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

‘It’s in my own interests, isn't it? Because if there’s someone going around slaughtering gay people it’s in everyone’s interests that we catch him.’

*

‘What do we reckon, then?’ Jude had been silent for most of the short journey from Hunter Lane to the Carlton Hall HQ, drumming his fingers on his knee while he thought it through.

‘He definitely has a few more questions to answer, doesn’t he?’

‘He does. It’ll be interesting to see what we get from the car, if anything. Natalie claims to have discovered the body at a little after two, which fits with the information on her fitness tracker. Even if Giles was telling the truth about timings the window in which Len died is large enough for him to have been the killer.’

‘It doesn’t look good for him, does it?’ Ashleigh pictured Giles’s round, pink face with its expression of naked fear. ‘I know he came to us voluntarily, but I’ll bet it was only because he thought we’d find him.’ She turned off into the slip road.

‘He certainly thought about it for long enough. And it strikes me he’s an accomplished liar.’

‘I really struggle to understand why people have to get so hung up about their sexuality.’ Ashleigh thought of Faye, and how horrified both their husbands had been to discover the place Scott had left in Ashleigh’s bed had been filled by a woman.

‘My guess is that the doctor cares more about his good name and what’s left of his reputation. I imagine he’d have squirmed just as much if Len had been Leona.’

‘Do you? Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think he’d have hated himself quite as much as he seems to.’

‘You’re probably right.’ He glanced down at his watch as the car slowed. ‘I’ll go up and brief Doddsy. You run and get some lunch. I’ll join you there.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘A ham sandwich. Cake. Anything, as long as there’s lots of it. I’m starving.’

Ashleigh pulled up outside the entrance to let him out, then parked the car and made her way to the canteen. Over by the window Natalie Blackwell sat forlornly by herself while Claud stood at the other side of the room, deep in animated conversation with Faye.

In the course of the previous week’s fruitless investigation Ashleigh had delved into Natalie’s background. The overwhelming impression she’d acquired was of a woman who, with her intense and anxious gaze, her defensive body language and her obsession with running, had more to offer than anyone had ever asked of her. Pausing to evaluate her chances of avoiding Faye, she spared Natalie a second glance. Engaging her in conversation involved the risk of being cornered by Claud, whom she instinctively distrusted, or Faye, but curiosity got the better of her. She carried her tray across to the table where Natalie sat with an uneaten sandwich on a plate in front of her and indicated the seat next to her. ‘May I?’

‘Of course.’ Natalie shifted her seat to one side even though there was plenty of room, an indication of her willingness to chat. ‘Have a seat.’ A pause, while Ashleigh did so. ‘I’m sorry the chief inspector had to leave the workshop this morning.’

‘I’m sure he was, too.’ Ashleigh managed to look at Natalie with what passed for total sincerity and then turned back to her lunch. Natalie’s thin frame, her consuming obsession with exercise and the look she gave the two sandwiches and two pieces of cake on Ashleigh’s tray implied an eating disorder, either in the past or in the present.

‘We’ll be doing some more. Claud always tweaks the script as he goes on, to make it more bespoke. He’ll have a chance to review what we’ve done so far. Superintendent Scanlon asked DI Dodd to work with him on it.’ With apparent reluctance, Natalie made an attack on her sandwich, taking it apart with a knife and fork and extracting the filling. Limp lettuce and pale ham, shiny with mayonnaise, spilled out over the plate and she lifted the bread and piled the two slices to one side. ‘Sorry,’ she said, seeing Ashleigh’s look. ‘It’s a ballet dancer’s habit. No carbs.’

Aye right, thought Ashleigh to herself. It had been years since Natalie had quit the hard labour of the ballet and her tenure in it had barely lasted two years. Miles run, calories consumed, minutes passed — all were the indicators of Natalie’s insecurity, everything trapped and pigeonholed, even the abstract accounted for. ‘I should probably cut a few carbs myself.’

‘Oh, no. Everyone’s different.’ Natalie chased a slice of tomato around the plate with her fork before forcing herself to eat it, chewing slowly and chasing it down with a mouthful of thin black coffee. ‘Claud always says. Tolerance and diversity extend to the little things in life. It isn’t just about colour or gender or sexuality or religion. It’s about everyone being allowed to do things their way. If we can’t be tolerant of other people’s choices, how can we be expected to be tolerant of the things they have no choice over?’ Her pale hair had escaped from the grips that held it and dropped around her face like a curtain as she stared at her plate.

Running that over in her head a second time to try and make sense of it, Ashleigh gave it up, a debate for another time, preferably late at night in the pub when no-one would remember what they’d said the morning after. ‘Absolutely.’

‘So often, too, we resist things in others because we recognise them in ourselves.’ Natalie looked at the ham like someone who’d momentarily forgotten they were vegetarian. ‘That poor man they found.’

The they was telling, a signal of denial and trauma. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s obvious that whoever did it hates gay people.’

It wasn’t obvious, but it was possible. It could have been random. It could