Frozen Charlotte (23 page)

She looked up to see him watching her and returned to safer ground. ‘There is another thing, Alex,’ she said. ‘Did you say one of your WPCs interviewed the Isaac family who, if I remember rightly, lived in Number 41 before the Godfreys?’

‘Well – Mrs Isaac did. She’s dead now. WPC Shaw visited her son and daughter-in-law.’ Again he was both surprised and puzzled at the direction her questions were moving in.

‘Did she feel there was something – well – suspicious there?’

Alex shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Not exactly.’

‘So, what?’

‘WPC Shaw felt they didn’t like her probing into their finances. It was just an impression that they were reluctant and less happy to focus on that topic. Apparently they appear to be worth a packet, those two. And . . .’ In spite of himself Alex Randall smiled. ‘Personally I think WPC Shaw simply took against the fact that Mr Isaac is an undertaker. As was his father before him.’

‘Really?’ Martha said briskly. ‘Well, Alex.’ She stood up, squared up a sheaf of papers on her desk. ‘Time for us both to get on. I’m sure you’ve plenty to do.’

He looked at her and caught the faintest touch of a smile. ‘Thank you for your time, Martha,’ he said, ‘though what help you’ve been I’m not quite sure.’

‘And thank you for yours, Alex.’ She paused and couldn’t suppress a wide grin. ‘I haven’t helped you at all, have I?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Or more truthfully perhaps I’m not quite sure. But thanks anyway.’ He turned to go but before he moved his guard was down. She read something in the drop of his face, some glimpse of a deep sludge of sadness that must permeate throughout his entire life. She almost – almost – stretched out her hand and asked him what it was, how she could help, why he needed to suffer like this and keep it to himself. But as clearly as she read the emotion she read too the Keep Out sign planted firmly in front of it and knew instinctively that now was not the right time. She must draw back and wait. He would not welcome her crossing this invisible but tangible line drawn in the sand. In fact she could never cross this boundary without a clear and unambiguous invitation. So she held out her hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’ She paused. ‘I hope, however, that I have planted some seeds and that they bear fruit.’ She gave him a warm smile. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’

‘Goodbye.’ He held her eyes for a split second too long – long enough for her to read even more clearly this truly terrible pain that he locked inside himself. She watched him go with a feeling of frustration.

When she had heard his footsteps patter down the stairs, she wandered outside her room to speak to Jericho. He was someone who knew everything and everyone. A great source of information – even if he did get his facts muddled up on some occasions and embellish the truth on others. He was also an incredible gossip and had antennae which picked up on any whiff of scandal as tall as a mobile phone mast. But he was also very intuitive and would know why she was being so curious so she must be careful how she posed her questions. ‘Tell me, Jericho,’ she said casually, ‘What do you make of Detective Inspector Randall?’

Her assistant pursed his lips. ‘Don’t rightly know,’ he said.

‘Does he live in Shrewsbury?’

‘Don’t know that neither. I’ve never seen him around the town.’

‘No.’ She frowned. This was not proving informative at all. ‘He is,’ she commented, ‘an enigma.’

‘He is that,’ Jericho agreed.

‘Is he married, do you know?’

Her assistant shrugged. ‘Don’t know that neither, Mrs Gunn.’ He was unsuspicious – so far. Best retreat before his curiosity went into overdrive.

‘Now then, what sandwiches will you be wanting for lunch?’

‘Oh, Jericho,’ she said laughing. ‘Do you ever think of anything but food?’

He considered the question literally, as was his way, his face impassive. ‘As your assistant, ma’am,’ he said severely, ‘I have to consider your wellbeing at all times. Part of that duty is to make sure you have proper meals at decent intervals.’

She smiled at him. ‘Well, at least Dr Sullivan seems very happy and contented these days.’

‘I’ve heard two things there,’ Jericho said, his eyes bright with the gossip.

And in spite of herself Martha didn’t stop him.

‘Divorce and Alcoholics Anonymous,’ Jericho announced, touching the side of his nose significantly. ‘Transformed him, so I’ve heard.’

‘He does look and appear better,’ Martha said cautiously. ‘But divorce
and
AA? Where on earth do you get all your titbits from?’

‘Here and there,’ Jericho said, deliberately mysterious.

It was time to end this conversation and get on with some real work. ‘Can you get me Mrs Acantha Palk on the telephone, please, Jericho,’ she said. ‘She’s a solicitor connected to the Sedgewick case. Also a friend of the dead woman.’

It didn’t take Jericho long to track her down. He was practised at his work of Coroner’s Officer. Less than four minutes later Martha found herself addressing the deep and formidable voice of Mrs Acantha Palk.

‘What can I do for you, coroner?’ Clearly Mrs Palk was in polite mode. Coroners and solicitors do not always have the happiest of relationships.

‘I wonder if you would mind dropping by my office some time,’ Martha said casually. ‘As you can probably guess it’s connected with the death of your . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Friend and client, Mrs Alice Sedgewick.’

‘Can you tell me why?’ Acantha Palk’s voice was guarded.

‘I’d rather speak to you face-to-face, if you wouldn’t mind.’ Martha waited a second or two before adding, ‘At three o’clock, this afternoon?’

Acantha Palk must know she did not really have much choice. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said, notes of resentment and resignation making her voice sound sulky. ‘At your office?’

‘Yes, please,’ Martha said.

Alex, in the meantime, was chewing over Martha’s words. For all they seemed to him to be leading him round and round the mulberry bush, or worse, in the wrong direction, he had watched her arrive at correct solutions too many times to dismiss her thoughts out of hand. To that end he caught up with WPC Delia Shaw in the corridor. ‘Have you got a minute?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She followed him into his office.

‘Shut the door, would you?’ She did as he asked and faced him, her eyes questioning.

Alex dived in. ‘The coroner, Mrs Gunn, has suggested that the Isaacs have some criminal activity to hide. Did you get that impression?’

Slowly Delia Shaw nodded. ‘I did, sir.’

Randall frowned. ‘But in what connection?’

‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with the case, sir,’ she said. ‘They seemed perfectly at ease when I questioned them about the house, the baby, that sort of stuff. No . . .’ She thought for a minute, recalling the exchange of tense glances as she had looked round the elderly Mrs Isaac’s converted ‘sickroom’. ‘It was more when I asked them about old Mrs Isaac, sir. And her money. I just got the feeling that there was something there, something they didn’t want me to probe into. It was just an impression, sir,’ she added quickly, ‘but having been quite happy for me to visit them and question them about the dead child, they were very relieved to see me go.’

‘Sometimes,’ Alex said grimly, ‘impressions direct us towards the facts. Unfortunately sometimes it isn’t logic but instinct which solves cases, Shaw. And then we have to search for hard evidence which will stand up in court to support our thesis.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you. Was there anything else that struck you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘OK, you can go.’ He paused for a minute then added, just as she reached the door, ‘Have you thought any more about going into plain clothes?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘I’d love to, sir,’ she said.

Alex sat in his office and pondered the WPC’s observations of the Isaac family. He would be happy to ask the Birmingham police to investigate them, but he couldn’t see how whatever they found would help solve his case. He eyed the phone, tempted to pick it up and dial the coroner’s office. He wondered whether Martha had made contact with Acantha Palk yet.

She had.

In fact at that very moment Martha Gunn was sitting right opposite her.

She had had a shock when Jericho had ushered the solicitor in. So tall, deep voiced, such an overbearing presence.

‘Mrs Palk,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. Do sit down.’

Acantha Palk looked enquiringly at her. ‘Mrs Gunn,’ she said formally, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Martha put her chin on her hand and stared straight at the solicitor. ‘What did you do with the note?’ she asked politely.

As Martha had expected Acantha Palk looked affronted. ‘What note?’ she asked angrily. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Martha didn’t explain. She simply kept her eyes on Acantha Palk’s large frame and repeated her question in exactly the same tone. ‘What have you done with the note?’

Acantha Palk glared at her and pressed her lips together. ‘You’ve been told that there wasn’t one,’ she said eventually.

‘I know what I’ve been told.’

The two women faced each other. It was a battle of character.

‘You were first on the scene,’ Martha said, ‘and Alice Sedgewick was your friend. You might think you are protecting her reputation. Again, I ask you. Where is the note? What have you done with it?’ She held on to the woman’s gaze. ‘I do hope you haven’t destroyed it.’ She waited. But Acantha Palk was a tough nut to crack. She simply stared back, her face displaying little emotion except anger.

‘OK,’ Martha said slowly. ‘Let me ask you another question. Did you ring your friend, Alice, the night before she killed herself?’

Acantha Palk leaned forward and barked at her, ‘I assume you have access to police records?’

Martha dipped her head.

‘Then you will know that I did ring Alice. Aaron had asked me to keep an eye on her while he was away. He was worried about her.’ Her dark eyes met Martha’s fearlessly as she continued. ‘However unless that telephone was bugged you have absolutely no idea what I said to Alice.’

‘That’s true,’ Martha agreed, not dropping her eyes, ‘though I can guess. You told her about the bones being found in Bayston Hill, didn’t you?’

Acantha Palk pressed her lips together tighter and looked furious, finally spitting out, ‘Pure conjecture.’

Martha continued calmly, ‘Unless you have something even more sinister to hide, Mrs Palk, than suppressing evidence I suggest that you . . .’ She rolled her eyes theatrically towards the ceiling. ‘What is that lovely and appropriate Americanism? Ah yes. “Come clean” with me.’ She was finding it hard to conceal her enjoyment at this small drama.

Mrs Palk interlocked her fingers. ‘Coroner,’ she said, ‘I am a solicitor. This is a serious allegation. I know—’

Martha interrupted impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, your rights. We all have rights. Alice wrote that note to speak for her after her death. That is her right. It is what she wanted to be heard. As coroner
I
have the right to know why that poor woman killed herself. The baby sparked something off, didn’t it?’

Acantha Palk was hardly breathing as she absorbed Martha’s words. ‘It was explained in the note, wasn’t it? You were supposed to be her very best friend, Mrs Palk. Practically the only friend she had.’ She fixed her gaze on the woman. ‘That was why she addressed the note to you, wasn’t it?’

Acantha Palk was beginning to visibly wilt and Martha ploughed on mercilessly. ‘I suggest if you have the letter with you, you hand it over now. And if you do not have it you arrange for it to be delivered to me at the earliest possible opportunity.’ She paused. Acantha’s eyes were practically boiling with rage. ‘As you are a solicitor, Mrs Palk, you probably know that it is an offence to suppress any information which is pertinent to an unexpected, unexplained. suspicious death. My powers and my position demand that you put this information into my hand as soon as possible or I shall have to accuse you of concealment and inform the police.’

After a short, tight-lipped pause Acantha Palk spoke. ‘How did you know?’ she asked. ‘How could you possibly have known that Alice left a note? Suicides don’t always.’

‘People work in certain predictable ways,’ Martha responded. ‘I did not believe that Alice Sedgewick would elect to leave this world without explaining to her family why she was doing it.’

Acantha Palk stared.

‘It
was
addressed to you wasn’t it?’

Acantha Palk nodded.

‘Do you have it with you?’

‘No.’

‘Where is it?’

‘At home.’

‘Did you tell Mr Sedgewick that his wife had, in fact, left a suicide note?’

Acantha Palk nodded. ‘It was he who told me to destroy it.’

‘Aaah,’ Martha said.

The vaguest, faintest smile crossed Acantha Palk’s face. ‘Much as it would have been more convenient and better for everybody if the note was burnt, as a solicitor, it went against the grain to destroy evidence.’

‘Alice Sedgewick is dead,’ Martha said, leaning forward. ‘These were her last words. It was her explanation, sent to you because she trusted you. You could not betray that trust. You could not deny your friend this last, plaintive voice, could you? Or her relatives the satisfaction of knowing why?’