Chapter 29

 

Everybody spoke about the weather as they waited outside St. Ethelbert’s. It had turned unseasonably cool and had already rained with a thin drizzle that felt like nothing until you realised how wet your clothes and hair had become.

Edith could not see any sign of John Sheridan. She stood outside with Archie and eventually when the conversation, that strange irrelevant, distracting talk about the weather had ground to a halt and the bell rang loudly and compellingly they went into the church, to silence broken by shuffling and the odd whisper and rustle of hymn books. The air was heavy with the smell of damp clothing and heady lilies. The congregation was going to exceed the room and Edith noticed that Archie or the churchwardens had made provision to seat extra people in the choir stalls and even on the path outside the church.

Her heart was with Julia and the children and for their sakes, she wanted this bit to be over. Anew, the thought of a possible appearance from Daphne Sheridan struck her and this time, in the reality of St. Ethelbert’s at this moment, the thought that it might happen was insupportable. Surely, nothing like that would really happen? She closed her eyes tight and prayed that Julia and the children would be spared further hurt. Maybe her husband had waylaid her before she’d actually got as far as St. Ethelred’s

The shuffling stopped as the funeral party approached the church door and Henry’s voice rang through the church. People fought the urge to look at Julia and her family, but inevitably their eyes were drawn to the widow who was walking behind the coffin up the aisle, holding Beatrice’s hand. The boys, looking painfully young and scrubbed were directly behind their mother and sister. Beatrice was crying and Julia looked straight ahead, her face set.

In spite of the solemnity and the stark reminder of what had happened, Edith felt the tight band in her chest, loosen a bit; perhaps it would actually be all right. The singing of “Eternal father, strong to save, The day thou gavest Llord has ended,” and presumably as a nod to Giles’s war service,” I vow to thee my country,” blazed loudly through the church. It was as if the congregation felt some release through the act of singing the familiar hymns; were soothed by the traditions and solemnity. The disorder of the deed that had been perpetrated on Giles Etherington was partly assuaged by the orderliness and dignity of this service.

A few times, Edith thought she heard something and stomach tightening in dread, looked behind as discreetly as she could.

The end of the service approached, but Edith didn’t allow herself to relax. There was still time for Daphne to appear.

The buzz of talk outside the church, before they went to the adjoining cemetery grew loud as the relief that follows a funeral church service began to make itself felt.

Edith stood with Archie, unsure of whether or not to go to Julia. Beatrice was now standing with her cousin Daisy, from the farm and Edith noticed that still she was not talking though she clutched a velvet handbag close to her and the tears had ceased, at least for now. The boys were quiet, standing very close to their mother, shaking hands with people who came to pay their respects to them and Julia.

Something in the air changed and Edith felt a shudder at the nape of her neck. The chatter of voices had abated and she could clearly feel that the topic had changed by the whispers and the urgency.

Edith turned to look behind her and saw Inspector Greene and Sergeant Brown and her knees actually wobbled in relief. For an awful few seconds she’d been sure that Daphne had turned up after all. But, then she looked more closely at the two men and was instantly aware that something was very wrong. It was no surprise that they were here. She and Archie had even discussed it and Archie had said that it was normal for the investigating officers to attend the funeral of a murder victim.

“Partly respect, perhaps, but also part of the investigation, I’m sure.”

Until this moment, probably because of her fixation with Daphne, Edith hadn’t given Archie’s comments another thought.

But, this was different. They hadn’t turned up for the funeral; though they were in time for the burial. But, in Greene’s face, in particular, Edith could see something clearly written. He was taciturn, at the best of times but now his expression was grim, even beyond the solemnity of the occasion.

She glanced at Archie, who stood very still at her side. His jaw-line was set and, though he’d shaved, this morning, his face looked dark and at the same time, pale and she felt an echo of the worry she’s felt when she’d looked at him days ago and noticed his unhealthy hue.

She actually saw Julia become aware of the policemen’s presence.

Shock made her eyes widen and Edith could see where she had applied the rouge, this morning, as the natural colour now left her face.

It was actually a relief, when Henry, paying no heed to the policemen approached Julia and had a quiet word. Then the coffin was carried to the graveside and the short burial service took place. The two policemen stood very unobtrusively, just the slightest distance from the rest of the mourners. They didn’t speak to anyone. They’re biding their time, Edith thought and whispered this to Archie, hoping that he would contradict her, but he nodded and glanced across at the two men.

Then there was a bustle with cars as people returned to the Etherington’s house.

Julia approached Edith. “Will you come back in the car with me, Edith, stay with me, please?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Daisy grabbed her cousin’s hand. She would make her talk, see if she wouldn’t. It was horrible to see her Bea like this. In the church, tears had hurt Daisy’s chest and she’d tried and tried to stop them, but they’d come anyway and a sobbing sound and her dad had put his arm around her shoulder and that had made the tears come all the more because Bea didn’t have her daddy any more. She would never, ever see him again. It was too big to think about but maybe she could just distract Bea, maybe for a while. She’s tried when they’d all come up to the farm. The boys had seemed as usual, to her, anyway, but Bea just wouldn’t say anything. She was there all the time with Daisy, like a shadow, but no words came out of her mouth. It had been embarrassing first, then it had been just very strange.

Now, she caught Bea’s arm. “Come on,” she said and they’d gone out onto the terrace, then back behind the house, where the buildings were, their favourite place. Unusually, for Bea, she didn’t seem to want to go to the stable to see Frankie.

“Here, then,” Daisy said, and still holding onto her cousin’s arm, half dragged her into the hay barn. Daisy could smell the hay, which had once been grass growing in the long meadow at home. Bales of straw were stacked at the far end of the barn and without either of them deciding anything that’s where they went and sat down, Daisy sparing a quick thought for her mother’s warning to keep her good clothes clean. But, this was an emergency.

She put a hand on either side of her cousin’s face, just like she used to do when as a small child, she wanted someone’s attention.

“Bea, talk to me, just talk to me, please.”

Bea twisted her face, looking away.

Daisy took her hands away and they sat for a moment, in silence.

Daisy didn’t know what to do or say next. She’d been determined not to go back inside until Bea talked but they might be here a long time, in that case.

“I saw a man, Daisy,” Daisy started, Bea’s voice sounded different and then she coughed.

“What man?” Daisy was almost whispering and her heart was racing because Bea was talking.

“With my dad, when I found him, when… you know.”

Daisy’s arm was still around her and she felt Bea really shake. She tightened her arm around her.

“He swore and said really bad words and said he would hurt mummy and my brothers if I told anyone I’d seen him. Then he went away, he was limping. I was frightened.”

Daisy felt her throat tighten and her stomach became fluttery, like the time when her dad had let the bull get out and had told them all to get in the house.

“We can tell my dad, please, Bea, he’ll make it all right. We can trust him.”

But Bea pulled away and stood up, putting her hands over her face. “No, no, Daisy, promise me, swear on your life, my life, Frankie’s life. If you say anything, he’ll kill the rest of my family and it’ll be my fault….Promise, are you going to promise?”

“I promise,” said Daisy. Her heart felt like a huge weight inside her chest.

 

Mrs. Sugden had prepared and set out plates of cold meats and salads and glasses of sherry and whiskey were handed out by the two boys who were clearly relieved to be given a job.

Very shortly, after arriving back at the house, a maid came across to where Julia was trying to talk to an elderly aunt of Giles who was hard of hearing and continuously saying, “eh?” and “speak up, my dear.”

Then, Julia left the room and Edith knew she’d been summoned by the police.

What on earth could have happened?

She soon knew when the same maid approached her and she was asked to step out into the hall.

“What is it? Where’s Julia?”

Inspector Greene had removed his hat and coat and his expression remained stern.

“Could you please step into this room, here?” He indicated Julia’s small sitting room. The funeral reception was being held in the drawing room where some of the guests had already stepped through the French windows out onto the terrace. The weather had cleared and many of them seemed glad to breathe the fresh air and remove themselves from the solemnity and grief for a few moments.

The room they entered was quiet and Edith could no longer hear the guests’ voices.

Her mouth was dry and she regretted the sherry she’d drank. She wanted a glass of water but didn’t feel like asking him for anything.

Sergeant Brown was nowhere in sight and Edith presumed he was with Julia.

“Did you come to this house, last evening, or last night, to see Mrs. Etherington, Miss Horton?”

Instinctively, she answered, needing to tell the truth.

“Yes, Henry and I came to see Julia.”

“What time, Miss Horton?

He barked out the questions and she saw something in the man that she’d never seen before. With her and particularly with Archie, he’d been dogged and sometimes supercilious; now he was completely focused on whatever was occupying his mind and he had about him, almost an aura of danger. Don’t be stupid, she told herself as she answered his question about the time, she and Henry had called to see Julia and then her heart dropped like a stone when he asked for the reason for the visit. Her first, panicked thought was to lie. Wouldn’t it be normal for her and Henry to visit a good friend on the night before her husband’s funeral?

He must have read her mind.

I know you visited Betty’s tea-rooms with the husband of the woman Giles Etherington had had a relationship with.”

Edith knew she would have to just tell him the plain truth, but first she would ask an explanation for this visit, just at this particular time.

“Why have you come here today of all days, Inspector? Has something happened?”

He inclined his head, his lips compressed; a look of impatience on the rugged face.

“You might indeed say that, Miss Horton. Something has indeed happened. The body of a woman has been found on the grounds here. Mrs. Sheridan’s body. The circumstances of her death are suspicious.”

Edith felt a cold shock through her body and she shivered. Her heart pounded hard and that was good in a way, bringing her back to the physical. For a horrible moment, there she’d thought the room was going to fade out and she was going to faint.

Then she was disturbed anew to realise that though she had been shocked, as soon as the news had begun to sink in, she wasn’t all that surprised. There was something inevitable about it.

“Can you tell me exactly what was said at your meeting with John Sheridan, yesterday?”

A dozen questions jostled with each other in Edith’s mind. Most pressingly she wanted to ask him if John Sheridan was a suspect. It was a strange coincidence that he was here in Ellbeck too, to say the very least. Her most urgent question was about Julia, though. Did the police think they had their woman?

She answered his question about the meeting with John Sheridan but most of her mind was worrying about Julia; to an outside person, someone who didn’t know her, this looked very black.

“He said he was going to spent spend the night in The Old Swan, principally to make sure his wife didn’t turn up to John’s funeral and make a scene and upset everyone, particularly the children.”

“Well, someone certainly made sure of that, Miss Horton.”

She dared to ask a question, “Have you seen Mr. Sheridan…spoken to him?”

She held her breath; surely he’d be the first person to come under suspicion. She didn’t wish the man any harm, but better him than Julia.

“We have spoken to him, yes.”

His answer was loaded with implacability. He’d said all he was going to on the subject.

 

Bill Brown was in mental torment.

The woman before him was dressed in black, relieved with a cream blouse. Her eyes were dry and huge and haunted and he felt like the worst kind of monster as he sat with her in the kitchen, following Inspector Greene’s orders.

Greene himself had grilled her on everything she’d done the day before–everybody she’d seen or spoken to on the telephone.

She’d been calm at the start, calmer than he’d expected seeing that she’d just buried her husband and had been hauled away from family and friends to answer questions.

Brown had been given his instructions, which were one or another variation on, say as little as possible. As Greene began going over old ground about the morning her husband had been shot, the woman’s demeanour changed. She began to shake and sweat broke out on her forehead. She’d asked for a glass of water and had had to use both hands to bring it to her lips, so badly did her hands shake.

Greene’s eyes met his, briefly and Brown had thought he saw a gleam of triumph in them and his chest filled with sheer rage, so much so that he had had to walk to the other side of the room in the pretext of checking that the door was properly closed. Sometimes this was a despicable job. Could Inspector Green not see that extreme distress could show itself in a very similar way to guilt?

Then he had mentioned taking her down to the station to ask some further questions and she had cried out.

“I can’t possibly, Inspector, please, no! I can’t leave my children tonight of all nights. Surely you can see that?”

Greene had gone through to the drawing room where the friends were gathered, to speak to Miss Horton. Brown had the feeling that he was uncertain whether or not to take the woman in for further questioning, though what she could tell them beyond what she already had was a mystery to him.

Now, Julia spoke to him, her voice low.

“I don’t want to put you in a difficult position, Sergeant or to get you in any trouble, but do you think Inspector Greene really is going to take me to the station? What about the children? What am I going to tell them?”

Bill Brown felt his throat tighten, actually wished that Greene would come back.

To hell with it, he decided. Whatever he said could be used against him by Greene at one time or another. He really may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. At that thought he looked with horror at Julia’s face, at her white neck. No! He pushed morbid thoughts from his head. His mother had always told him he had too much imagination.

“Maybe not, maybe if you have someone stay with you overnight, say Miss Horton or one of your relatives?.”

“I’ll ask Edith,” she said and he hoped in his heart that he was not giving her false hope. Who could really tell what Greene could do? It would depend, maybe on what Edith Horton and Henry Wilkes said.

“You’ll have a solicitor?” he asked urgently. It was an impulse, but he wanted it said before his boss came back into the kitchen.

“Yes, George Stubbs, of Stubbs and Ainsworth from Harrogate. Do you think I need to speak to him?”

“Definitely, Mrs. Etherington,” he said. It felt better having said that.

Then, they sat in silence. He glanced at her and she looked miles away, calmer, more still but her mind was so clearly elsewhere that when he felt a tickle in his throat and coughed, she started.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That’s all right. I was just thinking what on earth has brought me to this point in my life and what am I going to tell the children? I wish Inspector Greene would come back, put me out of this misery.”

The door opened and he stood there, probably, Brown thought, just about catching what she’d said.

“I’m not arresting you, Mrs. Etherington,” he said. As if, Brown thought, he was doing her a big favour. “We’ll be back and we will have more questions for you. I don’t want you to leave the house, tonight.”

“I don’t want to leave the house,” she said, “I want to stay here with my children.” Browne thought she looked like she had more to say, but Greene continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Your friend, Miss Horton has agreed to spend the night here. I know she’s had her ups and downs but I believe she is quite trustworthy, on the whole.”

The woman laughed, a loud joyless sound and Brown jumped. It was so unexpected, so wrong. He looked at her and her face creased and the laugh turned into a sob. She put her hands over her eyes and said. “I’m sorry. I’m being hysterical…it’s just what you said about Edith… Her voice shook again, between a laugh and a sob. He heard her take deep, jagged breaths. He was helpless, wanting to do something, offer her water or something; fetch the other woman, the doctor even. But, Greene glared at him and held his hand out, palm down, in a gesture that told Brown to remain quiet.

They left, shortly afterwards, Greene even more taciturn than usual and drove back to the station in almost silence, broken only when Greene said, “Don’t be so gullible, all your life, Brown. Good-looking women can do murderous deeds. People can act as if they are grief-stricken, do their best to make you feel guilty, as if you’re hounding them. If you can’t get that into your head, you’re in the wrong job.”

“Yes, sir,” Brown replied and all the way to the station he wondered about that. Was he in the wrong job and did he really want to end up like his boss; automatically believing the worst of everybody?

He’s felt wrong all day today, out of sorts, his mother would call it, whatever that actually meant.

His mother had actually had to come into his bedroom this morning to shake him awake, so deeply asleep had he been. What was worse, the inspector was sitting at the kitchen table when he came downstairs, tousle-headed and half-asleep.

“I came round as I didn’t want to give you a heart-attack, Mrs. Brown, telephoning you at this hour of the morning. It was only then, Bill looked at the case clock in the corner of the kitchen and saw that it was not quite a quarter past six.

His mother had the kettle on, but Brown had a feeling there would be no time for tea.

“A dead woman on the grounds of Etherington’s house,” the Inspector said and Browne saw his mother’s back stiffen and she stood completely still for a moment.

They stood in front of the body, carefully looking, not touching. Brown was trying to take a photograph in his minds’ mind’s eye. He knew this was an aspect of his job he actually was quite good at. The first time he had encountered death as part of his policeman’s job, the victim had been gored by a bull; ironically, according to his hysterical wife, a bull, the man had reared and known from its birth. It had been a bloody scene, but Bill Brown had been calm and for the first time, Inspector Greene had looked at him differently. Bill saw the glance and the surprise in it. For, Bill, who’d accompanied his mother to wakes as a child, once the soul and spirit had left the body, there was nothing to frighten anyone. The person could no longer feel pain or fear so in a way that brought a certain peace. The remains should be treated with respect and in police work, with care to the investigation but apart from acknowledging that, Bill was calm.

The woman lay in an awkward position as if she’d fallen sideways. There wasn’t a huge amount of blood, but what there was proved a stark and almost shocking contrast to the pale-blue suit she wore. The jacket was fitted and the ensemble looked expensive, to Brown’s eyes. His mother’s magazine would have called the blue, a powder blue and the grey of the edging would have been called, dove grey. The edging perfectly matched the shoes, which weren’t completely off her feet but had dislodged in the fall and were partially off. The stockings were sheer and silk and Brown saw a ladder in the right calf. He swallowed when he saw that, it was the small things that got to you. A handbag in grey leather with a black clasp lay, still closed on the ground.

“Not Mrs. Etherington?” he asked.

“No, not Mrs. Etherington.

Inspector Green had dispatched young Constable Turner to telephone for the county pathologist and they settled down to await him.

Greene, controlled and, it seemed to Brown, in his element, examined the surroundings. He had checked that life was extinct, though there really was no doubt. Brown wondered when it had happened. Just like, Giles Etherington’s death, there had been a shower of rain after the murder. It was that kind of late summer, this year, alternating between oppressive rain and sharp showers.

“We’re literally yards away from where the other body was found,” Greene said and Brown nodded. It was a smallish wooded area, several hundreds of yards away from the house. Brown looked up, thinking he could actually hear the sound of a grouse.

“Knocks my idea of a political motive into a thin hat, eh, Brown?”

“Not necessarily,” Brown answered, automatically. But he didn’t mean it. This was the woman, Etherington had been having the affair with and that changed everything. It was the personal life. Clearly.

“The funeral is at 12 o’ clock today and I think we need to allow that to go ahead. Then we need to see the widow woman and what she has to say for herself.”

He gave a sharp, calculating look at Brown.

“Eh, Sergeant?

“Yes, sir,” Brown answered.

He looked up at the sky again and saw that another shower was on the way.

The police doctor, Hedges was brisk, Bill Brown thought he considered himself a cut above, but to be fair, that might well stem from his own feelings of being inferior, usually hidden, but always ready to come to the fore when he felt he was being disregarded.

“Either the perpetrator knew what he was about here, or it was a lucky strike, if you’ll excuse the expression, Inspector. Straight in between the ribs, and in the region of the heart. I think we’ll find that a lot of the bleeding was internal. The knife, as you can see, of course, was removed from the scene. We’ll have her removed to the mortuary in Harrogate for formal examination and post-mortem. You know the identity?”

Greene answered, “Yes, a Daphne Sheridan. I had reason to talk to the woman myself, recently, in connection with Giles Etherington. They were having an affair.

Brown decided he definitely didn’t like the doctor when he heard his next comments.

“Aw, playing away from home, was he, old Giles…I say, and this was the young lady in question?”

It wasn’t the words, but the snide intonation and Brown felt his face flush.

He had no opportunity to speak to his boss until just before they set out for St. Ethelbert’s. He’d wondered at the wisdom of what Greene purported to do–allow the funeral to take place then bring Mrs. Etherington in for questioning. He had many questions himself–principally why would Mrs. Etherington risk her freedom, her life, for goodness sake for the sake of an affair that no longer existed? Her husband was dead. What did it matter now? Her children only had one parent left. It would be insane to risk being taken away from them; maybe when the affair had been at its height and she had been distraught–maybe then but surely not now.

She echoed his words to Inspector Greene when he returned to the kitchen.

“Why would I stab the woman? What could I possibly gain now?”

“There’s no point in directing rhetorical questions at me, Mrs. Etherington. I don’t know what would motivate you. The reasons people carry out such deeds are often a mystery to others. Did you see her last night?”

She had started slightly at the question and Brown saw her glance shift, she looked at Inspector Greene, at him and then down. He knew that there was a flash of time where she’d considered lying to them and who could blame her, he thought. She must be in a panic as she recognised the position she was in. Don’t lie, he told her silently. If the woman came here, someone will know about it or someone will have seen her.

“I saw her, yes. She came to the house. I couldn’t believe it, really. She got a taxi cab from Harrogate and came out to the house. She sent the taxi away and insisted she wanted to walk down to the village, that she had booked a room at the Fox.

“What was her reason for coming to Yorkshire?”

“She said she wanted to come to Giles’s funeral. I told her I didn’t want her there. I couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. It gave me hope in a way, though Inspector. I thought the fact that she came and told me about it meant that she wasn’t sure, hadn’t really decided.”

Inspector Green let a silence develop until Brown felt uneasy.

“What time did Daphne Sheridan come to your house last night and how long did she stay?

“It was about eight o clock. Both boys were in Charles’s bedroom. They hadn’t wanted to stay downstairs. They were dreading the funeral and I think just wanted to be by themselves. Bea had gone to bed. I can only thank God for that. I don’t know what I could have done if she’d come while they were there.”

Brown saw Julia Etherington hang her head as if it was too heavy for her shoulders. She sat dejected for several seconds then, making an obvious effort, she raised her head and pulled back her shoulders. She had a beautiful complexion, one of those where colour ebbed and flowed. Now, her skin looked almost mottled and tiredness had drawn a brush across her face, making her features fade and the bones prominent. Brown thought she was so beautiful.

Greene only allowed Julia seconds to compose herself before he was questioning her again on exactly what Daphne Sheridan had said.

“Apart from talking about coming to the funeral, did you have any further conversation about her relationship with your husband, Mrs. Etherington? I mean it must have been fairly galling for you to have her fetching up on your doorstep, like this for the second time.”

She didn’t seem to consider her words just answered in what seemed to Brown to be absolute honesty.

“I was furious the first time she came here; last night I was more worried, worried sick actually as to what she would do today.” She hesitated and Brown tried to send her a mental message to be on her guard.

“Furious…worried, Mrs. Etheridge, indeed; and who could blame you? The question here is whether or not you really couldn’t tolerate the thought of her coming to the funeral and upsetting your children, when they are already upset–to say the least.”

“I didn’t stab her. I don’t think I’m capable of it and I’m definitely not capable of following her out of the house and doing something like that in a cold and calculated way.”

Greene thrust out his bottom lip and then he frowned causing deep grooves in his forehead.

“You nursed in the war?”

Now, Brown saw that Julia too frowned.

“Yes, in the VADs, but for most of the time back in England, in a hospital.”

“I know but thinking just for a minute about the set-up in France. Pretty brutal, eh?”

Julia’s tone of voice rose and Brown thought she was angry.

“Of course, but I don’t see…”

“No, maybe you don’t, but it was a fair example of what people are capable of, given the circumstances.”

She gave him a glance that, to Brown seemed contemptuous and he agreed with her; it was below the belt. That was Inspector Green, though–the end justified the means when it came to a case and sewing it up.

“The woman’s husband is in the area. Surely he would have at least as much of a reason as me to have stabbed Daphne–more reason.”

She gave a short mirthless laugh.

“Scratch that out. I can’t believe I even said it. I know nothing whatsoever about the man.”

Greene held a hand out in a curious gesture, almost, thought Brown as though he was being conciliatory.

“Trust me, Mrs. Etherington. John Sheridan will come under every bit as much scrutiny as you.”

But, Bill Brown wondered. The man was a barrister and as soon as they had found out he was in the area and went to see him at the Old Swan hotel he was on the telephone to one of his professional colleagues. Any further questioning would have to be carried out even more carefully. “One hand tied behind my flaming back,” Greene had muttered on the way back to the station.

John Sheridan had been urbane, articulate and seemed to have an alibi–of sorts.

“I had dinner here in the hotel, abandoned attempts to track my wife down until the morning. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to alert her to my presence here, thought any sort of confrontation would be better avoided and if we were to meet at all I thought the nearer the time was to the funeral, the better the chance of dissuading her from causing upset.”

Brown could see that his boss, though trying very hard to hide it, was intimidated by John Sheridan. He could tell by the way, Green spoke slowly, more distinctly than usual and he lacked some of his usual bluster. Bill Brown actually felt a bit disappointed by this. He’d honestly believed that Inspector Greene would be above this–feeling intimidated by the man’s job. Then he listened to Greene question the man about the previous night and he wasn’t so sure any more. Was Greene intimidated or was he just watching his step, careful not to put a foot wrong and have his investigation hampered by the power of a man like this? Brown knew enough to know, that they were dealing with someone who could easily exploit the slightest breach of etiquette, and use it to either stop them in their tracks or at least delay things.

Bill Brown believed the man was shocked when they knocked on the door of his hotel room and he admitted them. The room was spacious and tidy and he’d clearly been at the writing desk in the far corner.

“I presume this is about my wife. What has she done?”

Unless he could act well, he really didn’t know what had happened to her.

Greene had clearly rehearsed what he was going to say.

“She hasn’t done anything, Mr. Sheridan, but I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Very serious news.

The man’s expression froze.

“What’s happened?”

“I’m afraid your wife’s body has been discovered in some local woodland. Someone has stabbed her.

“She’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so, sir and I know you will appreciate that in spite of the tragic situation, we still need to ask you some questions.”

The man didn’t speak for a moment, but he pulled a chair to towards him and sat down. He clasped his hands together and placed them on his knees. Brown saw he was clasping them very tightly. He was an austere-looking man, though handsome, not a spare inch on him. Brown judged him to be in his forties, but at this moment he looked more than that and Brown felt a stab of pity.

Then, John Sheridan took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Let me be frank with you Inspector…”

He looked towards Brown and nodded.

“And you too, Sergeant. My wife and I weren’t on the best of terms. To be even more frank, I think our marriage was over. She’d had an affair with Giles Etherington. I’m not sure when it ended, but then it turned into something else. I suppose the best way to describe it is to say that she became obsessed with the man. She was beside herself when he died.”

Brown looked at Inspector Green, who hadn’t interjected, just allowed the silence that followed to go on until Brown felt his own heart pound with tension.

“I’m not sure I understand where you fit into the picture, here, Mr. Sheridan? I mean most men would react in some way to this sort of…carry on. Divorce is becoming more acceptable since the war, but…”

Brown saw a spark of anger cross Sheridan’s face and could almost hear the words–that’s none of your business, form themselves in the man’s face,, but he restrained himself.

“It’s rarely so simple, is it, Inspector? I wanted to avoid scandal. My wife is, or I should say, now, was, very unstable. She could have caused me a lot of damage. Indeed, I suspect she has already done so. I know she’s been saying things. We move in a small circle really, as much as we do socialise. It doesn’t take a lot to make people think the worst. I was trying to manage the situation.”

But, now you don’t, Brown thought, He would give a pound to a penny that the same thought had crossed his boss’s mind.

Sheridan got up and crossed the room to the window. He looked out and then back at them. His face was in the shadows.

“I will formally identify my wife’s body. Presumably, you want me to do that?” Greene nodded.

Sheridan continued, “I’ve told you everything I know and I am more than anxious to get back to London. As you can imagine I have urgent things to deal with there. Is there any reason you need me to stay in Harrogate?”

Greene shook his head and Bill Brown saw that he was uneasy.

“No reason for now, sir.”