incident.’ She gave a self-confident smile which probably stood her in good stead in her work as a solicitor but rather irritated the detective.
He continued smoothly. ‘I need to know which estate agent you bought the house through.’
‘Huntley and Palmers.’
‘The name of the people you bought the house from?’
‘Mr and Mrs Godfrey. They were moving to Spain, Aaron said. I think they’d made quite a lot of money.’
‘Did they have any children?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
‘Were there children’s things around the place when you viewed?’
‘I didn’t view.’ She spoke baldly and with a hint of challenge in her tone.
‘You didn’t see the house before you bought it?’ Alex struggled to keep surprise out of his voice.
‘I didn’t see the house before my
Practically feudal, Alex thought.
‘Did you ever meet Mr and Mrs Godfrey?’
‘No.’ Said almost sullenly.
‘So you’ve no idea how old they were?’
‘Sorry. Obviously no.’
‘OK.’
Alex came to a decision. ‘One last question and then you can go.’
The look of relief on Alice’s face was tangible.
‘Why did you take the baby to the hospital rather than simply ringing the police?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was at least an honest answer. ‘Instinct, I suppose.’
‘Instinct?’ It seemed an odd explanation.
‘It’s where you go when you’re in trouble, isn’t it?’
It was an explanation – of sorts.
‘OK. We’ll leave it there. Do you mind if we contact your husband?’
For the first time he saw Alice Sedgewick’s smile, the light of humour touching her rather sad eyes. ‘That’s two questions, inspector,’ she said archly. ‘But I’ll answer. As I’ve already said I don’t want you dragging him back from his business trip. There’s no point. There’s nothing he can do. However it so happens that he’s left a message on the answer phone to say he’ll be back tomorrow. You can speak to him then.’
Alex wasn’t even tempted to quip that he would look forward to it.
Martha found it hard to concentrate that afternoon. Her mind kept flitting back to the subject of the dead baby. Boy, girl, pink, blue. It had lain there, slowly desiccating over the years. Whose baby was it? Who was its mother? Where was its mother? How had it died? Why had it died? Had it been wanted or unwanted? A teenager’s embarrassment? A married woman’s shame? How could a baby disappear if the mother had attended antenatal classes? What was the story behind it? Who was Poppy? Another baby? Another dead baby? What was Poppy to Mrs Sedgewick? Why had the name upset her so very much? Why had she driven to the hospital with a dead child? What had really triggered this bizarre action?
Martha felt her face twitch with curiosity.
Somehow she managed to sift through a reasonable amount of paperwork and take a few calls from doctors which would save post-mortems and an overworked team of pathologists including the newly reformed Mark Sullivan. She spoke to some relatives who had concerns about the residential home their mother had died in and promised to look into it. By six she was ready to go home. Her desk was cleared except for one envelope and her stomach was rumbling. Agnetha had promised to cook supper, salmon, new potatoes and a fresh green salad. Martha couldn’t wait.
The supper lived up to expectations and a little over an hour later she was sitting across the room speaking to Alex Randall.
As she had surmised from the phone call he appeared a little better than yesterday. Still tense around the mouth but his dark eyes sparkled as he shook hands with her.
She poured them both a drink and he got straight into it.
‘This is the first contact your mysterious person has made since…?’ He looked up questioningly.
‘It’s been months, Alex,’ she said. ‘I haven’t heard anything for ages.’ She smiled. ‘All quiet on the Western Front. But then there was the phone call and today this arrived in my post.’
He studied the typed address on the envelope:
Alex Randall studied the card. It was the sort of note one might leave on a colleague’s desk. ‘Martha,’ it read, ‘please pick up your messages.’
He frowned. ‘It has to be someone who has had dealings with you professionally.’
‘I thought that. But where would I start? I meet upset relatives, angry relatives, grieving relatives every day of my life. Plenty of them. By the very nature of my job I deal with unexpected tragedy.’
Alex gave one of his oddly attractive, twisted smiles. Even in that there was still some residual sadness. ‘I suppose you do, Martha,’ he said gently. ‘I never really thought about your work like that but it is all about death. And I suppose in the wake of that does come anger and sadness. Have you had anyone blame you for something?’
‘I suppose so but I can’t think of anyone or anything specific.’
Alex leaned back in his seat. ‘Well I can’t really justify having you watched, Martha, but we can put a check on your phone calls if you like.’
‘That might be an idea but… I worry. I’d prefer a phone call to him coming out here. Maybe it’s better to…’
‘I’ll ask the patrol cars to drive up here when they go round,’ he said eventually. ‘No harm in that. We’ll keep an eye out for you. I think for now that’s the best course of action.’ He stood up. ‘Keep me informed and if you feel more vulnerable I’ll have to reconsider.’ He gave a boyish, attractive smile. ‘We can’t have our coroner under threat.’
She saw him to the door. ‘I suppose,’ she said as they parted, ‘I’m worried this will escalate.’
His eyes were on her and she felt a sudden shock. He had a job to do. She knew that. But the concern in his eyes had been more than that. It had been quite personal.
‘Thank you,’ she said and held out her hand. He took it but it was less of a formal shaking of hands than a touching. She stood in the doorway and watched until his car tail lights disappeared down the track.
SIX
The day started badly. A snow storm had made Alex Randall late for work. It didn’t help matters that as he was hanging up his coat he heard shouting and a blustering, bullying tone from outside his office. Aaron Sedgewick was back and was making his presence felt.
His door was pushed open and a tall, spare man with a hooked nose wearing a crumpled, expensive-looking suit stormed in. ‘What the hell is going on?’
Alex faced him, trying to bury the fact that his temper was slowly rising. ‘Mr Sedgewick, I presume?’ His tone was icily polite. ‘I’m the senior investigating officer, Detective Inspector Alex Randall. Why don’t you sit down and I can fill you in on the details of the case and your wife’s involvement.’
Aaron Sedgewick bumped down suspiciously on the chair, watching Randall through hooded, hostile eyes.
Alex crossed the room to close the door behind them with deliberation, then returned to his chair. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’ll probably make things easier and save time if you tell me what you already know.’
