would anyone fib about such an accusation, the same accusation made in the tip-off letter?
‘May I see it?’
Tina clicked her tongue. ‘Really, Chief Inspector. You don’t think I would keep garbage like that? I tore the letter up and put it in our shredder at home.’
‘Was the letter typed?’
‘Handwritten. A sort of stencilling. I didn’t check the postmark, I presume it was local.’
‘Who do you think might have sent it?’
‘No idea.’
Not true, Hannah thought, looking at Tina’s narrowed eyes and the way her lips compressed, as if striving to keep a secret.
‘Why would anyone send such a letter to you?’
‘I’m not a psychiatrist, Chief Inspector. There are a lot of sick people in the world, you must know that better than me. Mind you, the police don’t seem very effective when it comes to making sure they are put somewhere they can’t do any harm.’
‘You said at the time that you and your children were up on the Hardknott Pass at the time of your husband’s murder.’
‘Correct.’
‘Any points in your original statement that you’d like to clarify with the benefit of hindsight?’
‘Absolutely none.’
‘Your husband had an affair with Gail Flint.’
Tina snorted with laughter. ‘For goodness sake, Chief Inspector, you’re going to have to understand my husband better. He had lots of affairs and we never discussed one. They meant nothing to him and so they meant nothing to me.’
‘Who do you think killed him?’
‘I rather thought it was your job to tell me that.’
‘You must have turned it over in your mind.’
‘You think it’s so simple, do you, Chief Inspector Scarlett? I suppose you believe you can walk into people’s lives and throw them into turmoil and then come up with a solution, neatly packed for the media. Fast-tracked for promotion, are you?’
‘Ah, that’s a different question, isn’t it? Fact is, it could have been anyone. A scorned woman, an enraged husband. Warren was careless, that was his downfall. He didn’t mind whoever he hurt. I can only assume he hurt the wrong person and paid the price. A terrible price, but people do terrible things in this world. Don’t you agree?’
‘Simple as that? Person or persons unknown?’
‘Well, yes. It will be to do with shagging the wrong woman at the wrong time, if you ask me. When it came to sex, he was insatiable. Believe me, jealousy didn’t come into it, I was almost relieved whenever someone else took a turn, it meant I got let off a bit more lightly. But I’ll tell you this. Those other women, they would never have had the balls to stay the course with Warren.’
Her head tilted upwards, as if she took pride in having married a Casanova. How could any woman keep so cool when confronted with her man’s infidelity? Hannah’s thoughts flitted back to Marc’s confession of a long ago dalliance with Leigh Moffatt’s sister and her own scorching sense of humiliation.
‘So you can’t confirm that the relationship ended shortly before your husband was killed?’
‘Sorry. You’ll have to interrogate Gail.’
‘Ironic that you are now in a relationship with Mr Flint.’
‘For goodness’ sake. He’s a free agent.’ Tina smirked. ‘A consenting adult.’
‘How has Mrs Flint reacted to your relationship?’
Tina picked up a pencil and started doodling on the pad in front of her. It was hard to tell what she was sketching. Perhaps a bed of roses.
‘You’d better ask him, I try not to have anything to do with her.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
‘He’ll be back in half an hour. Feel free to hang on here, if you don’t mind my getting on with my work. But remember this. Peter’s marriage was dead before he and I got together.’
‘Is that right?’
‘What are you implying, Chief Inspector?’
‘Just asking a question, Mrs Howe.’
Tina stabbed the pad so hard with her pencil that its point broke. She tossed it into a black plastic desk tidy beside the computer monitor. Her screensaver, Hannah saw, was a group of well-oiled bodybuilders in tight tigerskin pants, flexing their muscles in a variety of leering poses. Perhaps her late husband wasn’t the only Howe whose appetite was insatiable.
‘I must remember, you’re only doing your job. You don’t mean to be offensive.’
Hannah said nothing. If the woman wanted a battle of wills, fine.
‘Only, I wonder if you have any idea what it’s like, Chief Inspector? Having your husband murdered? How would you feel in my shoes, if you came home one day to be greeted by a pair of young constables who told you that your man was dead? And not just dead, but butchered? Cut up like an animal in a bloody abattoir?’
There was a catch in her voice, but no tears. The face powder and blue eye shadow made a good mask. Impossible to gauge whether this came from the heart or was a performance worthy of an Academy Award. Hannah waited.
‘I’ll tell you what it’s like, then. It’s utterly horrible. Whatever Warren did wrong in his life — and he did plenty — he didn’t deserve that.’
‘Which is why I ask questions. I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I would like to know when your relationship began with Mr Flint.’
Tina gazed straight at her. Wondering what to say next? When she shrugged, Hannah exulted inside.
‘All right. The truth is this. Peter and I liked each other from the start. He is so different from Warren. A breath of fresh air. But I didn’t think he’d be interested in me. Tarty Tina, put-upon wife of Jack the Lad. After all, he had a good-looking wife of his own, even if she is as tough as granite. It was a long time before I realised he had any feelings for me. Even longer before he did anything about them. Worse luck.’
‘And you say this was after your husband was killed?’
‘Long after. The murder — knocked us all sideways. You don’t come to terms with something like that in five minutes.’
Hannah wasn’t convinced. But Tina Howe wasn’t going to confess this afternoon. She’d cracked a little, but she’d take time to break.
Kirsty pounded up the path to the front door of Keepsake Cottage and leaned on the bell while she fought to regain her breath. Her sweat-soaked T-shirt was clinging to her, her calves ached, the soles of her feet were screaming. She hadn’t stopped running ever since she’d set off from The Heights. A long way, but she ought to be fitter than this, with a jump imminent. She needed to make sense of things before it was too late. This morning she’d read her stars in the
De Quincey was barking inside the cottage. She kept pressing the bell. Roz must be at home, her car was parked in the drive. She glanced around, waving a cloud of midges away from her face. Her father had been killed here, but she’d never made a pilgrimage to the scene of the crime. Keepsake Cottage was a private home and besides, she’d wanted only to forget what had happened.
After what seemed like an hour, the door swung open. Thank God, it was Roz. She must have been washing her hair. Although she’d wrapped a fluffy towel round her head, a few drops of water were running down her cheeks. She had on a white cotton top and fraying shorts that revealed a wedge of cellulite. At the sight of Kirsty, her eyes opened wide.
‘Kirsty! Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Just give me a moment.’
