Martha had been half expecting this. The envelope was exactly the same. And she had an idea what might be inside so she didn’t open it but rang the police station and asked to speak to DS Talith. She couldn’t face Alex. Not now, not yet. Not with this in her hands. But this little missive they’d sent her meant that she was getting close.
She had found the link between the criminal world, a high-profile lawyer about to be exposed, a schoolboy being bullied and worse, both resulting in what she called determined suicides. And now it was up to her to move in, prove that connection without publicly sullying the reputations both had died to preserve. Once she had learned the full ugly truth about the reasons behind these two apparently unrelated deaths, she could hold Gina’s inquest and Amanda and her sister could arrange Patrick’s funeral. Leave their dear ones privacy and space to grieve. In camera. There was no need for the public to know. The person who had orchestrated all this was both clever and evil. For Gina he had wanted both death and public humiliation. Not only her body but her soul, her reputation and memory. And Patrick? He had got in the way of two boys, apprentices. And he had … Martha could hardly bear to think.
The weak link had been the two boys who had taken Patrick Elson to their house. Thanks to the information from their teacher, it had led her to connect the two suicides. But this envelope was a warning. If Gina could be so manipulated, then she, Martha Gunn, coroner of North Shropshire, was not proof against that person. They were on to her. She was their next selected victim.
Right on cue there was a knock on the door. ‘Martha.’
She could hardly believe it. Here he was, in person. ‘I thought Talith would come.’
He simply shook his head.
‘How are you?’
He simply looked at her.
‘I was sorry to hear about …’
‘Yeah. You heard about the …?’
She pre-empted him. She knew. ‘Yes, I did.’ She tried to reassure him. ‘When I put the two histories together, Christopher’s and Erica’s, I just wondered whether there could be a connection.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I don’t think anyone could have known.’
He gave the vaguest hint of a smile. ‘Are you defending the medical profession or me, as her husband?’ His tone was curious rather than challenging. ‘You think I should have picked up on it?’
‘I’m not trying to defend anyone,’ she said steadily, ‘or let anyone off the hook. I’m simply pointing out that with Erica’s psychiatric diagnosis after such a tragedy I don’t think a doctor or you would have looked for another cause for her behaviour.’
There was a pause before he spoke again, as though he had been digesting her words. ‘But you did. Mark told me you had suggested we test for a genetic link.’
She was silent.
‘I still think,’ he said, ‘I should have trusted her character better. I think,’ he said again, ‘that I shall always feel guilty that I didn’t. I failed her, Martha. I let her down.’ He crossed to the window and stared out. ‘I should have picked up on it, had more faith in her. Truth is, Martha, after Christopher’s sad, brief little life ended, we were both destroyed. When her grieving became prolonged I lost patience with her. After all, we’d both been through the same thing.’
‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘A woman holds a child inside her for the months of pregnancy and then has a labour.’
He turned. ‘And a man has hopes for a son.’
‘Yes.’
‘I should have taken her to a doctor and insisted she be investigated. As it was I simply accepted the psychiatrist’s opinion that she had changed because of our loss. It’s an unfortunate coincidence, a horrible trick of nature that had a dreadful effect on both our lives. And now Erica is dead too. It’s cruel.’
And she could do little but agree with him, her thoughts swirling round and round. Poor woman, labelled mad, labelled bad, disliked by her husband. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Why the summons?’
She dropped her eyes to the envelope on the desk.
He nodded. ‘Talith’s filled me in very well.’ He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and slid out the photographs. He looked at them carefully, one at a time. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
She looked too at the obvious connection between two people. But when she met his eyes now that connection had vanished. Melted away like ice cream in a heat wave.
‘Leave this to us,’ he said. ‘Leave it, Martha. Don’t get involved.’
She met his gaze now without flinching. She could ride this one out.
‘The link,’ she said, ‘I’m sure, is a man called Ivor Donaldson who is a financial advisor.’
‘He’s on our radar.’
He turned to leave. ‘So that’s that?’ she demanded. ‘You expect me to just leave it all to you?’
He turned back then, his eyes warm, his mouth twitching, hinting at a smile which never quite completed. ‘We-ell,’ he said. ‘It would be a good idea but I can’t say I expect it.’
And with that he left.
She hadn’t even had the chance to speak her prepared neutral line. It’d be great if we could meet up sometime.
Agitated, she went into the kitchen, passing an affronted Jericho who considered the room his domain and the task of coffee-making his duty. But she needed to walk. To move. She had too much work on to stroll into town or even take a spin up Haughmond Hill but she did need to stretch her legs, get away from the four walls of her office. Breathe. She felt Jericho’s eyes on her, reproachful, but couldn’t find the right response. Then thought, Why not the truth?
‘I needed to stretch my legs, Jericho,’ she explained. But it didn’t quite extinguish the reproachful look so she didn’t offer to make him a coffee.
She strode around the garden for an hour breathing the fresh air deeply, only returning when the exercise had calmed her. Back in her office she closed her door firmly behind her. She needed to focus. And for that now she needed peace, quiet and privacy. She had an idea.