who had access to the house. Mac’s note-taking meant Bev was freer to register the non-verbal
signals; in Diana Masters’s case, licking the lips a lot, fiddling with earlobes. Bev was surprised to hear the woman was forty-one, she’d have guessed thirty, thirty-one. There was a
daughter, Charlotte, twenty-three, who had her own place in Selly Oak and was on the way over. It was no shock to learn that apart from a few hours’ voluntary work, Mrs Masters didn’t
have a job. Didn’t even do her own cleaning, the hired help came in four times a week, young woman called Marie Walinski. Judging by the set-up, it was pretty clear Diana didn’t need to
earn a crust; the Masters family didn’t look short of a bob or three. Then Bev clocked a photograph on top of a baby grand that confirmed her impression. Alex Masters on the steps of the Old
Bailey, black gown billowing. No wonder the name had rung a bell. Masters was barrister to the rich and famous. Made Mr Loophole look like Judge Jeffries.
“And of course, Alex is very traditional. He’s the breadwinner, I’m...” Early days, easily done. Diana Masters had lapsed again into the present tense. She’d do it
for a while yet, certainly until after the funeral. It wasn’t denial – sudden death took time to sink in. Soon as it hit home this time she dropped her head in her hands, rocked gently
backwards and forwards.
Bev counted to twenty before clearing her throat ready. The widow took the cue. She dashed away tears with the heel of her hand then stared ahead, eyes narrowed as if trying to see sense in
events that held none. “I still can’t believe it. I was asleep, you see. I’d taken a pill. The noise woke me. I was groggy. Not really with it.”
“Any idea what the time was, Mrs Masters?” Essential to establish a timeline or Bev wouldn’t have halted the flow.
“I rang the police around a quarter past two, so a little before then, I guess. I thought I was dreaming. A nightmare. A clown! Wrestling with Alex at the foot of the bed.
Ludicrous.” Her glance sought Bev’s agreement, approval. “Then the knife. Jab. Jab. Jab. And the blood.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “I screamed and screamed
and...”
Sound of clinking crockery. Gentle prompt from Bev. “What happened next, Mrs Masters?”
“Alex saved my life.” Head high, she laced her fingers in her lap, spoke with absolute conviction. “The intruder would have killed me too but even badly injured Alex clung to
his arm, wouldn’t let him go, gave me vital seconds.” A lifetime. “I hit the panic button. I couldn’t see his face of course but I could tell the alarm had startled him. He
stabbed Alex again. I could see that my husband was...”
Dead. Dying. “And then?” Bev said.
“He came towards me. I saw dark glittering eyes through slits in the mask. I knew he wanted to kill me but presumably was desperate to get away too. He came for me with the knife. I held
my hands over my face. I thought, this is it – it’s all over. I heard a police siren. He called me a... fucking bitch... then I fainted.”
Prime witness passes out. Brilliant. “And when you came to?”
“Alex was on the floor. I went to him...cradled him in my arms.” She was shaking, sobbing, barely able to get the words out. “But it was... too late. I’m so
sorry...”
Bev glanced at Mac, tapped her watch. “You’ve been a great help, Mrs Masters.” Tactful as she could, she told the woman the nightdress would have to go to forensics, said a
colleague would sort it. “Try and get some rest now. We’ll talk later.”
The neighbour came in with the coffee as they took their leave. That didn’t halt their progress. It was the widow’s remark as they reached the door.
“The irony is, Alex stays in London three evenings a week. He wasn’t due home last night. Until the fight broke out, I didn’t even know he was here.”
8
“What d’you make of it, then?” Mac’s focus was on his
signals; in Diana Masters’s case, licking the lips a lot, fiddling with earlobes. Bev was surprised to hear the woman was forty-one, she’d have guessed thirty, thirty-one. There was a
daughter, Charlotte, twenty-three, who had her own place in Selly Oak and was on the way over. It was no shock to learn that apart from a few hours’ voluntary work, Mrs Masters didn’t
have a job. Didn’t even do her own cleaning, the hired help came in four times a week, young woman called Marie Walinski. Judging by the set-up, it was pretty clear Diana didn’t need to
earn a crust; the Masters family didn’t look short of a bob or three. Then Bev clocked a photograph on top of a baby grand that confirmed her impression. Alex Masters on the steps of the Old
Bailey, black gown billowing. No wonder the name had rung a bell. Masters was barrister to the rich and famous. Made Mr Loophole look like Judge Jeffries.
“And of course, Alex is very traditional. He’s the breadwinner, I’m...” Early days, easily done. Diana Masters had lapsed again into the present tense. She’d do it
for a while yet, certainly until after the funeral. It wasn’t denial – sudden death took time to sink in. Soon as it hit home this time she dropped her head in her hands, rocked gently
backwards and forwards.
Bev counted to twenty before clearing her throat ready. The widow took the cue. She dashed away tears with the heel of her hand then stared ahead, eyes narrowed as if trying to see sense in
events that held none. “I still can’t believe it. I was asleep, you see. I’d taken a pill. The noise woke me. I was groggy. Not really with it.”
“Any idea what the time was, Mrs Masters?” Essential to establish a timeline or Bev wouldn’t have halted the flow.
“I rang the police around a quarter past two, so a little before then, I guess. I thought I was dreaming. A nightmare. A clown! Wrestling with Alex at the foot of the bed.
Ludicrous.” Her glance sought Bev’s agreement, approval. “Then the knife. Jab. Jab. Jab. And the blood.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “I screamed and screamed
and...”
Sound of clinking crockery. Gentle prompt from Bev. “What happened next, Mrs Masters?”
“Alex saved my life.” Head high, she laced her fingers in her lap, spoke with absolute conviction. “The intruder would have killed me too but even badly injured Alex clung to
his arm, wouldn’t let him go, gave me vital seconds.” A lifetime. “I hit the panic button. I couldn’t see his face of course but I could tell the alarm had startled him. He
stabbed Alex again. I could see that my husband was...”
Dead. Dying. “And then?” Bev said.
“He came towards me. I saw dark glittering eyes through slits in the mask. I knew he wanted to kill me but presumably was desperate to get away too. He came for me with the knife. I held
my hands over my face. I thought, this is it – it’s all over. I heard a police siren. He called me a... fucking bitch... then I fainted.”
Prime witness passes out. Brilliant. “And when you came to?”
“Alex was on the floor. I went to him...cradled him in my arms.” She was shaking, sobbing, barely able to get the words out. “But it was... too late. I’m so
sorry...”
Bev glanced at Mac, tapped her watch. “You’ve been a great help, Mrs Masters.” Tactful as she could, she told the woman the nightdress would have to go to forensics, said a
colleague would sort it. “Try and get some rest now. We’ll talk later.”
The neighbour came in with the coffee as they took their leave. That didn’t halt their progress. It was the widow’s remark as they reached the door.
“The irony is, Alex stays in London three evenings a week. He wasn’t due home last night. Until the fight broke out, I didn’t even know he was here.”
8
“What d’you make of it, then?” Mac’s focus was on his
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