to come round now?”
Flora ran a hand through her hair. “No, I’ve got to go back to the farm. Maybe—could I come round to yours later? I can’t go back to the flat, and I certainly don’t want to stay with them . Would you mind? And what about Chris?”
“Chris won’t mind at all. Have you still got the spare key?”
“Yes.” She had moved in for a fortnight in the summer, when Chris and Taryn had gone to France on holiday, to water the plants, keep an eye on things.
“Well, come round whenever you like. I’ll make the spare bed up later. And, Flora, it will be all right, okay? Everything will work out.”
No, it won’t, Flora thought. How can it be? Nothing could ever be all right again. But what she managed to say was, “Okay. Thanks.”
“Deep breaths, Flora. Yeah? You have to get through this bit. This is the difficult part.”
“At least you haven’t said I told you so.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always said she would break my heart . . .”
There was a pause. The tears were blinding Flora, pouring down her cheeks. She rubbed them away with the back of her hand, sniffed.
“I didn’t mean like this,” Taryn said quietly.
“You never really liked her, did you?”
“You know why that was,” Taryn said, with emphasis.
“She wasn’t flirting with Chris,” Flora said, remembering Taryn’s housewarming dinner party.
“She absolutely bloody was. She flirted with everyone , Flora, you know she did.”
“That’s—that’s simply how she was.”
“She wasn’t good enough for you. There. I’ve said it.”
Flora couldn’t speak. It was too much. She hated herself for the high-pitched wail that she couldn’t hold in anymore.
“Oh, Flora, I’m sorry. But you know what she was like; you deserve to be treated better than that. She was beautiful, but you deserve someone who is going to put you first, someone who is going to love you properly. I’d rather be honest with you—and I know she hurt you. It wasn’t fair.”
After a moment she got control of herself again. “Yes,” she said. Not meaning it.
“Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll see you later? And you can ring me anytime.”
She said goodbye and rang off, just in time for the tears to overwhelm her again.
07:52
The Op Nettle MIR was buzzing, full of people, and it wasn’t even eight.
The press packet for the briefing was the first item on Lou’s agenda. The media officer had started preparing it yesterday, had obtained photographs of Polly Leuchars and her car, written up a statement. First thing this morning the color copiers on the command floor would be churning it out for the press conference.
Back in the Incident Room, the first bit of news from forensics was a pile of fingerprint idents.
“Right, what have we got?” Lou asked, flipping through the pages. Jason was peering over her shoulder. He had on some very subtle aftershave. God, what was the matter with her? It wasn’t as though she needed any distractions.
The first three pages were fingerprints taken from Yonder Cottage. Fingerprints identified were those of Polly Leuchars (all over the house), Felicity Maitland (downstairs only, including the downstairs bathroom), Flora Maitland (all over the house). Several other sets, some recent. And three clear prints made in blood, indicating someone present in the house when Polly was already dead or dying.
“Oh, crap!” Lou said, reading the final sentence again.
Prints in blood belong to Mrs. Barbara Fletcher-Norman (print idents taken from cadaver). Others unidentified.
“Well, at least we know it’s definitely connected,” Lou said.
A few pages further on, mention of shoe marks, badly smudged, at Yonder Cottage, a small size, indicating a child or a woman.
A few pages further on, fingerprints taken from inside Polly Leuchars’s car, which had been parked, locked, in the driveway to the cottage.
“Prints belonging to the victim, Nigel Maitland, and three
Flora ran a hand through her hair. “No, I’ve got to go back to the farm. Maybe—could I come round to yours later? I can’t go back to the flat, and I certainly don’t want to stay with them . Would you mind? And what about Chris?”
“Chris won’t mind at all. Have you still got the spare key?”
“Yes.” She had moved in for a fortnight in the summer, when Chris and Taryn had gone to France on holiday, to water the plants, keep an eye on things.
“Well, come round whenever you like. I’ll make the spare bed up later. And, Flora, it will be all right, okay? Everything will work out.”
No, it won’t, Flora thought. How can it be? Nothing could ever be all right again. But what she managed to say was, “Okay. Thanks.”
“Deep breaths, Flora. Yeah? You have to get through this bit. This is the difficult part.”
“At least you haven’t said I told you so.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always said she would break my heart . . .”
There was a pause. The tears were blinding Flora, pouring down her cheeks. She rubbed them away with the back of her hand, sniffed.
“I didn’t mean like this,” Taryn said quietly.
“You never really liked her, did you?”
“You know why that was,” Taryn said, with emphasis.
“She wasn’t flirting with Chris,” Flora said, remembering Taryn’s housewarming dinner party.
“She absolutely bloody was. She flirted with everyone , Flora, you know she did.”
“That’s—that’s simply how she was.”
“She wasn’t good enough for you. There. I’ve said it.”
Flora couldn’t speak. It was too much. She hated herself for the high-pitched wail that she couldn’t hold in anymore.
“Oh, Flora, I’m sorry. But you know what she was like; you deserve to be treated better than that. She was beautiful, but you deserve someone who is going to put you first, someone who is going to love you properly. I’d rather be honest with you—and I know she hurt you. It wasn’t fair.”
After a moment she got control of herself again. “Yes,” she said. Not meaning it.
“Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll see you later? And you can ring me anytime.”
She said goodbye and rang off, just in time for the tears to overwhelm her again.
07:52
The Op Nettle MIR was buzzing, full of people, and it wasn’t even eight.
The press packet for the briefing was the first item on Lou’s agenda. The media officer had started preparing it yesterday, had obtained photographs of Polly Leuchars and her car, written up a statement. First thing this morning the color copiers on the command floor would be churning it out for the press conference.
Back in the Incident Room, the first bit of news from forensics was a pile of fingerprint idents.
“Right, what have we got?” Lou asked, flipping through the pages. Jason was peering over her shoulder. He had on some very subtle aftershave. God, what was the matter with her? It wasn’t as though she needed any distractions.
The first three pages were fingerprints taken from Yonder Cottage. Fingerprints identified were those of Polly Leuchars (all over the house), Felicity Maitland (downstairs only, including the downstairs bathroom), Flora Maitland (all over the house). Several other sets, some recent. And three clear prints made in blood, indicating someone present in the house when Polly was already dead or dying.
“Oh, crap!” Lou said, reading the final sentence again.
Prints in blood belong to Mrs. Barbara Fletcher-Norman (print idents taken from cadaver). Others unidentified.
“Well, at least we know it’s definitely connected,” Lou said.
A few pages further on, mention of shoe marks, badly smudged, at Yonder Cottage, a small size, indicating a child or a woman.
A few pages further on, fingerprints taken from inside Polly Leuchars’s car, which had been parked, locked, in the driveway to the cottage.
“Prints belonging to the victim, Nigel Maitland, and three
Similar Books
