Requiem Mass (55 page)

He regretted, but had no guilt over, Rowland’s death. The man had been a calculating killer. The widows of two policemen and the memories of three wrecked families justified his death. It was Anderson’s rottenness that made him gag, that and her complete lack of remorse. She deserved punishment, she should suffer as everyone else had done for her crime. For a brief moment, he almost understood Rowland.

There was a figure by Carol’s grave, stooping and peering at the flowers. Fenwick felt a surge of possessive anger and leapt up.

‘What the hell are you doing? Leave it alone!’

Jason MacDonald turned to face him, his scowl transforming into a malicious grin as he recognised Fenwick.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Mr Plod. One of the “gentlemen” I have to thank for four hours unnecessary incarceration. I’m considering suing, you know – wrongful arrest.’

Fenwick dismissed him with a weary wave and turned towards his car.

MacDonald followed him.

‘I am, you know.’

‘It was not wrongful arrest, Mr MacDonald.’

‘I’m going to make a complaint, though. Anyway, what are you doing here? Case is closed, isn’t it?’

‘I could ask the same of you.’

‘This is a closing piece. I’m turning in a human-interest story – you know: two beautiful women, one life cut short by tragedy, the other going on to become a famous star.’

‘Two women?’

‘Yes, Carol and Octavia Anderson. School friends parted in death, nearly reunited by revenge, that sort of thing.’

‘So you still think there’s a connection.’

‘Don’t look so innocent – I’ve done my homework, I know who Rowland was. And I’ve interviewed Leslie Smith. Did an exclusive deal with her husband. He gave me all her schooldays stuff. She won’t exactly be needing it any more.’

‘I didn’t know Smith had recovered!’ Fenwick looked at MacDonald hopefully but his spirits sank when he saw the lie in his eyes. ‘She hasn’t, has she?’

‘Weeell, recovered is a strong word. I had to help her, of course, but she could indicate if I was right or wrong.’ Fenwick’s disgust showed.

‘Don’t act superior. You know there’s a link between Carol’s killer cousin and the schoolgirl slaying.’ Alliteration was obviously habit-forming. ‘What is it? Is Rowland Anderson’s lover from the past? Is that it? With a celebrity, and a pretty one at that, this story will sell. Or did he kill Carol in a tragic triangle of love and hate, acted out on the windy cliffs of Devon.’

‘Dorset.’

The beginnings of an idea began to form in Fenwick’s mind. It was repugnant, and he was appalled that he had even thought of it, but he was a man confounded by an old injustice with recourse to few, if any, legitimate means of redress. The solution started to shape itself. It would be difficult not to cross the line into disloyalty or betrayal but perhaps there was a way.

‘I suppose you’ve hit the big time now, have you – national tabloids?’

‘They take my stories, yes. We have an arrangement.’

‘Ah, you’ve turned freelance.’

‘Freelance with a look-in – it makes a big difference.’

‘After this piece, what’s your next story?’

‘Wrongful arrests, I think – with an insider’s perspective. My complaint will be the perfect start of the story and I’m sure I’ll find plenty of others who feel your force has treated them badly. You just wait. I’ll want to see you personally!’

Fenwick laughed. It would be so simple.

‘Thank you!’

‘What?’

‘That’s my first laugh for a long time.’

‘What’s so funny? If you think you’re going to get away with this … I’ve got my contacts at the nationals now, you know.’ The man prattled on but Fenwick was no longer listening. He could picture his office perfectly. The old, slow coffee machine outside by the secretary’s desk, his own desk and table covered with papers, and on the top the open forensic report on Katherine’s diaries lying next to the letters from Rowland and his uncle. All the evidence he had but still not enough to prove to the system that a murder had taken place some twenty years before. It would never go to trial in law but there were other instruments of a rougher justice. He looked at MacDonald again; yes even parasites were useful in cleaning up after the dead.

‘Mr MacDonald, why don’t you come back to my office with me and make that complaint now?’

‘I haven’t time. I’ve pre-sold this story and there’s a deadline,’
he consulted his watch, ‘and I’ve still got to come up with a punchy conclusion.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing. I suppose you’re aiming for the nationals?’

‘This is hardly front-page stuff.’

‘No, exactly.’

Something in Fenwick’s tone made MacDonald stop and look at him hard and the policeman gripped his arm.

‘As you say, Mr MacDonald, it’s hardly front-page stuff, which means that you do have time to come in to my office and make that complaint.’

Fenwick turned to face him again and smiled. ‘I really think you should. I’ll even take the time to make you a cup of coffee myself.’

About the Author

E
LIZABETH
C
ORLEY
was born and brought up in West Sussex. Married, with a step-daughter, she manages to balance her passion for crime-writing with a successful position as Chief Executive, Europe for a global investment company, dividing her time between London, Germany and France. A one-time committee member of and vice-chairperson of the Crime Writers’ Association, Elizabeth is an active member of the organisation yet still finds the time to pursue her outside interests of travel, gardening and music.

Available from
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Grave Doubts

Innocent Blood

Copyright

Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
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Copyright © 1998 by
ELIZABETH CORLEY

First published in 1998 by Headline Publishing Group. Published by arrangement with Headline Publishing Group. Allison & Busby paperback edition published in 2007. This ebook edition published in 2012.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

Extracts from the original score of Verdi’s
Requiem
are reproduced by permission of G. Ricordi & Co.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978–0–7490–1117–8