellow mood made an instant impression; not like that boring classical stuff that Michael insisted on playing, Mahler and Bruckner, that went on and on with no recognisable tune. Jack and Jill sat without saying a word for fifteen minutes, listening in rapt attention, but she could see that he could not take his eyes off her. She suddenly pulled off her top and held it in front of the fire. “This is still a bit wet,” she lied. “Do you know this music?” asked Jack. “I recognised Summertime, just then, but I’ve never heard it like that, on a trumpet.”

He got up and took off his dressing gown, draping it over the back of his armchair. He sat down again his elbows on his knees, cradling his chin in his hands. She removed her other clothes and sat once again mimicking his stance. They sat staring at each other. Now it turned into a game, trying to stare each other out. Jill won. Perhaps Jack let her win, she didn’t know. She felt relaxed. She was enjoying herself. She stood up and moved towards him. Putting her hands behind her head, bending one knee ever so slightly and pushing out her chest, she struck what she knew perfectly well was a thoroughly lascivious pose. “Do you like what you see?” she purred. “Yes I do.”

She sat on his knee and slowly unfastened his pyjama top. Jack began to wonder where all this was leading. Jill began to think of reasons that would justify her committing adultery. Firstly, I am lonely and in desperate need of physical comfort. Secondly, I am finding comfort in this physical embrace, as I wrap my arms around this man. I am not used to drinking spirits, I’m feeling all woozy, but I now have the courage to do this. I’m relaxed and free. It’s all over with Michael. This man Jack is not impetuous; already we like each other.

“What work do you do?” she suddenly asked him.
“I don’t. I’m retired.”
“What work did you do?”
“I was a teacher, an English teacher.”
“Here, in Bath?”
“No, in a grammar school near Canterbury.”
“You’re not that old,” she said in a matter of fact voice, stroking his hair, “so, why did you leave and retire?”
“I’m fifty-two. I was under a lot of stress. My parents had both died and I inherited a large sum of money. This is their house. I live here quite cheaply.”
“Where did you study?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m interested, that’s all.”
“Cambridge… and you, what work do you do?”
“I’m a nurse at the R.U.H.”
“So you’re used to seeing naked men, or rather you’re used to seeing men naked?”
“There’s a difference?”
“A subtle one, yes.”
“Well, I’m used to seeing naked men and men naked,” replied Jill, robustly.
“I can’t believe that one so young as you should have any interest in a senex amans like me.”
“What’s that?”
“An ancient lover. I feel like the man January in Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale.”
“I’ve never heard of it. Tell me about it.”
“The bachelor life is one of pain and woe.”
“Why?”
“Because casual sex leads to instability but the bachelor is constantly seeking security.”
“Do you believe that?”
“At this precise moment, with a young, beautiful, naked maiden on my knee… of course I don’t.” They both laughed. Jill slipped off his knee and lay on the rug in front of the fire.

As she lay there, still and naked, she was alone with her thoughts. The one abiding impression that she had was that this is a safe place. Here, there was now no pressure on her to perform, no targets to meet, no criteria to satisfy. For once she could relax, remove her mask and be herself. For the last few months she had survived as a relatively inexperienced nurse in a hostile hospital environment, enduring a punishing regime, having to care for the sick. As she gazed up at this man for a moment and then closed her eyes, lurid images flooded her mind. They were images of the infirm that she had ministered to over the preceding weeks. They included images of the weak, of patients suffering intolerable pain, images of many men and women, mature in years that she had tended on the wards, seeing to their needs, understanding their wants, acknowledging their dependency and frailty.

Jack’s talk of Chaucer had reawakened in her the desire for a different kind of life. She wanted Jack to treat her like a queen or a princess, pampering her, paying her compliments and homage like a knight of old, in shining armour. Jack was to her a Don Quixote, living a life of old fashioned values in new-fashioned world, return her to a bygone age of chivalry. She felt the warmth from the fire cover her nakedness. She felt the flames from the burning logs lick her flesh. This intoxication of feeling was hers alone, a feeling burned into her brain by the branding iron of her own imagination. Jack too, she knew would see the flames flickering and the shadows dancing and she wanted him to see. She was dreaming the impossible dream. She was dreaming all this without the man in the armchair making any physical contact with her whatsoever. She wanted physical contact. She wanted to submit herself in slavery for this brief time.

She lies as a wounded soldier on the battlefield. She has no fight left in her. She passively waves the white flag of surrender to this stranger at her feet. She hopes that he will come to her aid, wipe away her tears and raise her to her feet. In doing so she will be ready to fight another day in her battle of life. She will not know defeat. He could take her on a journey of discovery, where she will find herself as a driver takes his train along the railway tracks, speeding through tunnels and cuttings, across distant plains. She is an aeroplane that responds to his pilot’s joystick as she flies across the sky, leaving a vapour trail of experience.

As Jack looked at her he saw her as the archetypal woman of a thousand songs and broadside ballads, who had brought fun and delight to a million people over centuries of time. Jack saw Jill stretched out before him as a man who surveys a landscape, cultivates a furze (gorse) field or mows a meadow. The girl that lay there, beguiling him with her beauty, her innocence, her charm, was a personified literary metaphor for the most basic of human needs. She was ready for ploughing, a fruit ripe for plucking, calling to him to sow the seeds of love. To him she was virgin territory to be explored and tamed in his frontier philosophy of amorous conquest. He was an angler in her fishpond a sportsman who had brought his gun to shoot bullets fair. He was a coachman and a horseman who would skilfully ride his mare.

He leads her upstairs into his bachelor bedroom that never sees a woman’s influence or touch. They slide beneath the duvet cover where he holds her in his arms and knows once more what it is like to be close to another human being. Her skin is soft beneath his fingers. He strokes her neck and caresses her breasts. She wants him and pushes towards him and the rhythm of horse riding becomes the rhythm of lovemaking as they lie in each other’s arms. Before she sleeps she has one final conscious image in her mind’s eye. She has become a well-oiled lock and he is her key turning gently in that lock. As the key turns so she dreams and as she dreams she sleeps and so does he and dreams…


CHAPTER TWENTYONE

Monday, Oct 30: morning

At 9.30 Chief Inspector Peter Gerrard was sitting at the large desk in his office contemplating the progress he and his sergeant had made in the Fellingham case. He had in front of him all the notes, reports and general information. It made quite a pile of material, but nothing in his view that he could use to bring charges against anyone. He sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and sighed deeply. Anna Rossi knocked and entered.

“Did you have a good weekend?” asked Gerrard, trying to be positive and avoiding the temptation to wink at her.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Anna
“Did you do anything interesting?”
“Not really, did you?”
“Well, yes in a way,” replied Gerrard, “I went to Laura Place and stood on the pavement to see if the traffic ever stopped flowing on that road on a Saturday evening. And it does. I had to wait about twenty minutes. I arrived at 7.40 p.m. and there was a constant stream of traffic, but shortly after 8.00 p.m. it died away and there was nothing. Not only that, there were no pedestrians either, the road was completely deserted for three or four minutes. I timed it on my watch. I calculated that it was clear for three minutes fifty seconds. So, it does happen on that road. Therefore, apart from Mrs Phelps, it could well be that no one witnessed Mrs Fellingham’s accident…”
“…Or Tommy moving her into the gardens,” rejoined Anna.
“So it would seem,” replied Gerrard.

“We must focus our attention on the Fellingham family because neither Philip nor Tommy have motives for murder. I’m becoming more and more convinced that this is a family affair. I came in to the office on Saturday, after you left my house. I looked through the text messages on Laura Fellingham’s mobile. I wrote down the interesting ones. Have a look at them.” He handed over a sheet of paper. While she was reading he said, “Let’s visit Laura Fellingham’s relatives again, today, starting with Isabella and Paul.” “It’s the funeral today,” said Anna. “Is it? I think you should go, Anna, and as unobtrusively as possible, observe the family. See how grief stricken they are.” “Right, sir. The service is at the parish church in Claverton… I forget the name, this morning at 11.45, if I remember correctly. I’ll go home and change into some appropriate clothes and go up to Claverton.”

At 10.00 in their house on Wellsway, Isabella and Paul were getting ready to attend the funeral. “Let’s forget our differences, at least for today and call a truce,” suggested Isabella. “That’s fine,” replied Paul, who had tired of continuous squabbling, “and may I say that you’ve handled all the arrangements brilliantly, so thank you.” “I’m glad you appreciate my efforts,” replied Bella, without any trace of rancour.

A funeral car drew up outside Laura Fellingham’s house and parked in front of the hearse. Rita and Bella got into the back seat of the funeral car whilst Michael sat beside Paul in his brother’s car which set off for the church in Claverton. Slowly the funeral cortège started the long journey. When it arrived at about a hundred yards from the church, one of the funeral directors got out of the hearse, donned a black hat and walked in front of the car. Anna Rossi watched as the family assembled in front of the church.

The Fellinghams looked quite dignified as they prepared to enter the church for the funeral. The two men were dressed in very smart black suits and ties. Anna cast her eyes over Isabella. She was appropriately attired in a knee length black dress, black boots and a three quarter length coat, with high heeled shoes to match. When Anna looked at her sister she saw that she wore identical clothes. Anna wondered how this identical twin look had been achieved. Perhaps one of the women had bought clothes for the other one when buying her own. Whatever the reason, it looked quite striking.

However, the peace and tranquillity of the solemn occasion changed in the twinkling of an eye. Suddenly, Rita almost ran across the churchyard and began shouting at Paul. Although she was standing at a distance, Anna could hear quite distinctly what Rita was complaining about. “You ought to keep your wife under control,” she bellowed at him. Paul was too shocked to respond. He stood there wondering what was going to happen next, as did the rest of the assembled people. Michael approached Rita and took her firmly by the but she shook herself free and ran across to the another side of the churchyard. Then she quite calmly walked into church. Paul and Michael breathed a sigh of relief as they also made their way through the south door into the church. Isabella followed them.

The church was full. Many members of the Sunday congregation, who had known Laura Fellingham personally, some for a number of years, were in attendance. There was also a strong representation from the business community whom Laura had worked among. The assembled people made no attempt to talk among themselves. They observed a dignified silence as they waited patiently for the service to begin. An air of reverence permeated the church as soft, solemn music emanated from the organ loft. When the disturbance started it was all the more startling as it broke into that calm and placid atmosphere. Rita cried out in a voice of uncontrolled rage. Her words were inarticulate. Her outburst lasted only a few seconds and then subsided into a series of heart wrenching sobs, her shoulders rising and falling as she struggled to compose herself.

This was followed almost immediately by the coffin preceded by the rector intoning familiar words from the traditional service, “I am the resurrection, and the life saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” As the bier made its way down the nave of the church towards the altar there was a distinctive sound of a squeaky wheel. The organist pushed down the swell pedal and the volume increased from pipes noticeably increased, but it did not entirely cover the noise of the squeaky wheel. The rector raised his voice to finish the sentences, with words from the book of Job, "…the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

When they saw the coffin in front of them, resting on its bier, all four of what remained of the Fellingham family, were suddenly overcome with grief. The two women, almost simultaneously, began to weep, each dabbing at their eyes with tissues they had brought with them. The two men also were visibly moved. Paul put his hand to his mouth and stifled a small groan. Realisation had at last dawned that inside that elaborately carved wooden box was the body of his mother-in-law, whom he would never see again. Michael too was struggling to comprehend the finality of death.

During the prayers ‘Grant unto her eternal rest’ Rita rose from her seat… and attempted to leave. She could not join in the response, ‘And let perpetual light shine upon her.’ She was restrained by Michael and sat down heavily. Still the booming voice continued in her ears, ‘O Lord, hear our prayer.’ Michael thrust the service sheet in front of her and Rita mumbled inaudibly, ‘And let our cry come unto thee.’
She then appeared to go into a trance like state, only awaking from it during the singing of the final hymn with the familiar words ringing in her ears… “lost in wonder love and praise”.

The coffin bearers lifted the coffin on to their shoulders and carried it up the nave of the church and out through the north door. They had been given impromptu instructions not to use the trolley with the squeaky wheel, the noise of which was so incongruous. The organ played softly in the background. The funeral cortège then slowly made its way to the crematorium.

The service at the crematorium was very short. Before the family fully realised it, the rector had pressed the button to allow the cremation process to begin. The coffin made its way as if by some eerie form of magic towards the curtains at the far end of the chapel. Again, more magic as the curtains mysteriously opened and to the sound of piped music the coffin began to disappear. Before it did so, Rita suddenly stood up and shouted out, “No, she can’t leave us.” She continued shouting, she can’t leave us, over and over again, until after a few moments her voice subsided and the distraught woman sat down once more. Everybody inside the tiny chapel tried to hide their embarrassment at this outburst, the majority of them closing their eyes and pretending to pray. The piped music was still playing when the small congregation emerged into the daylight.

Outside, Paul and Michael stood together as they watched another funeral procession make its way towards the chapel and a similar procedure to the one that they had just experienced began to unravel before their eyes. They saw the hearse back up and pallbearers lift the coffin out and bear it into the chapel. They saw a Free Church minister standing at the door, preparing to take the service. “It’s like a conveyor belt,” observed Paul. “Yes,” replied his brother, “a constant stream of death.”

As if to underline the sheer misery of the proceedings, the sky heavy with thickening clouds now blackened and a light rain began to fall. Rita stood motionless with her sister who struggled to put up an umbrella she had brought with her. The two women huddled underneath it and went towards Paul’s car. The two men looked at each other, turned their collars up against the weather and walked to the car.

It was a small gathering of people who returned from the crematorium for lunchtime refreshments at Laura’s house, prepared by the faithful Sandra Smith. She had gone to a lot of trouble to provide sandwiches, sausage rolls, cake, several bottles of wine and tea and coffee. The rector was present, trying to keep up spirits, along with Mr and Mrs Close and Mary an elderly widow who lived next door to Sandra Smith and also attended the church in Claverton.

Rita sat apart from the others, staring out of the window at the garden. She seemed to be intent on looking at the different birds that were making use of the various bird feeders that the former mistress of the house had filled with nuts. Mrs Close approached and sat down next to her. “You will miss your mother,” she said tenderly. “Yes,” replied Rita, “but she might be better off dead, there is so much pain and suffering in this life. I see it all at the hospital where I work.” “Surely not. You’re very upset I can see that. Perhaps you could have some counselling…” “No, I don’t want that, I don’t want that,” said Rita, her voice rising. Mrs Close scurried away into the kitchen, like a frightened rabbit, and started to wash up glasses to help Sandra. Mr Close approached Rita. “My wife is only trying to help,” he said, “there’s no need for rudeness.” “I don’t want help, I don’t want help,” shrieked Rita. Mr Close also beat a hasty retreat.

Paul stood talking to the rector who was encouraging him to attend church. “But I don’t believe in any of it,” said Paul. Bella sat next to Michael, still very tearful, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief he had supplied. “We still don’t know who did it,” she said into the handkerchief. “I’m sure the police will sort it out,” said Michael. “Most crime goes unsolved,” sobbed Bella. He put his arm round her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

“You haven’t got rid of me yet,” said Rita as she came upon them both. “You left me of your own accord,” replied Michael, in an exasperated tone. “And now you’re sleeping with my sister!” she hissed at him. “No,” said Bella firmly, “we comfort one another in very trying circumstances. There is no sexual involvement, I assure you.”

Anna did not attend the crem. service and she had not been invited to get-together afterwards at the Fellingham’s home. The family had seen her in church, but they had had no conversation with her. Anna had not wanted to intrude on their grief. She had found it useful to observe them at close quarters without having to make polite conversation. Now she was sitting in her car thinking. She had not turned on the engine. She decided to analyse her thoughts and impressions while they were fresh in her mind. It was becoming more and more apparent as time went on that there were deep divisions in the Fellingham family, though they put on a brave united front. Isabella, for all her superficial charm, was a deeply troubled woman. She felt very hurt by her husband’s attempts to constantly deceive her and yet she seemed unwilling to throw in her lot with Michael. She wanted the best of both worlds, the freedom to associate freely with her brother-in-law and the financial security offered by Paul. However, as it turned out, he was not as financially secure as might appear. If Bella was beginning to learn the true state of Paul’s financial circumstances perhaps she might more easily renounce him as a life partner. How certain was she that Michael would welcome her with open arms?

But why should Bella kill her own mother? The only reason Anna could think of was – because Laura had opposed Bella’s supposed infidelity but sanctioned Paul’s and this was unacceptable to Bella. It was not a reason for murder, surely! Bella had not been unfaithful, she had merely approached Michael for comfort – but Laura did not know that. Perhaps Laura had pushed her to the edge of endurance, where she felt she could not cope any more. And Paul, like the good St Justus, made no effort to cope; he just ran away and made himself scarce.

Anna started the engine and drove back to Bath to report to Gerrard. She told him, “I don’t understand why they are protecting each other. What has any of them to gain by that?” Gerrard responded with the idea that, “They don’t think they are protecting each other. One does not want to say anything about another in front of a third member. It is quite subtle, what is going on, I mean. They’re not telling us a pack of lies, much of what they say is true. It’s the occasional lie that’s throwing us. There is still much that we don’t know, but we must find out.”


CHAPTER TWENTYTWO
Monday, Oct 30: afternoon
The guests gathered at Laura Fellingham’s house had now departed leaving Bella alone. The faithful Sandra Smith had taken on the job of clearing up afterwards. She had restored the house to its former neat and tidy state. After thanking her and seeing her off the premises Bella retired to the studio where she had spent so many hours working with her mother. She set her mind on the business but she found it hard to concentrate. Before her mother’s death the two had been working on the coming spring collection of swimwear. Bella had been in the throes of producing a range plan. She had already set out some new designs in addition to her repeat designs for the ranges that had sold well in previous years. In recent weeks Bella had drawn a series of sketches, obtained some samples of the fabrics and attached them to each sketch. She had had her trusted sample machinist make the first garment, a crochet bikini, as a sample made in cotton. She had agreed with her mother that they would produce garments in size 8,10,12,14 and 16.
She had also persuaded the sample machinist to make up a bikini just for Bella. And this, Bella recalled was one of the long running disagreements between them. Laura did not want ‘her staff’ as she called them being used for Bella’s private purposes. But mother was no longer there to create fuss and bother for her daughter. Bella was free, on her own, with the opportunity to make her own decisions. Having paid her respects in organising the funeral she now made the decisions to get out of funeral black as quickly as possible. She could try on her own new bikini and if she turned up the central heating she could stay in it. She was standing naked in the room, about to put on the bikini when she heard the doorbell. Should she get back into funeral black or go for the summer look? It would be quicker and easier to choose the swimwear. She could soon explain to her caller what she had been doing. She arrived at the front door, able to discern the figure of Michael through the glass.
He had leaned his bike against the porch. A rather forlorn figure it was that greeted her, dressed in his black she in her bikini. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “What are you doing dressed like that in October, strange Halloween party getup,” he replied. “I’m a fashion designer, remember?” “I’m having trouble with my bike… the chain has come off. Can I come in and clean myself up? I don’t want to get oil on my clothes.” Bella ushered him in and went to turn up the thermostat in the cupboard.
Michael followed Bella into her studio where he divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I suppose I’d better get changed,” she said. “No, don’t do that, I like you as you are,” he replied. As he said the words he was very conscious that he would never have said them to Rita. He thought she was too prim and proper for that. But Bella responded to his playfulness with her own charm. She gave him a big hug.
“Do you have an old rag I can use to protect my hands while I put the chain back on?” “How very romantic you are, darling Michael! Yes, I think I have something here somewhere.” She went into the studio and found a remnant of material. Michael was outside looking at his bike. Bella joined him and handed him the cloth. “Here you are,” she said. “You’ll catch cold out here,” please go in and make us some coffee.”
When Michael joined Bella in the studio she told him that she had just had a telephone call from the police. Detective Sergeant Rossi would like to talk to her to eliminate her from their inquiries concerning her mother's death. Bella seemed quite amused by it all, saying she would have to get out of the bikini. She instantly took it off. Michael did not find it so funny to be standing half-dressed in funeral clothes next to a totally naked female who was his sister-in-law. Bella thought he was being a bit pompous and told him so. This seemed to hurt his feelings, so she tried to bring him round by being coy and pert with him. This strategy had a certain amount of success. Bella was beginning to discover more and more of what she had already learnt about Michael. He liked women to make a fuss of him. Each time Bella had fussed over him he had become like putty in her hands.
She stood behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “Don’t worry, darling, she won’t be here for ages yet.” “Well, I’m not going to be here when she comes,” said Michael. “You’re not going to leave me here are you?” “Yes, in a word.” “I think you ought to stay here and give me some moral support, unless you want to give me some immoral support and then go.” “Yes, I think I’ll do that. What were you thinking of?” “You could start by kissing me,” she said trying to turn him to face to wards him. He turned and she kissed him hard on the mouth. She clung to him. He could feel the passion surge through her body and his as they embraced. Time stood still. They both began to experience an eternal moment. Objectively it was in time, subjectively it was outside time, an existential awakening that was to set them on a path of desire, the insatiable desire for forbidden fruit.
“Do you love me Bella?” asked Michael. “That’s a big word,” she replied, evasively. “I don’t want to talk about love now, I want to make love.” She started to unbutton his shirt. Michael became a little frightened, but he did not try to stop her. She opened his shirt and rested her head on his chest. He began to stroke her hair. She turned her back to him, encouraging him to slip his hands under armpits and reach for her breasts. He cupped them in both hands whilst she put her hands on top of his. He held her tightly once more. He let go and stood watching her body over her left shoulder. He felt her breathing becoming harder, saw her nipples standing out straight and swollen, saw her breasts gently rising gently falling, and he knew that he too was falling. In the next few moments they would be standing together naked. He knew that, but he seemed powerless to resist. She was so adorable he wanted to devour her. She lay down on the carpeted floor, pulling him down with her. There was no need for a bed, for careful negotiations, just an uncomplicated desire for what was so desirable, the union of his body with hers. Without any fuss or bother he found his way inside her. It was simple, so simple. And, he felt, it was beautiful, just to rest inside her, to be as one with her.
But Bella was not satisfied with this plateau they had arrived at. She did not want rest. She did not want peace or tranquility. She wanted action. If Michael would not act, she would. She pushed against him until they both turned over and she was sitting astride him. Now she could feel him deep inside her and she started tiny movements, lifting her body clear of his and then pushing down on him, slowly. Her tiny movements gradually increased in size until she was thrusting herself on him again and again. She raised herself once more, allowing her breasts to contacts his face. He opened his mouth and sucked on each nipple in turn util they were both unnaturally swollen and Bella experienced the pain of violent lovemaking. She sank back on to him once more and rested there, breathing hard. He watched her breasts rise and fall and experienced a sensation he had never felt before as she gripped hold of him with her vaginal muscles, tightening and loosening over and over. Such was the paroxysm she made him feel. No longer single events but a multiplicity of spasms, seizures and convulsions in a frenzy of raving passion. He turned her on her back and thrust into her. He did not want to resist her he wanted her. It was no longer something happening to him, something over which he had no control. He had made a conscious decision to penetrate her and enjoy it.
By the time Anna had arrived at Laura Fellingham’s house Michael had already disappeared into the night on his bike leaving Bella to face the music alone. But, she told herself, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. When she heard the doorbell her heartbeat skipped a couple of times. She was nervous. She welcomed the detective into the living room. The two women sat on a sofa looking at one another. “I have to ask you these questions as a matter of routine inquiry,” Anna explained. Bella shrugged her shoulders, saying that she did not mind. Anna understood this as a definite sign that Bella did mind. “We found a your mother’s diary amongst her personal effects in her handbag,” Anna continued. “In the section at the front giving names and telephone numbers there are several entries. I rang the numbers. They are all local Bath shops, boutiques, retailers and suppliers who dealt with you and your mother. I made my own list and phoned these people.” Anna could see that Bella had become rather uncomfortable.
“James Head told me that dealing with your mother and dealing with you was like chalk and cheese. You had completely different ideas about what you wanted. Is that true?” “Yes, but I can’t see the point of the question.” “Please bear with me. When I spoke to Liz Atkins, she said a similar thing… that you ordered something only to have your mother cancel the order minutes later.” “Yes, my mother did that,” said Bella, in an exasperated tone of voice. “On more than one occasion?” “Yes, quite a few times.” “Jessica Bell said that you were into young fashion whilst your mother wanted to cater for an older, perhaps less fickle clientele. Is that true?” “Yes, but where is all this leading?” “… and Edward Robertson,” continued Anna, “suggested that you were, quote, at daggers drawn with Laura. Is that true?” “Yes, so what?”
“Saul Cohen is your financial adviser isn’t he?” “Yes, he has been my mother’s for years.” “He says that ‘Isabella’s game-plan and Laura’s game-plan are totally different. It is very difficult to reconcile the two.’ Is that true?” “Yes, I suppose it is,” said Bella, a note of resignation now in her voice. “Eleanor Sparks and Francis Gordon spoke very well of you. They wouldn’t comment on your relationship with your mother. But then, they stand to lose financially if they fall out with you, don’t they?” “That’s not fair.” Anna ignored the interruption.
She described the retail outlet dealing in accessories which takes its name from the commonly known forget-me-not plant, (Myosotis Boraginaceae), which they cleverly changed to Forget-Me-Knot. I called on them earlier this afternoon. Pippa, Jan and Heidi, yes?” “Yes.” “They are all young like you but I talked to them individually, whilst I was there. They each described the way you talked about your mother. The words, spite, hatred and distrust were on their lips in connection with your opinion of your mother.” “So?” “So, life without mother might be preferable to life with her?” “The fact that I didn’t get on with my mother doesn’t mean I wanted to kill her!” “We, as police officers, don’t know that. We have to pursue every line of inquiry.”
Anna went to the front door and opened it to signal to three colleagues who joined her on the doorstep. She turned back to speak to Bella. “I have a warrant here, Mrs Fellingham,” she said, holding up a document in front of Bella, “to search the studio here and your home. We will be taking away any material that we think will be of use to us and the computers, yours and your mother’s.” The three uniformed policemen strode into the house and started disconnecting the computer in the studio and putting documents in the cardboard boxes they had brought with them. “One last thing Mrs Fellingham. Were all the people I’ve mentioned at the funeral?” Isabella thought for a moment or two and then replied, “Yes, I think so... Yes, I’m sure of it.” “Thank you for your help, I’ll be getting in touch with you.”
Anna returned to the office but Gerrard was not there. A note had been left on her desk to the effect that Gerrard was in a meeting but would be back later. She was sitting and thinking of her interview with Isabella Fellingham when Gerrard came through the door. “What have you found out?” he asked before he had had time to sit down. “All the people I contacted said that the relationship between Isabella and her mother was very poor. Mrs Fellingham admits this but it is not a strong enough motive for murder.” “Isn’t it,” asked Gerrard. “Mrs Fellingham doesn’t think so. But if Laura Fellingham also fell out with her daughter over a personal matter, like her relationship with her husband on the one hand and Michael Fellingham on the other, that might constitute a motive for murder,” suggested Anna.
“Is it feasible?” asked Gerrard. “What, sir?” “Could she have carried out the murder? Was it practically possible for her to do so?” “If we go through it logically, sir, I would have thought yes. First of all, the timing. Her arrival at the Sydney Gardens main gate she put at 7.40. But we have no evidence to corroborate that statement. She could have arrived at 7.30 or earlier. She could have gone towards the side-entrance. She could have witnessed the car accident from a distance, seen Tommy carry the body into Sydney Gardens and watched him run away. She could have run back to the main gate and pretended to her brother-in-law that she was still waiting for her mother.”
Gerrard pondered this speech from his sergeant for some time before he replied. “In his defence Tommy has claimed that he saw Isabella Fellingham at the main gate when he ran away from the scene.” “Yes, I know sir, but he could have been mistaken.” “She has corroborated his story. She identified him, didn’t she?” asked Gerrard. “Yes, but sir, if she had seen him at the side entrance, she would be able to identify him.” “There’s no reason for Tommy to lie is there?” “No,” said Anna, “that’s why I think he made, or could have made a mistake.” “Is that possible or probable?” “There is one possibility that we haven’t considered yet.” “I think I know what you’re going to say,” said Gerrard. “It’s possible that Rita Fellingham was at the scene, at the main gate and Tommy saw her, not Isabella Fellingham at all,” suggested Anna. “She was on night duty at the hospital. That didn’t start until eight o’clock. Did she have time to get to Sydney Gardens and then get to work on time?” “I don’t think so,” said Anna. “It looks like Isabella is in the clear then, doesn’t it. We need to find out Mrs Margherita Fellingham’s exact movements on the night in question.”
“There is another possibility,” said Anna. “That Michael and Isabella Fellingham were working in collusion?” asked Gerrard. “Yes, if they were having what amounts to an affair, they might be in a plot together to finish off Laura Fellingham.” “It all sounds a bit fanciful to me,” commented Gerrard, “but we need to interview Michael Fellingham as a matter of routine so we’ll go there later. We’ll strike while the iron is hot.”


CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

Monday, Oct 30: evening

Michael Fellingham returned home. He put his bike in the empty garage and went inside to get himself something to eat. He was alone once again. It was a quarter past seven when Gerrard and Rossi came to see him. He was expecting them. If they had been to see Bella earlier in the day they would be sure to arrive on his doorstep sooner or later. “We would like to go over the statement you gave us earlier to check up on a few things,” said Anna when they had sat down together. “Fire away,” said Michael. Gerrard thought he looked bright and breezy, not the mien of somebody complicit in a murder but he let his sergeant conduct the interview. “Mrs Isabella Fellingham told us that on the night of Saturday, October 21st she was meeting her husband for a meal, but it later transpired that she was in fact meeting you. That’s correct isn’t it?”

“Yes.” “It has also later transpired that she and her mother did not get on. That’s also correct isn’t it?” “Yes.” “Now, the plan was for Mrs Fellingham to meet her mother at Sydney Gardens. The purpose of the meeting was for Isabella Fellingham to answer her mother’s ultimatum, either give up the affair with you or face disinheritance. Is that correct?” “Yes.” “Do you know what your sister-in-law proposed to say to her mother?” “Yes, she would not have her mother interfering in her private affairs.” “On the face of it,” explained Anna, “there seems to be a motive for murder. Would you agree?” “No, I don’t think Bella had any intention of murdering anyone.” “That’s not quite the same is it? A motive is not an intention. A motive is a reason or ground for a course of action, whereas an intention is a plan or aim. All I am suggesting at this stage is that Mrs Fellingham did have a reason for killing her mother namely, her intense dislike of her.”

“That doesn’t mean she killed her.” “No, it doesn’t. Let’s now consider the means by which she may have carried out the murder. She knew your mother-in-law carried a nail file, she probably saw it in the handbag she had with her. She also has the physical strength to use it. So, given the motive and the means, did she also have opportunity? If you are both telling the truth the answer is no. She didn’t have time to get from her car to where your mother-in-law was killed at 7.33. But, if you are not telling us the truth, she had motive, means and opportunity of killing her mother. That makes her a prime suspect. So, I ask you, is the account of the timing of the meetings accurate?” “Yes, as far as I know.”

“The women were due to meet at quarter to eight. She phoned you at nearly eight o’clock and you said wait until quarter past?” “Yes.” “Laura Fellingham was knocked down at 7.33 and killed minutes later. It’s possible that she didn’t park at 7.40 but some time before. She walked from the main gate to the side-entrance in order to meet Laura Fellingham coming the other way. By chance, Laura Fellingham was knocked down and brought into the gardens by Tommy Matheson. She then killed her and phoned you at the time she said she did. In fact she would have had ample time to get to the main gate and still phone you from the main gate. She could have run to the canal, dumped the file and still reached the gate.” “But, said Michael, “Tommy Matheson saw her when he ran out of the gardens.”
“He could have been mistaken. The question I have to put to you is, if Mrs Fellingham killed her mother, did she have an accomplice or was she acting alone. If she had an accomplice you are a likely contender.” “No, I’m not an accomplice.” “Can you account for your movements in the half hour or so before Mrs Fellingham’s death?” “I was on my bike, cycling in to the city to meet Bella.” “It’s possible though, isn’t it that you could have killed your mother-in-law and then met up with your sister-in-law?” “But why should I want to kill my mother-in-law?” “I don’t know your motive, sir, but one possibility that comes to mind is that you did it on behalf of Isabella Fellingham.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Is it? Did anyone that you know see you as you cycled in?”

Michael thought for a moment and then decided that he would tell the truth. “It was sheer coincidence, but yes, someone did see me.” “Who was that?” “One of my students, Lucy Banks was standing at the junction of the London Road and Cleveland Bridge. I was stopped at the traffic lights. I saw her wave and call to me and I acknowledged her with a nod, but I couldn’t speak to her. There is a filter at that junction and I was going straight on into the city.” “That was out of your way wasn’t it?” “Yes, but if I had ridden over the bridge I would have come out in sight of Bella and her mother.” “Do you have an address for this Lucy Banks?” “I don’t… the college will have… you can check with them.” “We’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning,” said Anna. “Is there anything else Chief Inspector?” Michael asked. “No, I think we’ve covered everything thank you.”

There is another way of looking at the case, sir, said Anna as they were travelling back into the city. “What’s that?” asked Gerrard. “I checked out a message that Paul Fellingham left for his mother-in-law. He is deeply in debt. He is trying to raise money,” replied Anna. “I know it’s late but we ought to try and see him tonight,” said Gerrard. “I did phone earlier today saying we would call on him if time allowed. So let’s go now.”

Paul Fellingham was not expecting to see police officers on the evening of his mother-in-law’s funeral. He had agreed to it and then promptly forgotten it. He was not in a good mood when he answered the door. Isabella had already gone to bed. “My wife tells me that you have taken away our computers,” he said to them. “Yes, that’s right,” said Gerrard. “We will check all the documents on them and let you have them back as quickly as possible.” “Are we suspects in this case?” “Everybody is a possible suspect who we think might have a motive for murder, sir,” explained Gerrard. “Do you think I have a motive for murder, chief inspector?” “That’s what we’re here to find out, sir.” “May we sit down?” asked Anna.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” said Gerrard, when the three of them were seated. “If you thought that the death of your mother-in-law would assist you in paying off your debts that would constitute a motive for murder.” “And how may my mother-in-law’s death assist me in paying off my debts?” asked Paul. “You knew that she was a rich woman. You also knew that under the terms of her will, made long before she was murdered, you would have inherited a quarter of her estate. I know that you are one of the beneficiaries, because I heard the will read out myself.”

“How do you know I need to pay off debts?” “Because your mother-in-law had two messages on her mobile when she died, both of them from you, the first of which reads as follows, In dire straits, need money urgently, can you spare £5000? I don’t think there is any doubt that you are in debt. But what is the extent of that debt?” “I’m not telling you,” replied Paul, petulantly.

“You don’t need to. I said there were two messages. The second reads as follows, Your help might persuade Jeremy Thomas to help also. I managed to trace Mr Thomas and spoke to him on the phone earlier today. He told me that you had lost money on the stock market, to the tune of nearly a hundred thousand pounds. You’ve borrowed money on which you are paying interest. You are also being blackmailed.” “No, I’ve got out of that one,” said Paul, defiantly. “That still leaves the hundred thousand. If you can recoup your losses, even partially, you might invest the money more successfully, and eventually get back on an even keel. But you need an injection of cash in the short term, which the death of Laura Fellingham would help you to secure.”

“I would never contemplate murder,” said Paul, “whatever my personal circumstances.” “You have to account for your movements on the evening of the murder, 21st October. In your earlier statement you said that you came home early from London in the afternoon. What time was that?” “The train from London got in at 4.50 p.m.” answered Paul. “I walked home slowly. I got there at about a quarter to six. It’s not that far and I felt I needed the exercise. I did not go into the house though. I did not want to alert Bella. I wanted to check up on her and Michael. So, when I arrived home I immediately went to my car, which I keep in a garage nearby and drove up the road. I drew in, parked up and listened to the radio for an hour or so. At about a quarter past seven I started for the city centre. I drew cash from ATM at 7.30 in Bath bottom of Widcombe Hill where there’s a shopping parade.”

“You have the receipt?” asked Anna. “Yes,” said Paul. “I keep all my receipts.” “Could we see it please?” “It’s upstairs. I’ll have to fetch it.” He left the room. Anna looked at her chief. “What do you think?” she asked. “It all seems genuine enough.” Paul came down again and handed Gerrard the receipt. “There you are,” he said, “it’s got the date and time as I said.” “Thank you,” replied Gerrard, “That would seem to put you in the clear.” “It doesn’t seem to… it does put me in the clear, doesn’t it?” “For the time being, sir, yes,” said Gerrard, “unless further evidence comes to light.” “What further evidence could incriminate me?” “I won’t speculate other than to say you might have been working in collusion with someone else.” “That’s ridiculous.” “We will leave it there for the present. Thank you for your co-operation.”
Paul Fellingham breathed a sigh of relief when the police officers finally departed. He returned to his seat and sat brooding on the problems thrown up by his interview. If only he could cancel the debts.

He thought of his return to London on Sunday when his suspicions had been confirmed. He knew for certain that Isabella had sought consolation with his brother. He saw the look of disappointment in the eyes of Isabella as he said goodbye. His failure to come home on Monday when he knew that Mrs Fellingham was dead was a mistake. He should have made an effort to stay in Bath. His finding solace in the arms of another woman, Katerina whom he hardly knew was in some ways his biggest mistake. There was no sense in which she was a business colleague. She was no more than a cheap tart who worked in the typing pool. She earned a fraction of the salary that Paul could command. He picked her out for a bit of fun at an office party the previous Christmas. She hardly knew who he was. He did not know her at all. They drank together that night and danced together and later she was quite happy that they slept together. There was no relationship other than a purely sexual one. She had her needs and he had his. She lived for dancing and showing off her body. He had become intoxicated with her and the lifestyle she led.

Each time he saw her, which was not very often, she would make some excuse for them to meet. In March she had met him in the lift and got out on the floor that he got out. There was no one else about and she caught hold of his hand, demanding to see him at lunchtime. He could not refuse. They met for lunch when she persuaded him to go to the roof garden with him. She kissed him with a passion that surprised him, but made no further demands. Later in the year, in May, she invited him to a party. She told him while they were dancing together that she was leaving the typing pool. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “I’ve got a job as a pole dancer in a club not far from here. I start tomorrow. Come and see me.” He went the next night and stayed for a couple of hours, but Katerina was on a stage right in front of him, but miles away from him. He had no chance to talk to her. That is how it continued over the next few months. Paul was not able to contact the girl. He knew nothing about her, where she had come from, or where she lived. He had no phone number and the club management made sure he made no advances towards her.

Paul cast his mind back over the last few days. He thought of the Monday night when once again he was in London for the sole purpose of seeing the girl whom he would later know as Katerina. She had become quite professional now. Her moves were extraordinary on the pole. She was dressed in a very short skirt. It was no more than a pelmet. She wore the skimpiest of tops. When she moved she held on to the pole with one hand and went round and round it extending her other hand to the seated audience. The highlight of her routine was her graceful climb up the pole, a quick turn upside down and a slow descent until her shoulder rested on the stage, her long limbs extending up the pole. She then left the stage, only to reappear a few minutes later and repeat the performance.

On the Tuesday, the day after his mother-in-law was found dead, Paul saw Katerina at an underground station, waiting for the tube. He approached her and saw a different person. No longer was she the girl from the typing pool but a sophisticated looking youngster in control of her life. She was beautifully dressed and spoke with a slight foreign accent that Paul could not readily identify. He wanted to ask her out somewhere but while he was thinking what to say she asked him to dinner. Isabella had phoned him while he was wining and dining this slip of a girl. And now he felt ashamed that she had discovered him almost in flagrante delicto.


CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

Tuesday, Oct 31: morning

Tuesday had a rather depressing start to it. Gerrard and Rossi had collected a large amount of evidence in terms of witness statements, but they felt they were just as far now from learning the truth about Laura Fellingham’s murder as they were a week previously. They now sat together in Gerrard’s office at the police station reviewing once again the statements they had been given. Isabella’s alibi that she was at the main gate seemed to hold up. Tommy saw her there. If he were telling the truth there could be only one other possibility, a possibility that seemed remote to the two police officers. It was conceivable that Tommy had seen Rita Fellingham and not Isabella Fellingham. If both women were in the vicinity at the time of the murder, Isabella could have carried out the crime and disposed of the murder weapon while Rita Fellingham was at the main gate and observed by Tommy.

When Gerrard outlined this account of events to Anna she responded by saying that she had thought of it but it could not possibly be true. There was no reason why Rita should be anywhere near Sydney Gardens on the night of the crime. However, she suggested that the police should check with the hospital to confirm that she was starting a night shift at the time of the murder. Anna spoke on the phone with one of the hospital’s administration staff. “I can confirm that she was on duty on that night and her shift started at eight o’clock,” he said. When Anna reported this fact to Gerrard both of the realised that although Rita Fellingham would have taken time to get to work, they still needed to check to make sure that she did not go to Sydney Gardens on the way to work. “The problem is,” said Gerrard, “Sydney Gardens is not on Rita Fellingham’s way to work. She would have to go out of her way to go there.” “You mean sir, that she would drive along the London Road, turn left over Cleveland Bridge and arrive at the main gate in Sydney Gardens.” “Yes, but why?” “She could been an accomplice in the murder with her sister. She agreed to do it to help her sister.”

“We have understood all along that Michael and Isabella Fellingham were having an affair. We know that Paul Fellingham suspected his wife and brother. We have assumed that Rita Fellingham had no part to play in the crime because she would not want to help her sister if Isabella was trying to take Michael Fellingham away from her. Could it not be the case that the account of this affair is a fabrication to put us off? Perhaps Rita and Isabella Fellingham were working together. Rita, for whatever reason wanted to leave Michael, so she passes him on to Bella. He’s an innocent in all this and goes along with it. So an affair of sorts does happen. The mother, Laura Fellingham was made to think that the affair was genuine. She was very upset about it. Rita and Isabella Fellingham knew she would be. They planned it that way.”

Anna interrupted with an objection. “Mrs Fellingham was hit by a car. Her daughters could not have planned that.” “Being hit by a car and Tommy Mattheson’s intervention was not planned. It was an added complication. The two women could still have planned and carried out the murder. We need to interview Rita Fellingham carefully. Is she at work now or at home, or what she calls home?” “I don’t know, sir. I’ll ring and find out.” A few minutes later the two police officers were on their way to the hospital.

The ward where Rita was working was short staffed when the detectives arrived. Reluctantly the ward sister agreed that Mrs again should be interviewed in her office. Rita came in and sat down. Gerrard, who had never seen her before, recognised her instantly as the twin sister of Isabella. Gerrard conducted the interview while his colleague took detailed notes. They did not want to miss anything from this fourth member of the family. “On the night of the murder Mrs Laura Fellingham, where were you?” “I was at work on that Saturday evening.” “Am I right in thinking that your shift didn’t start until 8.00 p.m.?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “Where were you from 7.30 p.m. until 8.00 p.m.?” “Getting to work.” “Can anyone confirm that?” “No, I was alone.” “You didn’t meet anyone on the way.” “No, why should I?”

“I am asking the questions,” said Gerrard, “tell me, how long does it take you to get to work?” “It depends when I’m starting.” “How long does it take you to get to work when you are doing a Saturday night shift?” “I would allow forty minutes for that. I have to get to the other side of Bath.” “But depending on the traffic it might take you less time to get to work?” “Yes, it might.” “But it didn’t on October 21st, ten days ago?” “No.” “You’re sure of that?” “Yes.” “Thanks very much Mrs Fellingham for your help. We’ll let you get back to work now.” Rita rose to leave. “Oh! one last thing Mrs Fellingham again, if you don’t mind. You are still living in Weston village at the home of Miss Stoneham?” “Yes,” said Rita and closed the door behind her.

“We don’t know whether Rita Fellingham is telling the truth. I’ve interviewed Sally Stoneham already but I think, as we are here in the hospital it could be useful to talk to some of the other staff who work with Rita Fellingham and try to find out whether she is telling us the truth or not.” “Shall I see if I can have a word with one of the doctors she works with?” asked Anna. “That seems like a good idea.” Anna left the room. Meanwhile Gerrard sought some nursing colleagues of Rita with the help of a ward sister. “Come in,” he said when he heard a knock on the office door. "You wanted to see me?” said the young nurse standing before him. “Yes. I’m Chief Inspector Gerrard. I’d like you to tell me if you can, something about Mrs Margherita Fellingham. I believe you have worked together.”

“Yes, quite a lot really. She’s a bit older than me and she’s helped me to find my feet here.” “You get on well with her?” “Yes, very well.” “Is there anything that you can think of, since you have known her that might suggest she is in any way unreliable?” “No, she’s totally reliable.” “In your experience she always tells the truth?” “Yes, as far as I know. Is this to do with the death of her mother?” “Yes, it is. I can’t say any more than that. Is there anything you can tell me that might help me in my inquiries?” The girl hesitated for a moment and then replied, “No, there’s nothing that I can think of.” Gerrard thanked her for her answers and let her go.

He sat back, his hands behind his head, deep in thought. Anna returned bearing two cups of coffee and some information that she had gleaned when talking to one of the doctors who had worked with Rita. “The doctor I spoke to said that Rita Fellingham didn’t always cope well under pressure. He said that she had been under a great deal of pressure during the last few months. They are short staffed here. When Mrs Fellingham is on night duty she is often here on her own. Effectively she is in charge. She has had some difficult situations to deal with. Earlier in the month, in the first week of October, they lost a patient on this ward. The man was not expected to live but Mrs Fellingham took it quite badly all the same. She blamed herself.” “That’s interesting,” said Gerrard, “anything else?” “Yes, he talked about her psychological condition, and he didn’t beat about the bush. He referred to her manic-depression,” said Anna

“The question is, does her manic-depression have any bearing on the case?” said Gerrard. “The doctor did not say that she was unreliable. He said that Margherita Fellingham is unpredictable.” “Perhaps the nurse I spoke to is protecting her in some way. I got that feeling from Sally Stoneham, that she was telling me what she thought I ought to hear.” “Is there anything, sir, in the idea that Rita, like her sister did not get on with their mother?” “Sally Stoneham said as much. Let me look at what she did say.” He opened the leather document case and extracted his notebook. After flicking through several pages he read out loud. “Here it is… ‘she has got it into her head that her mother disliked her. Rita wouldn’t speak to her on the phone. She would pretend that she wasn’t in or if Sally answered the phone would tell her to say that she wasn’t available to take the call.’ So, it would seem there was tension between mother and daughter.”

“The question is, are the two daughters in some kind of plot together? If not, do we try and break Rita’s alibi or account of events and show that she is not telling the truth?” “What reason do we have for doubting her?” “None whatsoever. We need some evidence that casts doubt on her story or we have to prove that she and her sister are in it together.” “But it could be that Isabella and Michael are in it together.” “What possible benefit can Rita Fellingham derive from her mother’s death?” “Freedom.” “So why did she kill her mother?” “Because she is mad, a mental case and if she is a mental case she doesn’t have a reason. That’s why she is a mental case. She does things without reasons. She is irrational.” “It should still be possible to prove her innocent or guilty.”

“There ought to be more witnesses. But no matter how many witnesses there are they are all going to confuse Rita and Bella, likewise Michael and Paul. We need some other kind of evidence like a fingerprint or a footprint, something like that. Let’s go through the forensic evidence again.” The detectives left the hospital and returned to the police station.

They reviewed all the forensic evidence including the pathology report and the evidence given at the inquest but nothing could put Rita F at the scene of the crime. “If Rita is the culprit she has committed the perfect crime,” observed Anna. “Or she has been very, very lucky. I still think it’s her and I think she was working alone.”


CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

Tuesday, Oct 31: afternoon

When Gerrard and Rossi arrived back at the station they had to admit defeat. There were no new leads and the case was getting colder by the hour. They seemed to be forced to the conclusion that Laura Fellingham must have been killed by a passer-by, someone who was a complete stranger with no motive. There were no witnesses either. Something however niggled away at Gerrard’s mind. He was reluctant to throw in the towel. He told Anna that he would see Tresillian as soon as possible and put all his cards on the table. First of all though the two of them must go through all the evidence once again to make absolutely sure that they had not overlooked anything. Gerrard left that job to his colleague while he tried phoning Tresillian. Eventually, the Chief Superintendent agreed to see his DCI at three o’clock that afternoon.

“Sir,” began Gerrard, “Tommy Mattheson is in custody in Wiltshire awaiting trial for the car crimes. He has not been granted bail. We can still charge him if we can find the evidence. At the moment we think there is not enough. We have investigated the family of Laura Fellingham, which as you know, consists of Isabella Fellingham and her sister Margherita and their husbands Paul and Michael. Isabella, who was in business with her mother, did not get on with her terribly well. She may have killed her out of hatred, but personally I don’t think her animosity was enough for her to contemplate murdering her own blood relation. There doesn’t seem to be any financial gain from killing her either. Isabella is capable of running her own business. She did not feel threatened by her mother’s possible winding up of their partnership. Neither did she feel threatened by her mother’s vow to disinherit her if she maintained her liaison with her brother-in-law, Michael. She expected her mother to live into old age and therefore Isabella would not have had any inheritance for many years. She was seen by Tommy Mattheson at the front gate to Sydney Gardens at the time of death of her mother.”

“This brings us to Isabella’s husband Paul Fellingham. He is in debt to the tune of £100,000. He has had an affair with a girl in London where he works. She has tried to blackmail him but he told his wife about it and therefore the blackmail threat ceased to have any effect. He has tried to borrow money, some of it from his mother who refused him. He lost the money through playing the stock market. He is a very bright man, has an entrepreneurial spirit and therefore I would suggest not a potential murderer. In addition to that he has an alibi. At the time the murder was being committed he was withdrawing money from an ATM in Widcombe. Therefore, he is in the clear, unless he gave someone his card and told him or her his PIN so that they could get the money and receipt on his behalf. I doubt that he did this.

Paul Fellingham’s brother Michael was involved in that he had arranged to see Isabella after she had seen her mother. He cycled into Bath on the Saturday evening and at the time of the murder, just after 7.30 p.m. was seen by one of his sixth form students at Cleveland Bridge. We have checked with her and she confirms that she saw him. Sergeant Rossi thinks she has a crush on him but we don’t have any evidence for that, hearsay really. I think we can trust Lucy Banks to be telling the truth. That leaves Rita. She says she was on her way to work, she had a night shift at the RUH. She is a nurse. According to her she was nowhere near the crime scene at all that evening. We have no means of verifying what she says other than she did arrive for work at eight o’clock and it does take half an hour or so to get there from where she lives.” “That’s everyone accounted for then, isn’t it? All the family members I mean.” “Yes sir, but I don’t believe her.” “You don’t believe Margherita Fellingham?” “I don’t.” “Why not?” “I don’t really know.”

“She is a manic-depressive sir.” “That doesn’t make her a murderess does it?” “No sir. What do you suggest we do?” “It’s ten days since Mrs F was killed, which is not long. I suggest you get a search warrant and search everywhere that has a possible connection with Margherita Fellingham. Let’s see if anything turns up.” “Yes sir, I’ll get on to it right away.” Gerrard told Anna the outcome of his meeting with Tresillian and immediately set up search teams to visit various locations. “What are we looking for?” asked a young constable in the briefing room before the operation commenced. “Any blood stained clothing, anything that will connect the owner to Sydney Gardens on October 21st. Diaries, notes, even a post-it might put the suspect in that place,” said Gerrard, the grim determination showing on his face.

Their first call was the house of Michael and Margherita Fellingham. There was no one in when they called. They obtained a key from a neighbour and conducted a detailed search of the lounge. They found nothing. They turned the kitchen upside down and then the dining room. Still they found nothing. Gerrard told them not to lose heart. The chief suspect had moved house and taken many things with her. This search was a precautionary search to make sure that they did not miss anything.

The police continued their search. They looked in the main bedroom and in the spare room. Cupboards and wardrobes that Rita had used were empty. Bookshelves and cabinets were also empty. It seemed that Michael had been left the few possessions of his own but his wife had taken nearly everything else.

One of the police officers switched on the computer and read through all the email correspondence stored on the hard drive. He looked at the many documents that had been downloaded from the internet. They almost all concerned Michael’s work. There was item after item of psychology information. When Gerrard looked at it he realised that Michael used the PC himself and that his wife rarely touched it. The team moved into the garden and looked around the shed and garage. Again they drew a blank. After more than an hour Gerrard called off the search. “It’s as clean as a whistle,” said Anna and they all made their departure.

The team called on Sally Stoneham. She was surprised to see them but did her best to help. Rita’s bedroom was full of the possessions she had brought with her from her house in Bathford. The search team had their work cut out to go through it all. Everything was piled up. Anna wondered how she managed to find clothes for everyday. She then remembered that the occupant of the room would wear a uniform for work but she could not find one. All the clothing they inspected was clean and most had been freshly washed and ironed and then piled up. Sally came upstairs and explained to Gerrard and his team that Rita was in the process of distributing much of clothing and accessories to charity shops in the Bath area. This is why so much was not in drawers and wardrobes.

After making the most thorough search they could under the circumstances the police team stopped. They had found nothing. They waited for some time. Sally told Gerrard that Rita would be returning home shortly. “Good,” he said, “We’ll have a look at her car when she comes.” Rita came through the front door to find the police awaiting her arrival. Several of them went to search her car while Gerrard explained why they had come and showed her the search warrant. He looked at her with intense concentration while she received the news. She must have guessed he thought that the police did not believe her story. However, she betrayed no emotion on hearing Gerrard’s words; not a hint of nervousness or trepidation could be seen in her eyes or behaviour. She either a very good actress or Gerrard had got her all wrong.

When Rita had gone upstairs Sally Stoneham told Gerrard that her lodger had made friends with the next door neighbour. “I’ve only ever been a nodding acquaintance with him, but he seems to have taken Rita under his wing. She’s always round there. I don’t want to tell tales out of school Chief Inspector, but I know that she sleeps with him and it might be worth looking round his house. She calls him Jack, though that’s not his name. He calls her Jill. It’s a game they have. They have deliberately set out not to know each other’s past history or something like that…” “Thank you for that tip,” said Gerrard and went to the house next door. The owner answered the door and was quite happy for Gerrard to look around his tidy house. It took little time for Gerrard to conclude there was nothing of any significance there for him. He thanked the owner for his co-operation and collected the team together. “Anything to report about the car?” he asked. “No,” came the reply, “it’s recently been valeted.” “We could have it taken away for forensic people to look at but I don’t think it’s worth it. Time is ticking on. There’s one last place I want to look. We ought to check the mother’s place out towards Trowbridge. I know it’s a bit of a trek out there but we’ve got to do it.”

The exhausted team reached Laura Fellingham’s house in the late afternoon. Gerrard realised then that it would have been better to search in daylight but that could not be helped now. There was no problem with the well-lit house but there were several outbuildings in the extensive grounds and these were rather poorly lit. It would be just his luck to miss something vital in the dark. The team concentrated their efforts on the various sheds and greenhouses but finally Gerrard concluded that they had drawn a blank there as well.

Gerrard then made a decision, which he was to live to regret. He decided to have Rita brought in for questioning. A police car was dispatched and a rather surly Margherita Fellingham entered the police station accompanied by two police constables. Gerrard approached her. “Your not under arrest, simply helping us with our inquiries.” “I’ve come here voluntarily,” said Rita, “but I think you are harassing me now. You’ve searched my marital home, my lodging, my friend Jack’s house, my mother’s house and my car. As far as I can see you have found no incriminating evidence against me. I think you are clutching at straws.” “I’m sorry for the inconvenience but I have a job to do.” “What is more, I’m going out tonight, so please let’s get this over and done with so that I can get home.” Gerrard asked to take a seat in a waiting room and left her there to cool off a bit.

While Rita was being kept waiting Gerrard and Anna went to the canteen to find something to eat. “We haven’t got anything on her, if I might say so, sir,” said Anna in a worried tone of voice. She was genuinely concerned for Gerrard and the seeming lack of progress. “I know,” said her grimly, “but I’m still not satisfied. If she’s lying she’s going to slip up somewhere. I want to go through her story once more and see if it’s consistent with what she has already told us.” “Would you like to go and fetch her. We’ll see her in an interview room. That will put her under slightly more pressure and she might change her tune.” Anna went off to find the suspect.

Rita meanwhile had fallen asleep, her thought in a flashback to the first night she had spent with Jack. She liked to remember this time together with the man who had quite by chance brought her so much pleasure. She liked the way he had gazed at her in the bedroom. She had been quite happy to show off her body to him, to dance naked before him while he got ready for bed. It had been in the early hours of the morning, she recalled, when she had finally slipped beneath the duvet cover and smothered Jack with her kisses. He responded as she had hoped. After the anxious time with Michael suspecting his involvement with Isabella, Rita now went through her reasons for committing adultery with Jack, a relative stranger.

Firstly, she knew she had been drunk, not wildly and ecstatically drunk but sleepily and contentedly. Jack put her no pressure. He was not expecting sex. He would take it if it came his way. When she was actually in bed with him and he lay on top of her was so gentle. It seemed entirely natural for her to lie with her legs open and allow him to penetrate her. Because she was so relaxed she enjoyed it all the more. And when they had both fallen asleep they had both awoken in the early morning, an Autumnal sun shining through the bedroom windows and she had sat herself on top of him to start their lovemaking over again.

The room was warm. She threw back the covers and climbed on to him, wriggling her body until he had penetrated her deeply. That is where her ecstasy began. She had rarely experience orgasm in her life but now it was happening to her. She had not thought of it, had not expected it. Here was this man beneath her and she was in control. Whichever way she moved she found the sensations wonderfully enjoyable. So, why not enjoy the moment? She experimented. She let her knees take her full bodyweight whilst she lifted herself off Jack and then descended. Each time she did it she felt a rush of to her head, to her heart and to the very centre of her being. She managed to turn herself round and face in the opposite direction and then impale herself once more on him. As she lifted Jack started to thrust until they were like a human threshing machine. It grew later but Rita did not tire. She went on and on and on. Suddenly she got off him. Perhaps he thought she had finished. She had not. She lay at his side and turned her back to him. She reached between her legs and pulled him into her. She brought her knees under her chin whilst Jack pushed closer and deeper and then the orgasms started again, over and over like waves crashing on a beach. She sensed the surf between her legs as he reached his climax together with her. She knew what ecstasy was. It did not matter that it was adulterous ecstasy. All she wanted was this man inside her.

When Rita was suddenly awoken by the desk sergeant she was in no mood for questioning from Gerrard. He went over the course of events on the day of the murder in fine detail, trying different questions and different angles but the young woman on the other side of the desk stonewalled him. She had her story fixed in her mind and repeated her answers word for word ad nauseam. Gerrard realised that there was no point in continuing the interview and he would have to allow her to leave.

She was taken home in a police car. Gerrard went back to his office with Anna trailing behind him. They sat down and looked at one another. “It looks like the end of the road, doesn’t it sir?” said Anna. Gerrard stared back at her but hardly seeing her, disappointment written on his face. “Yes, I’m afraid it does. We’ve given it our best shot. I’m sure of that. There’s no more that we can do. If we’d tried to keep her here any longer she would have demanded to have a solicitor present. We couldn’t charge her. We had to let her go.” “It’s getting late, sir. Do you want me for anything else?” “No,” said Gerrard wearily, “you get off home and we’ll tie everything up tomorrow. I’ll try and see Tresillian again and see what he wants us to do. I should think the case will remain open but unsolved.” “Okay, sir, goodnight,” said Anna. She left the building in a very despondent state of mind. She was so tired physically and mentally tired of this case. She wanted to go home and soak in a warm bath and for the moment forget the troubles of the day.


CHAPTER TWENTYSIX

Tuesday, Oct 31: evening

Rita returned to her home in Weston, showered and changed. She immediately went next door to meet Jack. He made no comment nor asked her questions. He told her nothing of the police visit. They were going to a Halloween party at the hospital where a room had been found for those not on duty to let their hair down. Jack was glad he was going out. He hated the trick and treaters calling at his door. And Rita was dressed to party in a black mini skirt and black top. She looked a picture to Jack who was a bit bemused by her antics. They drove in Jack’s car arriving at eight o’clock. The party had been well organised, with pumpkins, witches hats and all the paraphernalia of Halloween decorating the party room. Jack called to mind that the ancient Celts regarded Halloween as the final day of the year.

This was the time when people looked for signs of what the future would bring. He wondered what the future would bring to him and the woman with him. She had now developed a thirst for whiskey and insisted on drinking a glass as soon as they arrived. Jack took this in good spirit. Rita led him out of the room and into another building. She went downstairs to the basement and stood at a row of lockers. She produced a key, which hung on a chain inside her top and unlocked the door to one of the lockers. She opened it wide to reveal an assortment of clothes and odds and ends. She removed her top and her bra, thrusting them on to the top shelf. She took some strange kind of dark makeup from the shelf and applied it not only to her face but to her body also, in an attempt to look witch-like and menacing.
Jack looked a little embarrassed as he stood there next to this half-naked witch like creature. He wondered whether someone might come along and demand to know what the two of them were doing there. Suddenly, Rita hissed at him, “Suck my breasts!” Jack stood there motionless, unable to comprehend what she was demanding of him. She obviously expected him to obey whatever she commanded. He wanted to say something to her to ask her why she was in such a strange mood, but he was completely tongue-tied. She grew intolerant of his hesitation and pulled him towards her. She leant back against the door with her hands behind her head, her breasts jutting out tantalisingly towards the man standing in front of her. She raised her right knee and put the sole of her foot against the door so that Jack was in a semi-sitting position on her right leg.

She took hold of his hair with both hands and manoeuvred his head until his mouth was in contact with her heavy, swelling nipple. “Suck hard!” she commanded again, in an imperious tone of voice. He did as he was told and the couple swayed slightly for several moments. When he drew away from her he seemed to lose his balance and stumbled. He fell in front of the locker. Jack got up quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said as she began dressing again. She stopped and repeated the performance, demanding that he suck her other breast. He kept his balance this time. Jack and Rita said nothing to each other as they made their way back to the party. He was transfixed by what he had seen. He was lost for words. Yet he wanted to be with this strange young woman. When they reached the room the Halloween party was in full swing.

Jack could see a spinning ball suspended from the ceiling and a sophisticated disco outfit set up along one wall with an energetic DJ encouraging those present to dance. There were a few chairs round the sides of the room but mostly people were on their feet moving in time to the music, packed tightly together, like commuters on a crowded tube train, cheek by jowl. “Are you ready to party?” Rita asked him. “I don’t quite know what you mean,” said Jack, honestly. “We can dance,” she replied and started to gyrate in front of him. He made an attempt to copy Rita’s movements and join in with her. He felt foolish and self-conscious. But he was determined to make a go of it. For Rita it was soon time for another drink. Jack was driving, so he was restricted to mineral water and orange juice.

Rita, on the other hand, wanted to experiment with all the different kinds of spirits she could. The bar had no licence to sell drinks. The organisers had bought in a considerable amount of alcohol funded by the ticket sales. There were also a number of prize draws to boost the revenue. Consequently, it was easy for anyone like Rita, seriously intent on consuming a large amount of alcohol, to do so. Jack advised her on what she could have. He suggested rum and orange. Later he suggested rum and black. Rita decided to try some alcopops. Unused to any quantity of alcohol, the drink quickly went to her head. Rita thought she was ready for anything. She was keen for Jack to meet some of the other nurses that she knew quite well. She wanted to show him off to them, to convince them that her marriage may be over but she was going to win out.

Jack said his hellos to a group of four, huddled together in a corner, whilst Rita was invited to dance by one of the few male doctors present. Jack watched them as they moved on the improvised dance floor. The lights were low and the music deafening. He realised that unwittingly he had become involved in a sub-culture that was totally alien to him. His presence was a sort of incursion into a club culture of binge drinking and excess. He was fascinated by it. He liked to stand and watch Rita dance. It did not matter to him with whom she danced. He admired her beauty, her fizzing energy and bright smile. How it contrasted with the hollowed-out pumpkins which the party organisers had carved out. They now resembled grotesque faces, which were lit up by the candles placed inside.

At the end of the evening Jack was very tired but Rita said she could stay all night, but she wanted to be taken home. “When we get home I want to go to bed with you,” she told him. He agreed. He put his arm round her waist and practically carried the young woman across the car park. He opened the front passenger door and eased her into the seat. She managed to fasten her seat belt and sat waiting for Jack to join her. She put her head back and closed her eyes. After a few moments she fell asleep. Meanwhile Jack had retraced his steps. He had kept his wits about him all evening and tried to remember the names of the different hospital buildings and the general layout of the site. He found his way into the main building and found a security officer.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Yes sir,” replied the officer, “how can I help?” “A piece of paper and a pencil if you have one. I have an important message.” The security officer found a writing pad and worn down pencil and handed them to Jack without a word. He watched while Jack scribbled a brief message. “Could you please contact this man. It’s very, very important.” The security officer nodded his consent. Jack turned on his heel and walked quickly back to the car. The security officer looked a bit puzzled but when he looked at the message on the scruffy piece of paper he decided to act.

Rita scarcely noticed that he had been absent for ten minutes. She sat in the car in a drunken haze, eyes shut, dreaming of being with him in bed. When he finally sat in the driving seat beside her she mumbled some incoherent words to him and they set off. They had not gone very far when it was clear to Jack that Rita was going to be violently sick. His quick thinking saved them both a lot of trouble. He turned off the main road into Victoria Park, stopped the car and went round to the passenger door which he pulled open. Rita was sick on the grass. He put his hand on her shoulder as she retched violently for several minutes. When she was able to speak she said she was sorry. She told him she was not used to drink and tried to stand upright. She swayed in the night.

Jack caught her by the waist and led her back to the car. “Are you okay to go home now?” he asked. “Yes, I think so. I’ve got a horrible taste in my mouth. I need some water.” “We’ll get some at home and a strong cup of black coffee.” The car drew up outside Jack’s house. Rita wondered about Sally, whether she should tell her she had come back but it was far too late for that. No, she would stay with the long-suffering next door neighbour. When they got in the house Rita made herself comfortable in the living room, sipping at a glass of water, whilst Jack made coffee. “I think I’ll get a wash and get ready for bed,” she called to him, mounting the stairs. “Is it okay if I use your dressing gown?” “Yes,” replied Jack, trying to keep his nerve.

He heard the shower running and lit a gas fire downstairs. I’ve got to keep her warm, he thought. He sat watching the firelight and waited for her to come downstairs, though by now he was not at all sure what she would do. He became more and more despondent as he waited. The evening had not gone at all as he expected. He smiled grimly to himself as he thought of what he had been through, that somehow pleasure could be attained through suffering. He tried to remember what Shakespeare said, but could not. He went to his bookshelves and found the reference in Romeo and Juliet. He repeated the lines to himself.

Rita came down in his dressing gown and saw him mouthing the words. “What’s that you’ve got there?” “Romeo and Juliet,” said Jack, “I was just looking up something,” he said. “They both died didn’t they?” she asked rhetorically. His eyes moved from the page to look up at her. He replaced the volume on the shelf. He saw that she was clean with all the traces of a Halloween witch removed. She took the towel from her head and dried her hair with it. “Put me over your shoulder and carry me up to bed,” she suggested. Her voice was soft and tender. She had lost the hard, steely mien of a witch. Her black, brooding presence had been transformed into a vision of pale loveliness. Perhaps he had been wrong to judge her so harshly. Perhaps it was just play-acting.

She started to brush her long blonde hair, tilting her head on one side, so that it fell straight down in front of her. Jack found the motion of the brush hypnotic as he watched. “Don’t you like Halloween, Jack?” “Not much,” he confessed. “It’s only a bit of harmless fun. Nobody takes it seriously.” “Don’t they?” “Why don’t you like it?” “Tonight, you took on a different personality. You may have been having harmless fun,” he explained, “but I was frightened by what you became. I want to know which is the real you.” “We don’t know each other at all,” she said, dreamily. “You saw me tonight wearing a different mask, that’s all. There’s no real me. A person is like the layers of an onion. You strip away each layer. What is left?” “Nothing,” said Jack.

“Are we going upstairs now?” “Is your hair dry?” “Yes, fairly. Have you got a hairdryer?” “Yes.” Jack went to a cupboard and fished out an old machine. “I don’t use it much,” he said. “It looks like it came out of the ark.” He plugged it in to a wall socket. She switched on and began brushing her hair once more. “Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.” Jack let her go in front of him up the stirs and into the bedroom. He thought that on balance it was better for him to be able to keep an eye on her during the rest of the night. Bed was the best place. She might leave while he was asleep but he thought he would take the risk.

When Rita allowed the dressing gown to slip off her shoulders on to the bedroom floor her companion thought was restored to her former self. The experience of the earlier part of the evening at the hospital was a mental aberration, a distortion of reality. This was Rita as she really was; a truly loving young woman. She smiled at him as she sat on the edge of the bed and swung her legs up. He covered her with the duvet and held her in his arms. “Do you love me at all?” she asked him. “I don’t know you well enough to swear love and devotion to you.” “How long do you need?” “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before.” “Have you never loved anybody?” “No, I don’t think I really have. I’ve known a few women in my time but I’ve never had a close relationship with any of them.” “Do you think it will be different with me?” “I can’t say, I don’t know. Let’s try and sleep shall we?”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Anyone looking into that room would have been struck by a scene of domestic bliss and tranquillity. It was after 2.00 a.m. when Jack awoke and gently extracted his body from Rita’s slumbering arms. For several moments he watched her breasts rise and fall with her breathing before he eased himself off the bed and went downstairs. He found his way into the kitchen and unlocked the back door. He tiptoed upstairs again and retired once more to bed, but this time he did not attempt to sleep. Rita moved in her sleep, turned over and was still once more. Jack looked at her and waited.


CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN

Wednesday, November 1: morning

The clock had already struck 2.30 a.m. when an unmarked police car arrived in Weston village at the house belonging to the man whom Rita had learned to call Jack. It was followed by another marked police patrol car. From the first vehicle Gerrard and Anna alighted. The second police car containing a young police constable Atkins and WPC Evans drew up immediately behind them. Gerrard and PC Atkins went to the front door whilst Anna and WPC Evans quietly opened the back door and went inside. When Gerrard pressed the bell switch Jack immediately rose and went downstairs to answer it. His companion slept on, unaware of what was happening. Jack said nothing. He remained downstairs while Gerrard and Anna went up to the bedroom. Anna knocked on the door and entered before she heard any response.

Rita sat up in bed, pulling the duvet around her when she saw in the light from the landing that it was not Jack who stood by the bed but the young police officer. Anna asked her to dress, and meet her downstairs. They were joined by WPC Evans, PC Atkins remaining by the back door. “Mrs Margherita Fellingham, I have to inform you that you are under arrest on suspicion of murdering Mrs Laura Fellingham on the evening of Saturday 21st October 2006. It is my duty to warn you that anything you may now say in the presence of the two police officers here may be used in evidence in any future proceedings,” intoned Inspector Rossi, slowly. “We are acting on information received,” explained Gerrard. While Rita stood in handcuffs Jack described finding a pair of muddy shoes in Rita’s locker earlier in the evening.

“They have blood on them as well as mud,” said Gerrard. “Forensics will confirm it is your mother’s. We have enough to charge you. We will speak again when we’ve all had some sleep. Take her away constable.” “You bastard,” said Rita to Jack as she was led out of the house to the waiting patrol car. Gerrard and Rossi emerged a few minutes later. They stood on the doorstep as they watched WPC Evans and PC Atkins escort Rita down the garden path. Evans sat beside Rita on the back seat whilst Atkins started the engine. “Thank you very much for contacting me,” said Gerrard to Jack, “it was your quick thinking in alerting the security officer that did it.” “I still can’t believe it,” said the disconsolate man. “I’ll come to station later on and make a full statement.” He closed the door.

Gerrard caught sight of the next door bedroom curtain being drawn aside as the face of Sally Stoneham looked down at him from her window. At the police station in the interview room Gerrard placed a pair of ladies’ shoes on the desk. When presented with the evidence Rita confessed her ownership of them and acknowledged the dried blood that could clearly be seen. “Forensic report later in the morning will confirm it is your mother’s blood,” Gerrard told her. Rita would spend the rest of the night in the cells. At 9.00 a.m. Rita was brought from the cells to face more questioning. Once again she was shown the shoes, the only piece of evidence the police had that put her at the crime scene. Gerrard said to her gently. “Tell us what happened, please… take your time.”

Having been remanded in custody and confronted with the evidence Rita admitted to being in the park. “Where were you exactly?” asked Anna. She told them both her story. “I left home, drove from Bathford, along the A4 London Road and turned left over the toll bridge to Bathampton and on to the Warminster Road. I drove down the Warminster Road and parked at the top of Sydney Gardens. I didn’t want to be seen by any member of my family, so I walked down the road where I saw my mother’s car parked and deduced that she must have arrived. I went into Sydney Gardens at the side entrance. I walked along the path and into the bushes.” “Why go into the bushes?” asked Gerrard. “Why on earth does any woman go behind a bush?” replied an embarrassed Rita. “But the toilets are only a few yards down the path,” interjected Anna.

“And so was my mother as far as I knew. I did not want her to see me. I walked down the road and I needed to relieve myself. Afterwards I saw a body. I switched on the bicycle light I normally carry with me. I then recognised it as my mother’s body. She was just lying there. She looked quite dead. I left her and walked back through the gardens. I came out at the top entrance to the gardens, by the tennis courts. I got into my car and drove to work.” Rita sat still in her chair and waited for Gerrard’s response. “What about the blood on your shoes? Where did that come from?” “It came from the injuries that she had already received when she was hit by the car.” “Why did you not raise the alarm, shout for help or phone the emergency services?”

“It would have made me a suspect. I didn’t want to incriminate myself.” “Come on, this is your mother lying there in a pool of blood and you just walk away from her!” Rita shrugged her shoulders and made no reply. “There is blood on top of these shoes,” said Gerrard, pointing to the telltale signs on both items. “I’ve just told you. It came from the injuries that she got when she was hit by the car.” “The blood would be on the soles of the shoes. These are spatters of blood from a knife wound or something similar.” Once again the woman shrugged. “This blood on these shoes could only be there as a result of blood falling on the shoes from above. Rita shrugged again. Gerrard sat back in his chair. He knew the evidence against Rita Fellingham was compelling in some ways but not conclusive. He needed a confession from her.

He realised that she was not going to give in without a fight. He allowed his sergeant to enter the fray. Anna tried another approach. “If, as you say, the blood came from injuries that Mrs Fellingham received as a result of being hit by the car, why did you hide your shoes?” “I didn’t hide them. They were muddy and spattered with blood so I put them in my locker at the hospital. They weren’t hidden, just there. My next door neighbour found nothing.” “Why were you so angry with him?” “Because he was trying to get me into trouble. I often wear shoes that I cannot work in and change them when I get there.” Gerrard said quietly, “Mrs Fellingham, it is only a matter of time before our forensic team will confirm that the blood spatter is consistent with a stabbing. Now, I put it to you that you were responsible for that stabbing.”

Gerrard guessed what effect this speech would have on his chief suspect before he had finished uttering the words – silence and a shrug. Angry at not getting anywhere and having his time wasted he suspended the interview. WPC Evans remained in the interview room with Rita Fellingham whilst Gerrard and Rossi repaired to his office for a cup of coffee and discussion. Gerrard phone the forensic people and they confirmed what he had already said to his suspect. He put the phone down and turned to Anna. “The blood was a spatter from a wound caused after Laura Fellingham had lain there in Sydney Gardens.” There was a knock on the door. The desk sergeant put his head round to say that the other members of the Fellingham family had arrived. They were ushered in to the room where Paul announced that they all wanted Rita to tell the truth.

Anna went down to the cells in the company of WPC Evans. Rita sat quite still, her chin on her hands. She barely looked up when the women entered the tiny room. “How are you Rita?” asked Anna, but the prisoner made no reply other than the now familiar shrug of the shoulders. “Your family have arrived and want to see you,” continued Anna, but still elicited no response from Rita. At length Anna managed to persuade Rita to see her family. She was taken upstairs, handcuffed to WPC Evans and shown into Gerrard’s office where he was waiting with the other Fellinghams. Paul spoke on their behalf. “We would like you to tell the truth. We can’t understand it will be easier for you if you tell the truth. You need help Rita, we know that and we think that you know it also.”

Rita made no response. She looked blankly at them wondering why they had turned against her. Paul spoke again. “I have asked the family solicitor to come. He will see that you are properly represented. We all support you, Rita and will stand by you.” Gerrard knew he had to be patient. He could sense that the tide was beginning to turn in his favour but he also knew he had some way to go before he had solved the crime. Once again the suspect was returned to the police cells to await the arrival of her solicitor. Paul, Michael and Isabella took their leave. Gerrard and Rossi sat waiting for the lawyer from Queens Square. When he arrived they all went to the interview room once more. The prisoner was brought from the cells and the whole interrogation process began again. 143
Meanwhile, the man known as Jack appeared at the police station. The desk sergeant asked him to wait while he fetched someone in authority. During a break in the proceedings with Rita, Anna withdrew from the interview room and went to see Rita’s companion. They went to Gerrard’s office where Rita wrote down the account of Halloween night from Jack’s lips. He was very sad as he related all the details. Anna sensed that he really cared about the young woman who had befriended him. “I never thought it would turn out like this. I never suspected anything until right at the end. Even when I saw those shoes I thought there must have been other reasons for them to be in the locker. Obviously, your search of my house made me think a bit… but I still find it hard to imagine that young woman I shared my bed with is capable of committing murder. It’s beyond all reason.”

Despite all that had been said to Rita in her interviews with the police, she managed to brazen it out. Gerrard admired her in a way for her tenacity, her determination to stick to her story. However, in the company of her solicitor she eventually started to relent. She would not answer Gerrard’s questions directly but started what amounted to her confession in a rather roundabout way. She told him, “For years I’ve believed that my mother and my father for that matter, my real father I mean, despised me. They always compared me with my sister, expecting me to do as she did. But I am not like her at all. I can’t be like her. I tried of course, but I failed, as I knew I would. I wanted a different life to the one I have had.” 141
Gerrard tried desperately to get her to answer his questions. “Mrs Fellingham… We know that you must have killed your mother. There is no other explanation... It would be better if you confessed to it now.”

Rita wavered but the fight was going out of her. She couldn’t carry the guilt of what she had done any longer. She felt ashamed. Deserted by her husband Michael and her sister Isabella and her brother-in-law. The family loyalty had disintegrated. She had no one else she could trust. Jack had let her down. Sally Stoneham too, had let her down. Gerrard said, “I’m going to start by giving my own summary of the events of Saturday 21st October that led to the death of Laura Fellingham, your mother. Isabella had fallen out with her business partner, Laura over business matters and the fact that she had formed a relationship with Michael that was, shall we say, more friendly than that between sister and brother-in-law. From your mother’s perspective and Paul’s they were embarked on an affair. Did you also think at the time that they were having an affair?”

“Yes,” said Rita. Her monosyllabic reply was almost inaudible. “Could you speak up please for the tape?” asked Gerrard. “Yes,” Rita repeated a little louder. She shuffled in her chair and looked at the solicitor. Gerrard continued. “Isabella had arranged to meet her mother Laura at the main entrance to Sydney Gardens. Laura had given her an ultimatum, either give up the relationship with Michael or the business partnership would be dissolved and any inheritance she was expecting would cease because Laura threatened to change her will. When Isabella met your mother she planned to say, ‘no’ and face the consequences. Her husband Paul also knew of this meeting and planned to intervene in some way. He caught the train from Paddington early on Saturday afternoon. By accident he’d come across a diary entry on his wife’s computer giving details of a meeting.

He thought the meeting between Isabella and her mother was a meeting between Isabella and Michael. He tried to catch his wife meeting Michael not her mother but he went to the wrong bistro. In fact he was partially right because Isabella had agreed to meet Michael for dinner and tell him the outcome of her meeting with Laura Fellingham. He was in the vicinity of Sydney Gardens after the murder took place. He ate alone and then walked along Pultney Street wondering what to do next. Your sister Isabella came to Sydney Gardens at 7.45 p.m. to meet your mother, but she was not there. Tommy Matheson saw her at the main gate. So, Isabella did not murder her mother, neither did Michael.”

“I don’t know all the facts but I would suggest the following,” said Gerrard. “Laura and Isabella have arranged the meeting for 7.45 p.m. At 7.15 p.m. Laura drives from her home at Wingfield village, near Trowbridge, through the Limpley Stoke Valley down the Warminster road towards Bath. She parks her car at 7.32 p.m. on the left just above the Holburne museum. As she crosses the road at 7.33 p.m. to go round to the main entrance of the park she is struck by a passing motorist, driving at high speed in a yellow sports car. She is thrown down and badly injured. The driver does not stop but turns left and intends to drive on into Bath to the Lower Bristol road to Keynsham, but changes his mind and goes home. Tommy Mattheson appears on the scene. He picks up Laura, realising she is badly injured and carries her into the park entrance to let her lie on the soft grass. But, he thinks he will be accused of hurting her. He puts her in the bushes and takes her watch, mobile and credit cards from her handbag in seconds. He covers her with leaves and runs away through park. Now, unless it was a complete stranger with no motive you must have committed the murder. I think that you Margherita Fellingham decided to interrupt the meeting and confront your mother yourself about your sister’s affair with your husband, Michael.”

Rita suddenly interrupted him to take up the story. “She drives from her home in Bathford, but takes the turning to cross the toll bridge at Bathampton instead of coming to Bath on the London Road. She drives past the entrance to North Road and stops outside the Spa hotel at 7.45 p.m.” Gerrard looked at her, “Please continue,” he said. “As she walks down the road on the right Rita decides to get there quicker and cut through the park instead of walking round it. She is cold and frightened in the dark and loses her nerve. She also desperately needs the toilet. She goes into the nearby bushes, takes down her tights and pants, crouches down and goes to the toilet. When her eyes become more used to the dark she sees a figure in front of her. She investigates and finds her mother lying in a crumpled heap.”

Anna leant towards Rita and gave her a smile encouraging her to go on with her account. Rita recommenced. “When the evenings start drawing in during autumn and winter I always carry a bicycle lamp with me. It’s one of Michael’s old ones. It’s in perfect working order but its mounting is damaged. I keep it in my shoulder bag. When I switched it on I saw her face, and hatred welled up in me. I saw her injuries and my opportunity. I saw the nail file in her bag, sticking out. I drew it from her bag like a dagger from its scabbard and stabbed her through the neck with it. I have enough medical knowledge to be pretty sure that she would die instantly.” “Why did you do it, Rita?” asked Anna. “I thought that my mother was encouraging Isabella to flirt with Michael and then to have an affair with him. I thought she hated and despised me.”

“I went up through the park in the opposite direction to the main gate. I crossed the railway bridge and the canal bridge, throwing the nail file into the canal as I did so. I did not want to be found in possession of a murder weapon. I came along after that vagrant fellow, so he didn’t see me. It didn’t matter to me that my footprints were at the crime scene. I’d stopped to go to the toilet. But my shoes had blood on them. So did some of my clothes, but I got rid of those. I washed them and gave them to charity shops. I came out at the top entrance, by the tennis courts, opposite my car. I changed my shoes as soon as I got to my car. If I had tried to ditch them they’d have been found. I drove to work at the hospital. The rest you know.”


CHAPTER TWENTYEIGHT

Wednesday, November 1: afternoon

Gerrard had invited Anna to have a good cup of coffee at a favourite café of his. It was his way of celebrating the successful conclusion to the case. “I thought you would want to go the pub sir, to celebrate," she said. “Whatever makes you think that?” “People usually celebrate with alcohol don’t they?” “I’m not people, Anna.” “Don’t you like a good pint of beer?” “No, not at all.” “Now sir, changing the subject, what do you think will happen to Rita Fellingham?”

“I should imagine her defence lawyer will suggest she pleads guilty but with diminished responsibility. I don’t think she will be held responsible for her actions because she was in no fit mental state.” “She won’t be sent to prison then?” “Not in the ordinary course of events, I wouldn’t think. She’ll have to undergo some psychiatric tests I imagine and will be confined in some kind of mental institution.” “Do you think she represents a threat to society, sir?” “I don’t know. I’m a psychologist, or I was, not a psychiatrist. I do think she’s a very sick woman though.” “What do you make of the fellow she called Jack?” “I think that Jack genuinely loves Rita. He did tell me that he would look out for her and support her.” “Do you think that she loves him?” “Who knows? But, I think there is every chance of their relationship succeeding.”

“Despite the fact that she will probably be committed to a mental institution?” “She won’t be there forever. The killing of her mother was not premeditated so she may well be convicted of manslaughter rather than murder. She has no criminal record and that will count in her favour.” “It was probably a one off event then,” observed Anna. “Maybe… by the way, talking of criminal records, the Chief Super is thankful that we’re not relying on any fingerprint evidence.” “Because of the controversy you mean, sir?” “Yes, ever since that Panorama programme on the BBC in May… he’s been very twitchy about fingerprints.” They both laughed.

Towards the end of November Paul and Isabella finally separated. He decided that he would be better off making his home in London. She wanted to set up her business alone. Laura Fellingham’s home would not be sold but taken on by Michael and Isabella together. They decided to marry as soon as each had a divorce come through. In a few years time they looked forward to starting a family. “It’s good to know that some something positive has come from this wretched business,” said Anna. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” replied Gerrard. He was obviously in a much happier frame of mind now. “That’s a bit of a cliché,” Anna observed.
“Clichés have the merit of being true,” was Gerrard’s only comment.

Impressum

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

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