IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery Ray Clark (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📖

“Twice?”

“Yes, twice, or maybe three times. It wasn’t often.”

The smaller detective read through some paperwork he’d retrieved from a folder. “I gather that your husband and Michael were business partners. How long for?”

“About eight years, I think.”

“Were you married to James when he started up the business with Michael Foreman?”

“And the other two idiots, yes.”

“And do you know much about the business?”

“Not really, it’s all a bit above me, computers and viruses and the like. All I know is they worked bloody hard; they were at it all hours.”

“So you never saw much of them in the early days?”

“No, as I’ve said, they were all busy.”

“And you don’t find it odd that you never saw Michael Foreman other than two or three times?”

“We hardly moved in the same social circles.”

“What about the other two partners?”

“Never saw much of them either, especially Zoe Harrison. She was even worse than Michael, totally unsociable. She spoke in bullet points, if she spoke at all.”

“So there were no office parties where you could all get to know each other a little better?”

“It wasn’t really that type of company,” replied Rosie. “If it had been we still wouldn’t have talked much. The best way to speak to Zoe was either email or text, even if you were in the same room.”

“What about Anthony Palmer?”

“In all honesty, we did see a little more of Anthony. Although he was single he was more family orientated.”

“Do you know if Zoe Harrison or Anthony Palmer had family?”

“Zoe’s parents are still alive but I believe they moved abroad years ago. They left her quite a tidy nest egg, which she used to inject into the business. That was pretty much what got it off the ground.”

“Any idea where they went?”

“No.”

“What about Anthony Palmer?”

“His parents died some years back. I believe he had an aunt and uncle that he was close to, but I don’t remember him talking about them much.”

“So you wouldn’t know where they lived?”

“No, but I had the impression it was local. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s this all about? You lot have been around here countless times, asked literally hundreds of questions, taken all my electrical equipment, which I’ve replaced at my own expense. I’m sure we’ve covered everything I know.”

“Are you religious, Mrs Henshaw?”

“Religious? What the hell kind of a question is that? Am I religious? If I was, He certainly isn’t doing a very good job of answering my prayers, is He?” she replied, pointing upwards.

“Were any of them religious; your husband or his business partners?”

Rosie shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t know them well enough.”

“What about Anthony Palmer? You had any contact with him?”

“You have my landline records there, my phone is tapped, so you tell me.”

“Can you please answer the question?”

“He called me last night but before you start I have no idea where from and he wasn’t on that long so I doubt you’ll have been able to trace it.”

“That was when you called him a four-eyed, spineless, murdering parasite,” said the smaller one, smiling.

“Why did you call him that?” asked the taller one.

“Figure of speech, officer.” Christ, they were on the ball, thought Rosie.

“No love lost with him, either?”

“We weren’t what you would call bosom buddies. Out of all of them I always thought Anthony Palmer was the better one, the more sociable one, and probably even the most helpful. Looks like I got that one wrong, didn’t I?”

“Returning to the phone conversation with Michael Foreman, you also mentioned you’d been married to a bloke who couldn’t tell the truth if he was given Pentothal. Do you have much experience with drugs or chemicals?”

Rosie stood up, the knot in her stomach tightening. “What the hell are you getting at? Are you accusing me of something?”

“If you could just answer the question, please.”

“I’m a housewife for God’s sake, not a chemist. My life is my children. We’ve already established that I’m not responsible for the hit and run so why the hell are you asking all these stupid questions. Am I under arrest?”

“Not at all.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“We’re trying to get to the truth.”

“About what? Because this doesn’t sound to me like it has anything to do with the hit and run.”

“On the contrary, Mrs Henshaw, it is connected.”

“Do I need a solicitor?”

“Do you think you need one?”

“I haven’t done anything. So why am I so concerned all of a sudden?”

“Where were you last night?”

“I was here, all night. Ask my children.”

“Apart from your children, can anyone else confirm that?”

“There was no one else here, so no. And given that you have my landline records you’ll see I never took or made another call last night.”

“What about the night before?”

“Here again,” replied Rosie. “What is going on?”

“We’re just doing our job, Mrs Henshaw,” said the smaller, friendlier copper, in a soothing tone. “And there are times when we don’t like it but we still have to do it. Three months ago, a man and his wife were killed in a hit and run, which involved your husband and his business partners, all of whom went missing pretty much immediately afterwards. No one’s seen anything of them since, apart from Michael Foreman.”

“So you have found him?”

“Yes, Mrs Henshaw, we’ve found him,” said the taller one.

“So why don’t you ask him the questions you’re asking me?”

“I’m afraid we can’t.”

“Oh my God…” Rosie’s hands flew to her mouth. Her expression changed from one of abstract fear to growing concern.

With her legs trembling, she dropped back onto the kitchen chair. “Oh my God, that’s why you’re asking