TEN

‘Tristan Charlton is . . . was . . . my brother-in-law.’

‘You’re married?’

‘Was. A few years ago now. Celia. She died, though . . . took her own life.’

She lowered her gaze, made the appropriate response but managed to make it appear that she genuinely meant it. ‘I’m sorry.’ It occurred to me that her initial somewhat frosty demeanour was going the way of many chilly mornings and turning into quite a warm day.

‘She had a history of depression.’ I didn’t need to tell her any more but it was automatic, a defence against having people think that I might have driven her to it – after all, Tristan seemed to think so. ‘She hated being married to me, yet she found that she couldn’t live without me . . .’ I might have stopped then, but found that I couldn’t. ‘She’d tried to kill herself before . . .’

Did she look at me slightly askance, perhaps thinking that I was protesting too much? I couldn’t tell and her voice seemed to possess the right amount of understanding as she murmured, ‘I understand.’

There followed the briefest of pauses before I said, ‘Tristan’s never been able to accept the loss of his sister. They were close and Tristan is . . .’

I was having trouble finding the right words but she finished for me. ‘Not normal?’

I flashed her a smile. ‘You could say that. He’s always had serious psychiatric problems. He attacked me not long after Celia died; did a pretty good job, too; basically left me for dead. He was convicted for that, but he was released last year.’

‘Last year? Where’s he been since then?’

And so I went on to explain about Sophie and Leo, her dog, and about what had happened whilst members of the Thornton Heath Horticultural and Allotment Society were dying in their ancient droves. About how Tristan felt that I shouldn’t be happy any more, that anyone I fell in love with was a legitimate target.

‘He went away, but I knew he’d be back. Tristan has many faults, but weakness of will isn’t one of them. He’s decided that I’m to suffer no matter what.’

Sergeant Abelson’s expression was interesting; I thought I saw several measures of disbelief, perhaps one of sorrow, and a dash – although only a dash – of interest. ‘And you think that this –’ she waved vaguely over her back towards the front door – ‘was done by this by Tristan?’

‘Don’t you, after what I’ve just told you?’

But she said, ‘Well . . .’

‘Look, you have to admit, whoever killed Max’s rabbit wasn’t normal, don’t you?’

Her head bobbed from side to side in cautious agreement, while her faint frown made a faint but pleasing dimple for itself. ‘Maybe . . .’

‘If not him, then who else?’

‘I don’t know at the moment.’ It was a typical police response. ‘There are a lot of strange people around, you know.’

Given what seemed to keep happening in Thornton Heath at the time, I couldn’t muster much of an argument against this. ‘At least make some enquiries, Sergeant. Don’t just dismiss what I’m saying.’

She said at once, ‘No, of course I won’t.’

And I believed her. ‘Thank you.’

‘I need to look at the hutch.’

So I took her out through the back door where Twinkle’s empty hutch stood on an old kitchen cupboard, its door hanging open, a home without a heart. Not even the rather strong stench of rabbit urine carefully blended with that of rabbit droppings and sweet hay could make it less poignant. Never again would my fingers be at risk as I reached in to take the little swine out so that Max could clean its home out and make everything fresh again. Never again would I wish the little sod would stop wriggling so much. The good Sergeant began to examine the hutch carefully by the light of a torch.

‘I expect this is the last thing you could do with, what with the happenings at the school.’

‘Things are a bit busy at the station,’ she murmured distractedly.

‘Any breaking news?’

She looked up at me. ‘Now you know I can’t tell you anything, Dr Elliot.’

‘No, of course.’

She turned again to the hutch; I wondered idly what she expected to find but didn’t voice my puzzlement. It was still quite warm and the rumble of traffic along the London Road was starting to lessen. She said almost to herself, ‘We’ve already got a few potential leads.’

I suddenly paid attention. ‘Really?’

She nodded, although she was inspecting the hinges. ‘The first trawl through criminal records has already netted us a few interesting fish.’

I wondered why she was telling me this if she was breaking confidences and putting herself at risk of disciplinary action, but I asked anyway, ‘Can you tell me any more?’

I didn’t understand her reaction, though. She smirked over her shoulder. ‘I really shouldn’t, you know.’

What was wrong with her? Either she was going to tell me or she wasn’t. Why was she teasing me? I said uncertainly, ‘No, I don’t suppose you should.’

Her expression as she said, ‘Exactly,’ was unreadable. She returned to the hinges and I was left completely perplexed.