and stepped out onto the pristine new tarmac of a modern housing estate. He looked along and saw a succession of green lawns, square and flat. As he walked towards the door, faux Georgian, with wooden panels and a frosted glass arch, he heard only the hard smack of his boots on the paved driveway, the curved streets quiet. It took just one knock to get the door to open.
‘Hello?’ said a female face from behind a security chain, young and cautious.
‘I'm Inspector Rod Lucas,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about the explosion in your garden last week.’
‘You don't look like the police.’
Rod looked at his outfit. He couldn't argue with that. He was still wearing his pruning clothes, a checked shirt and grubby corduroys. He pulled out his wallet and showed the Lancashire Police crest.
The door closed for a moment, and Rod heard the rattle of the security chain. When the door opened fully, the face at the door turned into a teenage girl running down the hall. College girl was Rod's guess.
‘Mum?’ she shouted. ‘There's a policeman to see you.’
The girl turned round and pointed to a room at the front of the house. ‘Go in,’ she said. ‘Mum won't be long.’ When Rod smiled, she blushed and then skipped into a room at the back of the house.
Rod opened the door to the living room, and he was surprised. He had expected a modern look; laminated flooring, coal-effect fire, maybe a large television. Instead, it was similar in style to Abigail's cottage, like a Gothic lair, with a heavy black chandelier and dark red walls. The fireplace was high and open and made of dull grey stone, more suited to a castle than a modern box in a faceless estate.
He turned around when he heard the door open, and in walked a woman in her early forties, her hair dark and long, crimped into waves, wearing a long linen dress, her feet bare.
‘Isla Marsden?’ Rod queried. When she smiledwhimsically, he said, ‘I'm here to ask some questions about the recent explosion in your garden.’
‘It was in the shed,’ said Isla, her voice soft, an almost dreamy quality.
‘It's happened to someone else,’ said Rod. ‘Except that someone was hurt today.’ When Isla didn't respond, he said, ‘It was an old lady called Abigail Hobbs.’
Rod saw the flinch, just a widening of her eyes, before Isla quickly brushed her hair from her face, a reflex action, and resumed her faraway smile.
‘Do you know her?’ he asked.
Isla made a bad show of thinking about her answer, and then she shook her head. ‘I don't think so.’
‘Her cat died, and Abigail is in hospital, hurt quite badly. Are you sure you don't know her?’
Isla shook her head again.
‘Do you have any more ideas about who might have caused the explosion?’ he asked.
Again, Isla responded with just a shake of the head, and then she said, ‘I thought I had to ask you that question,’ her voice defensive.
‘We're trying our best,’ he said solemnly. When she didn't answer, he nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Marsden. I'll keep in touch.’
As he walked out of the room, heading for the front door, he paused. ‘It's funny, though, Mrs Marsden, about the coincidence,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
He turned round and saw that her composure had slipped. He looked down at her hand. ‘You share the same taste in jewellery.’ As her cheeks flushed, he pointedat her right hand. ‘You even wear it on the same finger. Third finger, right hand. The screaming face, silver on black. Abigail has one too.’
As she looked at him, her eyes worried now, Rod nodded at her.
‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘Call me if you want to talk,’ and then he clicked the door closed as he went back to his vehicle.
I was heading for the college, trying to shake off my unease about my private life. I wanted to speak to Katie again, to find a reason why Luke's friend had described Sarah's relationship with Luke so differently. I remembered that Katie said she had
‘Hello?’ said a female face from behind a security chain, young and cautious.
‘I'm Inspector Rod Lucas,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about the explosion in your garden last week.’
‘You don't look like the police.’
Rod looked at his outfit. He couldn't argue with that. He was still wearing his pruning clothes, a checked shirt and grubby corduroys. He pulled out his wallet and showed the Lancashire Police crest.
The door closed for a moment, and Rod heard the rattle of the security chain. When the door opened fully, the face at the door turned into a teenage girl running down the hall. College girl was Rod's guess.
‘Mum?’ she shouted. ‘There's a policeman to see you.’
The girl turned round and pointed to a room at the front of the house. ‘Go in,’ she said. ‘Mum won't be long.’ When Rod smiled, she blushed and then skipped into a room at the back of the house.
Rod opened the door to the living room, and he was surprised. He had expected a modern look; laminated flooring, coal-effect fire, maybe a large television. Instead, it was similar in style to Abigail's cottage, like a Gothic lair, with a heavy black chandelier and dark red walls. The fireplace was high and open and made of dull grey stone, more suited to a castle than a modern box in a faceless estate.
He turned around when he heard the door open, and in walked a woman in her early forties, her hair dark and long, crimped into waves, wearing a long linen dress, her feet bare.
‘Isla Marsden?’ Rod queried. When she smiledwhimsically, he said, ‘I'm here to ask some questions about the recent explosion in your garden.’
‘It was in the shed,’ said Isla, her voice soft, an almost dreamy quality.
‘It's happened to someone else,’ said Rod. ‘Except that someone was hurt today.’ When Isla didn't respond, he said, ‘It was an old lady called Abigail Hobbs.’
Rod saw the flinch, just a widening of her eyes, before Isla quickly brushed her hair from her face, a reflex action, and resumed her faraway smile.
‘Do you know her?’ he asked.
Isla made a bad show of thinking about her answer, and then she shook her head. ‘I don't think so.’
‘Her cat died, and Abigail is in hospital, hurt quite badly. Are you sure you don't know her?’
Isla shook her head again.
‘Do you have any more ideas about who might have caused the explosion?’ he asked.
Again, Isla responded with just a shake of the head, and then she said, ‘I thought I had to ask you that question,’ her voice defensive.
‘We're trying our best,’ he said solemnly. When she didn't answer, he nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Marsden. I'll keep in touch.’
As he walked out of the room, heading for the front door, he paused. ‘It's funny, though, Mrs Marsden, about the coincidence,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
He turned round and saw that her composure had slipped. He looked down at her hand. ‘You share the same taste in jewellery.’ As her cheeks flushed, he pointedat her right hand. ‘You even wear it on the same finger. Third finger, right hand. The screaming face, silver on black. Abigail has one too.’
As she looked at him, her eyes worried now, Rod nodded at her.
‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘Call me if you want to talk,’ and then he clicked the door closed as he went back to his vehicle.
I was heading for the college, trying to shake off my unease about my private life. I wanted to speak to Katie again, to find a reason why Luke's friend had described Sarah's relationship with Luke so differently. I remembered that Katie said she had
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