Martha knew she needed to reassure him. ‘All this, I feel, does have some bearing on the case.’
Alex thought but he still couldn’t see it. ‘Any other thoughts?’
‘I was planning to interview Mrs Palk,’ Martha said.
‘Whatever for?’ Randall was bemused.
‘Because she was the one who found Alice Sedgewick’s body. She had a key to number 41,’ she reminded him.
‘And?’ He felt a little more interested now. His pulse quickened as Martha leaned forward. He caught a waft of a very light, spicy, clean perfume and wondered what it was. He diverted his attention from her perfume to the light which gleamed in her long green eyes. ‘Even so,’ he said steadily, ‘Why would you want to speak to Acantha Palk?’
‘Because I have some questions for her.’
Alex stretched out his long legs and spoke in a casual tone. ‘You wouldn’t care to tell me what these questions are?’
Like a spring, Martha thought, he was uncoiling. ‘Not at the moment, Alex,’ she said. ‘If I get any answers then I’ll tell you.’ She touched his hand and looked straight into his face. ‘I promise.’
She paused for a moment then looked away. ‘Tell me a bit more about the Godfreys,’ she said, catching him completely unawares.
‘I’d almost forgotten about them,’ he admitted. ‘They’re surely right out of the picture?’
‘You think?’
Alex looked at her suspiciously but Martha Gunn, Shropshire coroner, had never looked more innocent. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I can’t follow your line of reasoning.’
She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘That’s what makes you come here for help and discussion,’ she said.
He narrowed his eyes, half closing them in thought. ‘I might just be curious about your methods one of these days, Martha,’ he said. Then he added quite unexpectedly, ‘Who is this friend, anyway, the one who was talking about an abortion?’
Annoyingly she felt herself blush. ‘Just a friend,’ she said shortly. If Detective Inspector Alex Randall could keep his private life private then so could she. They might have known each other for a good few years but they had never quite crossed the boundary from colleague to friend, however narrow it had sometimes become. Maybe they never would. Alex Randall was a very private person. Not open about his personal life at all. She knew little about him other than that he was married though he had never talked directly about Mrs Randall. Children? She didn’t know that either. Where did he live? Something else to add to the list of ‘things she didn’t know about Alex’. He was, in fact, a complete enigma. A mystery.
She looked up to see him watching her and returned to safer ground. ‘There is another thing, Alex,’ she said. ‘Did you say one of your WPCs interviewed the Isaac family who, if I remember rightly, lived in Number 41 before the Godfreys?’
‘Well – Mrs Isaac did. She’s dead now. WPC Shaw visited her son and daughter-in-law.’ Again he was both surprised and puzzled at the direction her questions were moving in.
‘Did she feel there was something – well – suspicious there?’
Alex shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Not exactly.’
‘So, what?’
‘WPC Shaw felt they didn’t like her probing into their finances. It was just an impression that they were reluctant and less happy to focus on that topic. Apparently they appear to be worth a packet, those two. And…’ In spite of himself Alex Randall smiled. ‘Personally I think WPC Shaw simply took against the fact that Mr Isaac is an undertaker. As was his father before him.’
‘Really?’ Martha said briskly. ‘Well, Alex.’ She stood up, squared up a sheaf of papers on her desk. ‘Time for us both to get on. I’m sure you’ve plenty to do.’
He looked at her and caught the faintest touch of a smile. ‘Thank you for your time, Martha,’ he said, ‘though what help you’ve been I’m not quite sure.’
‘And thank you for yours, Alex.’ She paused and couldn’t suppress a wide grin. ‘I haven’t helped you at all, have I?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Or more truthfully perhaps I’m not quite sure. But thanks anyway.’ He turned to go but before he moved his guard was down. She read something in the drop of his face, some glimpse of a deep sludge of sadness that must permeate throughout his entire life. She almost – almost – stretched out her hand and asked him what it was, how she could help, why he needed to suffer like this and keep it to himself. But as clearly as she read the emotion she read too the Keep Out sign planted firmly in front of it and knew instinctively that now was not the right time. She must draw back and wait. He would not welcome her crossing this invisible but tangible line drawn in the sand. In fact she could never cross this boundary without a clear and unambiguous invitation. So she held out her hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’ She paused. ‘I hope, however, that I have planted some seeds and that they bear fruit.’ She gave him a warm smile. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’
‘Goodbye.’ He held her eyes for a split second too long – long enough for her to read even more clearly this truly terrible pain that he locked inside himself. She watched him go with a feeling of frustration.
When she had heard his footsteps patter down the stairs, she wandered outside her room to speak to Jericho. He was someone who knew everything and everyone. A great source of information – even if he did get his facts muddled up on some occasions and embellish the truth on others. He was also an incredible gossip and had antennae which picked up on any whiff of scandal as tall as a mobile phone mast. But he was also very intuitive and would know why she was being so curious so she must be careful how she posed her questions. ‘Tell me, Jericho,’ she said casually, ‘What do you make of Detective Inspector Randall?’
Her assistant pursed his lips. ‘Don’t rightly know,’ he said.
‘Does he live in Shrewsbury?’
‘Don’t know that neither. I’ve never seen him around the town.’
‘No.’ She frowned. This was not proving informative at all. ‘He is,’ she commented, ‘an enigma.’
‘He is that,’ Jericho agreed.
‘Is he married, do you know?’
Her assistant shrugged. ‘Don’t know that neither, Mrs Gunn.’ He was unsuspicious – so far. Best retreat before his curiosity went into overdrive.
‘Now then, what sandwiches will you be wanting for lunch?’
‘Oh, Jericho,’ she said laughing. ‘Do you ever think of anything but food?’
He considered the question literally, as was his way, his face impassive. ‘As your assistant, ma’am,’ he said severely, ‘I have to consider your wellbeing at all times. Part of that duty is to make sure you have proper meals at decent intervals.’
She smiled at him. ‘Well, at least Dr Sullivan seems very happy and contented these days.’
‘I’ve heard two things there,’ Jericho said, his eyes bright with the gossip.
And in spite of herself Martha didn’t stop him.
‘Divorce and Alcoholics Anonymous,’ Jericho announced, touching the side of his nose significantly. ‘Transformed him, so I’ve heard.’
‘He does look and appear better,’ Martha said cautiously. ‘But divorce
‘Here and there,’ Jericho said, deliberately mysterious.
It was time to end this conversation and get on with some real work. ‘Can you get me Mrs Acantha Palk on the telephone, please, Jericho,’ she said. ‘She’s a solicitor connected to the Sedgewick case. Also a friend of the dead woman.’
It didn’t take Jericho long to track her down. He was practised at his work of Coroner’s Officer. Less than four minutes later Martha found herself addressing the deep and formidable voice of Mrs Acantha Palk.
‘What can I do for you, coroner?’ Clearly Mrs Palk was in polite mode. Coroners and solicitors do not always have the happiest of relationships.
‘I wonder if you would mind dropping by my office some time,’ Martha said casually. ‘As you can probably guess it’s connected with the death of your…’ She hesitated. ‘Friend and client, Mrs Alice Sedgewick.’
‘Can you tell me why?’ Acantha Palk’s voice was guarded.
