After Freddie Trimble had left her office, Martha sat for a while taking stock, trying to work it all out. Because now that she’d found a link between Gina and Patrick, what was her next step?
She rang Amanda Elson’s mobile phone and asked her about the note she had sent to cover her son’s absence from school the week before he’d died. And as expected, Amanda knew nothing about it.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t ill. He was at school …’ Her voice trailed away. She was wondering how well she’d actually known her own son.
Before she could put two and two together Martha thanked her and ended the conversation. At the moment she couldn’t help her. She started putting known facts in order.
Patrick Elson’s schoolmates’ dad was to stay in prison. And Gina Marconi had put him there – or at least hadn’t managed (or wanted) to keep him out. But it hadn’t been a man in prison who had taken those horrible pictures.
And Gina? The pictures she would have been sent of herself? Electronically? Yes, an electronic version existed but Martha believed she would have been confronted with an actual photograph. Somehow it is more shocking. The threat of spreading them around would have accompanied the full Disney Technicolor. So if they existed, had Gina destroyed them? Or was someone hiding them? The police had found nothing like that. So who was hiding them? Terence? Her mother? Julius? And more importantly, who had sent them? She could take her pick. Gina had mixed with a dangerous crowd, but Mosha Steventon would have protected her. He was her guardian. So who was intimidating her under Steventon’s radar? Who else was lurking there, in the shadows?
For her money the thread was Pete Lewinski, who had not only gone to Gina’s office and threatened her, but the threats seemed to have struck home. Trouble was Lewinski needed Gina. But Martha felt that Lewinski had something over Gina just as Gina had something over Lewinski.
She reminded herself that Alex had had contact with the criminal world. She wondered if he knew Lewinski. But it was a mistake to return to him. She put her head in her hands. How tantalizing. DI Randall was now single but, ironically, even more untouchable than before. Thank you very much, fate, she thought bitterly. You’ve just made certain nothing can ever grow between us – not even honest affection. He is farther away from you now than he’s ever been. So, Martha Gunn, analyse your feelings and be truthful. Sort yourself out. She scooped in a deep breath. If her theory about Erica was right, she knew it fitted like a glove. She’d done the research. She was just missing one small blood test to confirm her horrible suspicion. If she was right, Alex Randall would feel guiltier than ever. Bugger. She felt tempted to kick the base of her desk but today she was wearing some rather smart, very expensive, black Italian leather high-heeled shoes that she’d paid an eye-watering price for. She was not going to ruin them in frustration over Erica Randall’s death – as doomed a death as her life had been for the previous six years.
Time to find out the truth and share her theory. She picked up the phone and connected with Mark Sullivan. He had done the three post-mortems. If there was any proof, he would be the one to have it.