the radio. And maybe he would ask the day after, too. Just to hear a little bit more reassurance.
The Westons sat together, their faces no longer hopeful. They were losing faith in the investigation, disappointed by their first real contact with the police, dismayed by the realization of their fallibility. And they had noticed that at first they had been talking to a detective chief inspector, then an inspector; now it was a mere acting detective sergeant. The word ‘acting’ seemed to be the biggest insult of all.
‘Don’t take it the wrong way,’ said Eric Weston. ‘We’re sure you’re doing your best.’
‘There are a lot of people working on this enquiry,’ said Diane Fry patiently. ‘There are lots of leads to be followed up. This is just one of them.’
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‘We understand. Really.’
Mrs Weston had set out teacups on a glass-topped table. She served the tea as a well-rehearsed routine, performed without any hint of welcome. In the same way, she had apologized for the condition of the lounge, explaining that they weren’t bothering to decorate in view of their move, before long, to the retirement cottage at Ashford. New people always redecorated when they bought a house, she said. So why bother? It would only be wasted expense.
The log basket on the hearth was filled with paper and small sticks, ready to light a fire. A storage heater under the bay window was enough to take the chill off the room. But the decor looked perfectly presentable to Fry. Anything that wasn’t stained by mould or hung with cobwebs looked fine to her. Back at the flat, anything that didn’t have a layer of dust was meant for sitting on.
‘I believe you’ve already been asked about a young woman called Ros Daniels.’
‘We have,’ said Mr Weston. ‘We’ve never heard of her. When they told us she’d been staying with Jenny, we thought she was probably one of the girls she worked with, who had nowhere to stay. Jenny would have put her up for a while. She was like that.’
‘But Ros Daniels never worked at Global Assurance, as far as we can tell.’
‘So we’re told. Jenny must have met her somewhere else.’
‘Any idea where that might have been?’ ‘Sorry, no.’
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‘The only other people she ever talked about were the ones in the animal welfare groups,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘You could try them.’
‘We will.’ Fry stared at her cooling tea. ‘I also want to ask you whether your daughter had mentioned being bothered by anybody. Did she complain about anyone hanging round outside her house or following her? Did she refer to any unwanted or nuisance phone calls?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Like a stalker?’ said Mrs Weston. ‘You mean like a stalker?’
‘That sort of thing.’
‘She never said anything,’ said Mr Weston. ‘There was the phone call,’ said his wife. ‘Oh?’
Mr Weston had retreated further into his armchair and was watching the two women helplessly, as if he was no part of what was going on.
‘Jenny mentioned she had been phoned up,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘She didn’t say it was a nuisance call, exactly. She just thought there was something strange about it. But she never took it any further, as far as I know. It just happened to be on her mind when I was speaking to her.’
‘Who made this phone call?’
Mrs Weston stared at her. ‘The police, of course. They said it was to check up on home security. But they asked some funny questions, and she didn’t think it was quite right.’
‘Did Jenny give you the name of the officer who phoned?’
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Vp~ ‘No.’ ‘A man or a woman?’
‘A man, I think. Yes, definitely.’ ‘He didn’t give any identification?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mrs Weston irritably. She looked at her husband again, and back at Fry. ‘You mean he might not have been from the police at all?’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that’s possible.’
The couple shook their heads in unison. ‘Jenny was always too trusting,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘It took her a long time to learn the truth about people. All those terrible men. She was better off with just herself and the cat, if truth be told.’
‘Could this phone call have been in connection with the burglary at your cottage in Ashford?’ asked Fry. ‘Oh, the burglary,’ said Eric Weston. ‘Why do you want to talk about that?’
‘We’re following up everything we can, sir.’ ‘I suppose so.’
‘You’ve not seen any sign of Wayne Sugden since then? Your daughter didn’t mention him getting in contact?’
‘But that man is in prison, isn’t he?’ ‘Not any more, sir.’
‘What?’ Weston seemed roused to emotion at last. ‘Do we take it you didn’t know that?’ asked Fry. ‘Nobody told us that. Shouldn’t somebody have told us?’
‘It isn’t usual,’ she said. ‘Unless there is a particular risk to the victims. In a rape case, for example, or an offence against a child. It can be quite a trauma running
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into a perpetrator unexpectedly in the street when you thought he was behind bars.’
‘But not in this case.’
‘It would have been thought unlikely that Sugden would return to burgle the same house.’
‘But not impossible that he might return and track down our daughter to take his revenge, presumably.’ ‘Well …’
‘Because that’s why you’re asking, isn’t it? You must be thinking that it could have been him that killed
