good man.’
‘Were the police ever called when he was in a fight?’
‘No, no, there was nothing like that. No one was ever hurt. He just used to drink a bit. It was nothing serious.’
Amy dropped her eyes and stared at her hands, while her fingers fidgeted with her wedding ring.
‘Two months ago you reported your husband for domestic violence.’
‘I retracted it,’ Amy whispered.
She looked pale.
‘It wasn’t true, it was just … a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she went on, her voice stronger. ‘It was a mistake. It was my own fault. I thought Patrick was seeing someone else, but he wasn’t. He was just working long hours. I made a mistake.’
Amy stood up abruptly and walked over to the door.
‘I’d like you to leave now.’
Geraldine didn’t move. Amy spoke angrily.
‘I don’t want to discuss this any more. Please, just go. I’ve just lost my husband.’
Geraldine made no move to leave.
‘My sergeant will be here with a cup of tea for you soon, and then I’ll need to ask you a few more questions.’
‘No, no, I can’t, not now. Not yet. I can’t talk about this. It’s all too– too confusing.’
Amy sat down again and flung her head in her hands. Geraldine could see nothing of the widow’s face behind its trembling screen of hair.
‘Don’t you want to help us find out who killed your husband?’
Amy Henshaw sat up suddenly as though she had been stung, tossed back her hair and glared at Geraldine.
‘Of course I do.’
Sam came in holding a delicate china cup and saucer decorated with blue flowers.
‘Here you go,’ she said, handing the tea to Amy. ‘I’m sorry, this tea set was all I could find.’
Amy took a sip of tea and pulled a face. She put the cup down on the nearest table.
‘I don’t take sugar.’
‘You’ve had a shock, Mrs Henshaw. Sweet tea is the best thing for you right now. Drink it.’
‘And then we would like to ask you a few questions,’ Geraldine repeated gently.
‘Can’t you leave me alone?’
‘We’d like to run through a few routine questions first.’
Reluctantly, Amy sipped the tea and nodded, her eyes downcast.
‘Go on then. Let’s get this over with.’
‘Mrs Henshaw,’ Geraldine leaned forward. ‘Were you aware of any bad feeling towards your husband? Anyone he might have had a falling out with?’
Amy shook her head.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him? Anyone who had a grudge against him? An aggrieved employee, perhaps?’
Amy put her cup and saucer down on the table beside her.
‘Patrick didn’t discuss his work with me. I don’t know anything about it. He never said anything.’
‘Did he ever mention any names? Any arguments he might have had?’
‘No. I told you, he never brought his work home.’
Her voice was clipped, curt, and she didn’t look up, every inch the bereaved wife in shock.
Despite feeling that Amy Henshaw was playing a role, Geraldine spoke more gently.
‘Had you been married for long?’
‘Twenty years.’
‘Was it a happy marriage?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your marriage. Was it a happy one?’
‘Yes. Of course it was. Patrick is – he was – a wonderful husband. Whatever I wanted –’
She broke down in tears, hiding her face in her hands.
‘We’ll leave it there for now, Mrs Henshaw.’
Geraldine stood up.
‘Here’s my card. Please call me if you want anything, or if you think of anything else you’d like to tell me. Now, would you like us to call anyone? You might not want to be alone –’
‘No, I’m fine. Just leave me alone.’
‘So what did you make of the grief stricken widow?’ Sam asked as the front door closed behind them.
‘I’m not sure,’ Geraldine admitted. ‘It was a bit much of her to claim he was never violent, just two months after she accused him of beating her up, or at least hitting her. Did she think we wouldn’t know about that?’
‘Well, there was something
‘Were the police ever called when he was in a fight?’
‘No, no, there was nothing like that. No one was ever hurt. He just used to drink a bit. It was nothing serious.’
Amy dropped her eyes and stared at her hands, while her fingers fidgeted with her wedding ring.
‘Two months ago you reported your husband for domestic violence.’
‘I retracted it,’ Amy whispered.
She looked pale.
‘It wasn’t true, it was just … a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she went on, her voice stronger. ‘It was a mistake. It was my own fault. I thought Patrick was seeing someone else, but he wasn’t. He was just working long hours. I made a mistake.’
Amy stood up abruptly and walked over to the door.
‘I’d like you to leave now.’
Geraldine didn’t move. Amy spoke angrily.
‘I don’t want to discuss this any more. Please, just go. I’ve just lost my husband.’
Geraldine made no move to leave.
‘My sergeant will be here with a cup of tea for you soon, and then I’ll need to ask you a few more questions.’
‘No, no, I can’t, not now. Not yet. I can’t talk about this. It’s all too– too confusing.’
Amy sat down again and flung her head in her hands. Geraldine could see nothing of the widow’s face behind its trembling screen of hair.
‘Don’t you want to help us find out who killed your husband?’
Amy Henshaw sat up suddenly as though she had been stung, tossed back her hair and glared at Geraldine.
‘Of course I do.’
Sam came in holding a delicate china cup and saucer decorated with blue flowers.
‘Here you go,’ she said, handing the tea to Amy. ‘I’m sorry, this tea set was all I could find.’
Amy took a sip of tea and pulled a face. She put the cup down on the nearest table.
‘I don’t take sugar.’
‘You’ve had a shock, Mrs Henshaw. Sweet tea is the best thing for you right now. Drink it.’
‘And then we would like to ask you a few questions,’ Geraldine repeated gently.
‘Can’t you leave me alone?’
‘We’d like to run through a few routine questions first.’
Reluctantly, Amy sipped the tea and nodded, her eyes downcast.
‘Go on then. Let’s get this over with.’
‘Mrs Henshaw,’ Geraldine leaned forward. ‘Were you aware of any bad feeling towards your husband? Anyone he might have had a falling out with?’
Amy shook her head.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him? Anyone who had a grudge against him? An aggrieved employee, perhaps?’
Amy put her cup and saucer down on the table beside her.
‘Patrick didn’t discuss his work with me. I don’t know anything about it. He never said anything.’
‘Did he ever mention any names? Any arguments he might have had?’
‘No. I told you, he never brought his work home.’
Her voice was clipped, curt, and she didn’t look up, every inch the bereaved wife in shock.
Despite feeling that Amy Henshaw was playing a role, Geraldine spoke more gently.
‘Had you been married for long?’
‘Twenty years.’
‘Was it a happy marriage?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your marriage. Was it a happy one?’
‘Yes. Of course it was. Patrick is – he was – a wonderful husband. Whatever I wanted –’
She broke down in tears, hiding her face in her hands.
‘We’ll leave it there for now, Mrs Henshaw.’
Geraldine stood up.
‘Here’s my card. Please call me if you want anything, or if you think of anything else you’d like to tell me. Now, would you like us to call anyone? You might not want to be alone –’
‘No, I’m fine. Just leave me alone.’
‘So what did you make of the grief stricken widow?’ Sam asked as the front door closed behind them.
‘I’m not sure,’ Geraldine admitted. ‘It was a bit much of her to claim he was never violent, just two months after she accused him of beating her up, or at least hitting her. Did she think we wouldn’t know about that?’
‘Well, there was something
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