night.
“Inspector, I do not understand why I’m being treated like a common criminal, dragged to the police station and then left to cool my heels in this revolting room.”
“I know our decor leaves a bit to be desired, but do sit down, please, Mr. Arrowood. This won’t take long.” Gemma had asked Melody to join them, rather than Franks. She knew Franks would be miffed at the exclusion, but she didn’t think his aggressiveness would be helpful at this stage of the interview process.
As she and Melody took their seats, she gestured towards one of the plastic chairs across the table.
“I can’t think what I can possibly tell you that we didn’t discuss last night—”
“What about your wife’s family, Mr. Arrowood? Have you notified them?”
“Yes.” He grimaced and sat reluctantly. “I’m meeting them at the mortuary this morning. I’ve told them there was no need, that I could arrange everything, but they insisted.”
“Perhaps they need to feel involved? It does provide closure of a sort. You realize, of course, that the pathologist won’t release your wife’s body until she’s completed her examinations.”
“I’ve scheduled the funeral for Tuesday, at Kensal Green. Surely that’s time enough.”
“Tell me about your wife’s family.”
The grimace came again, fainter but unmistakable. “They live in East Croyden. Name of Smith.”
“Any other children?”
“No.”
“This must be quite difficult for them.”
“I suppose so,” Arrowood said, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “But I don’t see—”
“I’ll need to talk to them, as well as to Dawn’s close friends.”
“What can that possibly have to do with my wife’s murder? She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, when some psychopath—” He swallowed, losing his composure for the first time.
“That may be the case. But even if your wife’s killer had no personal connection with her, he may have been watching her, and someone she knows may have noticed something odd.”
“Watching her?” Arrowood’s skin paled beneath his artificial tan.
“It’s a possibility we have to consider.”
“My wife … was she sexually assaulted?”
“No. The pathologist found no indication of that.”
Arrowood met Gemma’s eyes, looked away. “Dawn … Do you think she had time to be frightened?”
Gemma thought of the few signs of struggle on the woman’s body and answered truthfully, “I think it must have been very quick.”
“I keep seeing—” Blinking, Arrowood gave a sharp shake of his head, as if discarding an instant of weakness. “There’s no point dwelling on it. It’s just that she told me once she thought she woulddie young. She was always worried about cancer, things like that. But this …”
“Mr. Arrowood, did you know your wife was pregnant?”
“What?”
“The postmortem revealed that your wife was about six weeks pregnant.”
“But that’s—No, I’d no idea. I knew she hadn’t been well lately, but that possibility never occurred to me.…” He seemed to wilt, his body settling into the curvature of the plastic chair.
“I’m very sorry.” Thinking of her own case of prolonged denial, Gemma said, “Perhaps she hadn’t realized herself.”
Karl Arrowood contemplated this for a moment. “Perhaps not. But I rather hope she knew. She very much wanted a child.”
Gemma thought again of the children’s books and dolls, carefully hidden away. “And you didn’t?”
“No. I’ve two grown sons already that are trouble enough.” His lips had curled in obvious distaste.
Two grown sons who might be counting on their father’s money, thought Gemma, and might not have appreciated a young stepmother mucking up their prospects. “I’ll need their names and addresses, please. And their mother? Is she living?”
“Sylvia? There have been times I wished she weren’t”—his smile held grim humor—“but yes, she’s living. And living well, I
“Inspector, I do not understand why I’m being treated like a common criminal, dragged to the police station and then left to cool my heels in this revolting room.”
“I know our decor leaves a bit to be desired, but do sit down, please, Mr. Arrowood. This won’t take long.” Gemma had asked Melody to join them, rather than Franks. She knew Franks would be miffed at the exclusion, but she didn’t think his aggressiveness would be helpful at this stage of the interview process.
As she and Melody took their seats, she gestured towards one of the plastic chairs across the table.
“I can’t think what I can possibly tell you that we didn’t discuss last night—”
“What about your wife’s family, Mr. Arrowood? Have you notified them?”
“Yes.” He grimaced and sat reluctantly. “I’m meeting them at the mortuary this morning. I’ve told them there was no need, that I could arrange everything, but they insisted.”
“Perhaps they need to feel involved? It does provide closure of a sort. You realize, of course, that the pathologist won’t release your wife’s body until she’s completed her examinations.”
“I’ve scheduled the funeral for Tuesday, at Kensal Green. Surely that’s time enough.”
“Tell me about your wife’s family.”
The grimace came again, fainter but unmistakable. “They live in East Croyden. Name of Smith.”
“Any other children?”
“No.”
“This must be quite difficult for them.”
“I suppose so,” Arrowood said, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “But I don’t see—”
“I’ll need to talk to them, as well as to Dawn’s close friends.”
“What can that possibly have to do with my wife’s murder? She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, when some psychopath—” He swallowed, losing his composure for the first time.
“That may be the case. But even if your wife’s killer had no personal connection with her, he may have been watching her, and someone she knows may have noticed something odd.”
“Watching her?” Arrowood’s skin paled beneath his artificial tan.
“It’s a possibility we have to consider.”
“My wife … was she sexually assaulted?”
“No. The pathologist found no indication of that.”
Arrowood met Gemma’s eyes, looked away. “Dawn … Do you think she had time to be frightened?”
Gemma thought of the few signs of struggle on the woman’s body and answered truthfully, “I think it must have been very quick.”
“I keep seeing—” Blinking, Arrowood gave a sharp shake of his head, as if discarding an instant of weakness. “There’s no point dwelling on it. It’s just that she told me once she thought she woulddie young. She was always worried about cancer, things like that. But this …”
“Mr. Arrowood, did you know your wife was pregnant?”
“What?”
“The postmortem revealed that your wife was about six weeks pregnant.”
“But that’s—No, I’d no idea. I knew she hadn’t been well lately, but that possibility never occurred to me.…” He seemed to wilt, his body settling into the curvature of the plastic chair.
“I’m very sorry.” Thinking of her own case of prolonged denial, Gemma said, “Perhaps she hadn’t realized herself.”
Karl Arrowood contemplated this for a moment. “Perhaps not. But I rather hope she knew. She very much wanted a child.”
Gemma thought again of the children’s books and dolls, carefully hidden away. “And you didn’t?”
“No. I’ve two grown sons already that are trouble enough.” His lips had curled in obvious distaste.
Two grown sons who might be counting on their father’s money, thought Gemma, and might not have appreciated a young stepmother mucking up their prospects. “I’ll need their names and addresses, please. And their mother? Is she living?”
“Sylvia? There have been times I wished she weren’t”—his smile held grim humor—“but yes, she’s living. And living well, I
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