Death at Rainbow Cottage Jo Allen (digital book reader .TXT) 📖

‘Maybe she was going through something, too’ Lisa offered, a charitable attempt in Faye’s defence. ‘Maybe she was fighting with her husband all the time and wanted to show him she didn’t need him.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’ The sympathy Faye had offered her had been short-lived and the moment a whisper of the relationship had emerged at the office coffee machine she’d washed her hands of her junior officer and retreated behind a lofty and distancing coldness. Ashleigh’s face flamed scarlet with humiliation. ‘If she’d been a man I would have slapped her face and reported her for inappropriate behaviour, but I was stupid enough to think that because she was a woman it made a difference, and it didn’t. I trusted her.’ As she always did, and always only harming herself.

Lisa, like Ashleigh’s family and close friends, like Jude, knew about the affair, something she wasn’t ashamed to admit to. It was the crashing misjudgement that had surrounded it, that had led her into a relationship only because she was tired of lying alone at night, that was what she’d kept quiet from everyone. ‘I learned a terrible lesson. I’d never been afraid to look at myself in the mirror until that happened, and then I couldn’t do it without seeing myself as a fool. And you can’t afford to be a fool in the police, can you?’

‘Well, I dunno.’ Withdrawing the hand as if the measure of comfort she could offer was fully dispensed, Lisa consulted the dregs of her coffee cup. ‘It seems to me a lot of people manage it. And in fairness to you, you’re only ever an idiot when it comes to your own interests.’

Tears had been creeping up on Ashleigh, but she diverted them into a watery smile. ‘Yes. I’ll give you that. But most of them don’t realise. I knew. I minded. That’s why I left. I couldn’t have stayed and come face to face with Faye every bloody day.’ Now the terrain had changed but this time she was familiar with it, the one established with colleagues and friends. The moment of pessimism passed and defiance reasserted itself. ‘And you know why I was so upset? It’s because I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want it to end in tears and I don’t want to have to be the one who leaves.’ It was over six months since she’d arrived in Penrith and in that time she’d revived her ancient and comfortable friendship with Lisa. ‘I’ve got new friends. I’ve got Jude.’ And she’d shed all thoughts of Scott, save for the laughing echo that kept reappearing in the cards.

Faye Scanlon could, wittingly or otherwise, change all that but as long as she presented that unrelenting ferocity Ashleigh could have no idea what the woman thought, or what kind of position she was so determined to defend.

*

The chilly morning had turned into a brave one and Lisa had headed off to the gym before Ashleigh set off to walk the short distance into town. On the other side of the road when she left the house a woman sat parked in a car, reading a newspaper. With an eye for everything, no matter how trivial, Ashleigh gave her a second glance. She wasn’t surprised to see the woman walking purposefully behind her when she reached the supermarket car park.

There was nothing covert. Her actions were brazen, blatant and determined and, to Ashleigh, spelt only one thing. This was Marsha Letham, the journalist whose cryptic and unwelcome message still lurked unanswered on her phone.

Journalists with a sniff of a story never went away. If Ms Letham thought she’d get something out of Ashleigh she was wrong, but ignoring the message wasn’t going to work.

At the pelican crossing she lingered to wait for the lights but the woman, waiting for her, kept a distance. Her pulse raced a little, not with fear but at the possible recriminations if she failed to be sufficiently discreet, or if she was but someone else wasn’t. Bugger. She’d have to talk to Jude before she was ready, and it would look as of someone had forced her hand. That, in its turn, made her look guilty and there was no doubt in her mind that if anything came out that Faye didn’t like, she’d answer for it.

She cut down the hill into the town centre and doubled back into Little Dockray — a roundabout route, but one that confirmed that Marsha Letham was following her, and not in any way concerned about being spotted. Fine. There would be a confrontation. Ashleigh dropped into a café, strolled to the counter and ordered a coffee and a bacon roll. It wasn’t until breakfast had arrived in front of her that the journalist closed in. ‘Sergeant O’Halloran, is that right?’

‘Hello, Ms Letham.’ No point in pretending, and boldness might make the woman think twice. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message. I’m not back on shift until tomorrow.’

‘I did wonder. Sorry to have alarmed you.’ Marsha Letham was in her thirties, with a mannish face and a strained expression. In a mad moment of speculation as the woman leaned forward like a cat scenting a mouse, Ashleigh wrote her off as a journalist challenged to produce a story to justify avoiding redundancy.

The very idea that such a being could have alarmed her was risible. It was a local newspaper. No-one who read it would care, and the story that Faye was scared of was one that no-one would do more than snigger at. A bisexual policewoman? What was new in that? If there was a story it was in the way she’d warned Ashleigh off and finally bullied her off her turf. That would do her more damage than an ill-judged affair; it was the secret she’d want to protect. ‘I wasn’t alarmed, Ms