anything else but a question hung in the air. Geraldine studied the picture of the woman she had met in the mortuary the previous day. Sophie Cliff’s straight mousey coloured hair grew in a long fringe over her forehead. Her eyes looked unnaturally large behind her glasses.
‘Now let’s get going,’ the DCI said briskly and the team stirred. There was a general air of activity and purpose. Geraldine checked the schedule and found she was working with DS Peterson again. She found him talking to DC Polly Hargreaves.
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t find herself having to give chase in that skirt,’ Geraldine muttered as they walked away.
‘More likely find herself being chased.’ Peterson laughed. Geraldine forced a smile. She hoped the sergeant wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted from the case. They wereboth excited to discover they had been assigned to interview Sophie Cliff and her neighbours, and pleased to be working side by side again.
They drew into the kerb alongside a screen of tall laurel bushes. On one side of the Cliffs’ house cast iron numerals displayed the house number on a white fence post at the end of the hedge, beyond which a wide driveway led to a double garage. The house itself was concealed from the road.
‘Nice,’ Peterson murmured as he followed Geraldine through the gate and caught sight of a large double fronted house. Matching waist high fir trees grew in terracotta pots on either side of the front door which opened as soon as the bell chimed. A plump middle-aged woman stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, face slightly belligerent. ‘Whatever you want, the answer’s no.’ Geraldine held out her identity card and the woman’s expression softened.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said, glancing up the path behind them. ‘We’ve had reporters knocking since early morning.’
For all her willingness to help, the neighbour was unable to tell them anything new. ‘We didn’t see much of them,’ she admitted apologetically. ‘They only moved in about a year ago. We invited them in for drinks at Christmas but they never came. She was very polite. Said they were busy. They seem – seemed a nice young couple but they kept themselves to themselves. She works of course, so it’s not as if she’s around much during the day. She’s a doctor, I think. She goes out at all times. We hear her car coming and going at night.’
‘She works in IT,’ Peterson said and the neighbour frowned.
‘Did they seem happy together?’ Geraldine asked.
The neighbour just shrugged. ‘You know.’
‘That was a waste of time,’ the sergeant grumbled as they made their way back to the road.
‘At least she didn’t let her imagination run away with her,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Come on, let’s see if the other side have more to say.’ She tried to control the impatience in her voice.
‘She’s just here till she gets herself sorted,’ Jane Pettifer explained as she led the way across a wide hallway. ‘She didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. My husband brought her in,’ she added over her shoulder as though Sophie Cliff was an abandoned kitten they had found on their doorstep. ‘She’s in the TV room.’
Jane Pettifer ushered them into a sumptuously furnished living room. Sophie Cliff was leaning forward in an armchair, head down, her thin arms wrapped around her chest. She looked very different to the passionate woman Geraldine had seen at the morgue.
‘Mrs Cliff?’ Geraldine said gently. ‘Sophie?’ The other woman raised her head. Her eyes barely registered Geraldine. Her lips, prim in the photo, hung slack. She looked like a stroke victim. Grief or guilt, Geraldine wondered.
‘She won’t speak. We’ve called the doctor,’ Mrs Pettifer said. ‘He should be here soon.’
Geraldine tried not to frown. Once the doctor arrived, he would probably prescribe a sedative and the opportunity to question Sophie Cliff would be snatched away for another day.
‘Now let’s get going,’ the DCI said briskly and the team stirred. There was a general air of activity and purpose. Geraldine checked the schedule and found she was working with DS Peterson again. She found him talking to DC Polly Hargreaves.
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t find herself having to give chase in that skirt,’ Geraldine muttered as they walked away.
‘More likely find herself being chased.’ Peterson laughed. Geraldine forced a smile. She hoped the sergeant wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted from the case. They wereboth excited to discover they had been assigned to interview Sophie Cliff and her neighbours, and pleased to be working side by side again.
They drew into the kerb alongside a screen of tall laurel bushes. On one side of the Cliffs’ house cast iron numerals displayed the house number on a white fence post at the end of the hedge, beyond which a wide driveway led to a double garage. The house itself was concealed from the road.
‘Nice,’ Peterson murmured as he followed Geraldine through the gate and caught sight of a large double fronted house. Matching waist high fir trees grew in terracotta pots on either side of the front door which opened as soon as the bell chimed. A plump middle-aged woman stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, face slightly belligerent. ‘Whatever you want, the answer’s no.’ Geraldine held out her identity card and the woman’s expression softened.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said, glancing up the path behind them. ‘We’ve had reporters knocking since early morning.’
For all her willingness to help, the neighbour was unable to tell them anything new. ‘We didn’t see much of them,’ she admitted apologetically. ‘They only moved in about a year ago. We invited them in for drinks at Christmas but they never came. She was very polite. Said they were busy. They seem – seemed a nice young couple but they kept themselves to themselves. She works of course, so it’s not as if she’s around much during the day. She’s a doctor, I think. She goes out at all times. We hear her car coming and going at night.’
‘She works in IT,’ Peterson said and the neighbour frowned.
‘Did they seem happy together?’ Geraldine asked.
The neighbour just shrugged. ‘You know.’
‘That was a waste of time,’ the sergeant grumbled as they made their way back to the road.
‘At least she didn’t let her imagination run away with her,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Come on, let’s see if the other side have more to say.’ She tried to control the impatience in her voice.
‘She’s just here till she gets herself sorted,’ Jane Pettifer explained as she led the way across a wide hallway. ‘She didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. My husband brought her in,’ she added over her shoulder as though Sophie Cliff was an abandoned kitten they had found on their doorstep. ‘She’s in the TV room.’
Jane Pettifer ushered them into a sumptuously furnished living room. Sophie Cliff was leaning forward in an armchair, head down, her thin arms wrapped around her chest. She looked very different to the passionate woman Geraldine had seen at the morgue.
‘Mrs Cliff?’ Geraldine said gently. ‘Sophie?’ The other woman raised her head. Her eyes barely registered Geraldine. Her lips, prim in the photo, hung slack. She looked like a stroke victim. Grief or guilt, Geraldine wondered.
‘She won’t speak. We’ve called the doctor,’ Mrs Pettifer said. ‘He should be here soon.’
Geraldine tried not to frown. Once the doctor arrived, he would probably prescribe a sedative and the opportunity to question Sophie Cliff would be snatched away for another day.
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