In for the Kill by Pauline Rowson

reports and my notebook. Then I knocked at Scarlett’s door. Whilst I waited for her to answer I looked around. There were no cars loitering in the car parks further along the road towards the Toll Gate café, or in the other direction towards the marina, but a few passed me on the Embankment Road. Any one of them could have contained one of Rowde’s cronies or the police, which reminded me…had Miles found out what unit DCI Crowder was attached to? Time to call him later. I was just beginning to think that Scarlett was out when the door opened. She looked as though she’d been asleep.
    She ran a hand through her hair.
    ‘I’m going over to the mainland. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I thought you ought to know in case your mother tries to get on the boat and gets upset.’
    ‘Oh.’ She looked surprised. I suppose my thoughtfulness disarmed her.
    ‘Do you have a telephone?’ Now I really had surprised her.
    ‘A mobile, why?’
    ‘Give me the number.’
    She did without question and again I marvelled at her complete lack of curiosity. It was only when I was on the car ferry heading across the Solent that I rumbled. She had been with someone, a boyfriend perhaps, judging by the dishevelled appearance, the reluctance to invite me in, and the hastily dragged on clothes. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone but I was convinced she hadn’t been alone. I was surprised to find it peeved me a little.
    I grabbed a sandwich and coffee on the ferry.
    Eating it was a bit uncomfortable and I drew some peculiar looks from the other passengers who studiously avoided me. That suited me fine.
    They probably had me down for a thug. Still that was their problem not mine. I called Miles, who confirmed that Crowder was from the Specialist Investigations Unit of the Hampshire Constabulary. There had been no call from Jennifer Clipton. I didn’t tell him about Rowde, or Westnam, or that I was on my way to see Brookes’ widow. I was taking a bit of a gamble but it was time I talked to her. I just hoped she was still at the address Joe had given me.
    She was. As she opened the door to me two hours later, her shocked expression at my bruised face turned to wariness and she closed the door slightly. I could see that she didn’t recognise me.
    ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for Roger Brookes,’ I began pleasantly.
    ‘He’s not here.’ She frowned, puzzlement accompanying wariness. She hadn’t changed much from her appearances in court alongside her husband. Still very slim, narrow-hipped and long-legged, bottle blonde straight shoulder-length hair, lines around her blue eyes and tight, slightly hard mouth.
    ‘When will he be back?’ I asked in all innocence of his recent demise.
    ‘He won’t, he’s… he passed away two years ago.’
    I feigned horror and shock. It must have worked because her expression softened. I said,
    ‘I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know. Are you his wife?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Please forgive me. I do hope I haven’t upset you. I had no idea that Roger had died,’ I lied, hoping that I looked distraught. Maybe if I came through this I could turn to acting, I thought wryly, as she certainly seemed convinced.
    ‘Were you a friend of his? I don’t think I recall you although you do look vaguely familiar.’
    ‘I expect it’s hard to recognise me through all the bruises. I had a car accident a couple of days ago. Nothing too serious but enough to make me look like this. I’ve just come from the States and I forgot I was driving on the wrong side of the road. My name’s Bob Morley. I used to work with Roger.’
    ‘Would you like to come in, Mr Morley?’
    ‘I’m not disturbing you?’ I stepped inside a wide hall with a highly polished floor and an oak staircase leading up to a galleried landing.
    ‘No, it’s nice to have the company. Come through to the kitchen. Would you like a drink?’
    ‘Thanks – and it’s Bob. This really is very kind of you. What a lovely house, Roger