Gift Wrapped by Peter Turnbull

Webster then looked at Carmen Pharoah.
    â€˜The e-fit is merely an approximation of the likely deceased’s appearance,’ Webster explained. ‘It is not proof of identity.’
    â€˜What am I going to tell the boys?’ Mrs Wenlock wailed. ‘Now they’ll say I definitely sent him to his death ...’
    â€˜Do you have anything which might contain your husband’s DNA?’ Pharoah asked, rapidly beginning to tire of what she strongly suspected was wallowing self-pity on the part of Mrs Wenlock.
    â€˜DNA?’ Mrs Wenlock asked. ‘Like what they talk about on television?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Pharoah explained. ‘A strand of his hair, a piece of fabric with a sweat stain on it ... his perspiration, I mean.’
    â€˜I don’t think that I can, sorry,’ Mrs Wenlock said apologetically. ‘I keep a clean house; I am very particular about keeping a clean house, most particular.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Pharoah smiled, ‘we can see that. In fact, you would not believe some of the houses we have to visit.’
    â€˜I can imagine ... This house is kept this way as a reaction to the house I grew up in ... it was the sort of household I think you are alluding to.’
    â€˜I see,’ Pharoah replied. ‘I fully understand you.’
    â€˜Mrs Wenlock,’ Reginald Webster interrupted, ‘can I ask you a bit of a delicate question?’
    â€˜Of course.’ Mrs Wenlock turned to him.
    â€˜Your two sons,’ Webster replied. ‘Your two boys?’
    â€˜Yes? What of them?’
    â€˜They were James Wenlock’s children?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Mrs Wenlock frowned. ‘Who else’s could they be?’
    â€˜So they were not adopted,’ Webster confirmed. ‘Adopted or fostered, or children from a previous relationship?’
    â€˜No, no and no,’ Mrs Wenlock replied firmly, sitting forwards as she did so. ‘They are both our natural children.’
    â€˜Good, that will help us. You see, if you cannot provide something containing Mr Wenlock’s DNA we can obtain DNA from your sons – with their permission, of course. It is called familial DNA and will enable us to establish whether the remains are those of your husband or not.’
    â€˜Oh ... I see.’ Mrs Wenlock relaxed her attitude and sat back in her chair. ‘I am sure that they will be only too pleased to help you, and they both live locally.’
    â€˜Good, that will be very useful,’ Carmen Pharoah replied. Then she asked, ‘We understand that your husband was an accountant?’
    â€˜Yes, yes he was,’ Mrs Wenlock replied with a clear note of pride in her voice. ‘He worked for Russell Square.’
    â€˜In London?’ Pharoah could not contain her surprise. ‘In Bloomsbury?
That
Russell Square?
The
Russell Square ... ?’
    â€˜No, no ...’ Mrs Wenlock stammered. ‘Well, yes,
the
Russell Square in central London as you say, in fact I know of no other town or city in the UK which also has a Russell Square, but the Russell Square in question is the name of the firm of accountants which employed my husband ... Russell Square Chartered Accountants, Saint Leonard’s Place, York. I dare say their address had to be Saint Leonard’s Place, among all the solicitors. It was, and still is, a very large firm of accountants. He ... James, my husband, went to work and returned from work. I know nothing of what went on in the between time. I know nothing of the world of accounting. I am not learned like he was ... We met through a hiking club ... When I was employed I was a nursing auxiliary. Nothing grand at all. Very modest, but as a nursing auxiliary I learned how to keep things clean. I learned the value of hygiene.’
    â€˜A nurse is learned.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled. ‘Nothing to feel demeaned about there. Nurses are valued.’
    â€˜A theatre nurse who assists in operations is learned,