Part 13 (1/2)

DC Trish Walton was getting sick of keeping an eye on Annette Marrick at Foxglove House. She didn't like the woman but she did her best to hide the fact, to stay professional.

Annette had started to regard the policewomen a.s.signed to provide her with support and protection as unpaid servants who made the tea, fielded phone calls and visitors and packed the dishwasher and was.h.i.+ng machine. She had asked Trish to fix up a cleaning company to remove all trace of the murder and this was one thing Trish could sympathise with. Living with the reminders of violent death would be a nightmare for anyone.

Petronella Blackwell seemed to have made the decision to stay for the duration. Trish Walton had heard the story of her birth and adoption and was rather surprised that the young woman felt such loyalty to the mother who had abandoned her. But she sensed there was something else there too ... some unknown factor. Some secret in the house that hadn't yet come out into the open.

Her task for that morning was to break the news of Simon Tench's murder and point out the similarities to the death of Charles Marrick. DCI Heffernan had told her to observe Annette's reaction and try and discover her whereabouts at the time of Tench's death. And, most importantly, she was to find out whether there was any connection, however slight, between Charles Marrick and Simon Tench.

She made a pot of tea and sat down with the two women. Three friends having a chat over a cuppa. Or at least that was the image Trish wanted to create to encourage confidences.

Annette was looking bored rather than grief stricken. She stared into her steaming mug absentmindedly. Petronella looked at Trish and gave her a shy smile.

'How did you sleep?' Trish asked, breaking the morning ice.

Annette looked at her. Trish saw a flash of contempt in her eyes. 'If you must know, I took something. Knocked me out for the night.'

Trish cleared her throat. It was time to ask the embarra.s.sing question DI Peterson had instructed her to ask. She felt her cheeks reddening as she took a deep breath. 'Can I have a word with you alone, Annette?'

Annette touched Petronella's arm and Trish saw the young woman flinch before slowly edging away. 'I've got no secrets from my daughter. You can say anything you like and it won't bother her, isn't that right, Pet?'

Petronella didn't answer.

'Okay then. Were you having a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p with Fabrice Colbert ... the chef?'

Annette smirked. 'What if I was? Not a crime is it? Fabrice and I had a bit of a fling ... and it's true what they say about Frenchmen. Fabrice was as good in a bed as he is in a kitchen, I can a.s.sure you,' she added by way of explanation.

Trish felt herself blus.h.i.+ng at the woman's candour. Petronella, sitting beside her, looked as if she wanted to shrivel up with embarra.s.sment, s.h.i.+fting in her seat to put some distance between herself and her mother.

'Where did you meet?'

'Here. We couldn't go to his place because of his girlfriend.'

'Whereabouts in the house did you ... er ... ?'

'The bedroom. Where do you think? Swinging from the b.l.o.o.d.y chandeliers? And before you ask, it's all over now. It finished a couple of days before Charlie died when he pulled that wine stunt. It was nice while it lasted but I can a.s.sure you it was purely physical on both sides. Nothing to commit murder over.'

Somehow the words had the ring of truth. Trish found herself believing her. And at least she could report back to Wesley Peterson that Annette Marrick had corroborated Colbert's explanation as to why his prints had been found at the murder scene without any prompting. All she had to do now was to break the news about the second murder ... the one that seemed to be identical to Marrick's. She took a deep breath. 'Did you or Charlie ever know a vet called Simon Tench?'

'No. Why?'

'He was found dead yesterday morning ... and it looks as if he was killed in the same way as Charlie was. We're trying to establish some sort of connection.'

Annette stood up and walked over to the window. 'Well, I don't know of any. And I knew all of Charlie's friends.'

'So you've never heard of Simon Tench?'

Annette shook her head. 'Never.'

'You've never had any animals ... any pets you might have taken to ... ?'

'Can't stand b.l.o.o.d.y animals,' was the reply. 'Neither could Charlie before you ask. His ex had a dog but he had it put down 'cause he couldn't stay in the same house with it.'

This caught Trish's interest. 'Where can we find this ex-girlfriend?'

'Search me.'

'Do you know the name of the vet who put it down?'

Another look of contempt. 'How the h.e.l.l should I know? It was a long time ago ... before I met him.'

This wasn't going anywhere. But Trish was getting a clearer picture of Charlie Marrick. He'd have his girlfriend's dog destroyed just because its existence didn't suit him. Trish, an animal lover, felt she would have disliked Marrick if she'd met him in life ... even more than she disliked his wife.

'I'm going out. I need to do some shopping in Tradmouth. Is that okay with you?' she said to Trish sarcastically before sweeping out of the room.

Petronella, on the sofa, watched her go, looking rather embarra.s.sed. 'Look, I'm sorry she's so rude.'

Trish smiled rea.s.suringly. 'She's been under a lot of strain. Grief can affect people ...'

'Grief ? Is that what you think it is?'

'What else?'

'Relief,' she said with a vehemence that made Trish look at her intently. And when she looked she saw that tears were forming in Petronella's eyes. 'He ...'

It occurred to Trish that this was the first time she'd actually been alone with Petronella. Up to now she had been concentrating on Annette, a.s.suming the abandoned daughter who now lived in Bath couldn't be involved in any way. But perhaps she'd been wrong. 'Go on,' she prompted.

Petronella stood up, fists clenched, eyes full of tears and fury. 'If you want the truth, Charlie was a complete b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Whoever killed him deserves a medal and I hope you never find him because he's done the world a favour.'

Trish said nothing. She waited for Petronella to carry on, to get whatever grievance she had against the dead man off her chest.

But Petronella didn't elaborate on her statement. Instead she slumped down on the sofa and buried her head in her hands.

Trish decided a bit of gentle probing was in order. 'What do you mean, Petronella? What did Charlie do to make you hate him so much?'

Petronella looked up at her, her eyes red with unshed tears. 'Okay, if you want to know, I'll tell you. When I came here a couple of years ago to find my mum I was naive, trusting. Some would say stupid. Charlie put on a good act at first ... all sympathy and pretending he was glad I'd found Annette and all that. He said I could stay as long as I liked ... he seemed keener on the idea than Annette was. It wasn't till I'd been here a couple of weeks that I found out why.'

'What do you mean?'

Petronella looked her in the eye. 'Annette went out to the hairdresser's one day and I was left alone with Charlie. He ... He was in his bedroom and he called downstairs to me to bring his mobile phone up. I didn't think anything of it but when I got there he was behind the door.'

'Go on.' Trish guessed what was coming but she hoped she was wrong.

She began to speak again, almost in a whisper. Her hands were shaking. 'I went inside, calling his name, saying I'd found the phone. But I didn't realise he was behind me. He slammed the door shut and locked it. He was laughing ... saying he had something for me ... a treat. Then he ... he pushed me down on the bed and started pus.h.i.+ng my skirt up. He was stronger than me. I tried to push his hands away but he was stronger than me. He was rough ... he hurt me and when he'd finished he said something like ”You enjoyed that, didn't you,” even though I must have been crying. He ...'

Trish sat down beside her and took her in her arms. 'It's okay. He can't hurt you now,' she cooed in her ear, aware that the cliche she had just uttered the first thing that had popped into her head was a lie. Charlie Marrick could still hurt her, even from beyond the grave. The memory of him would always be with her ... polluting her life.