'Did you find any clues?'
'No.'
'I'm not surprised. It was written four hundred years ago.' Jones tapped his pencil against his teeth. 'I can't see that any of this makes much difference, frankly. You're still describing someone who knew her intimately, which is what we've believed from the start. The only new pieces of information are the discovery of the key and the absence of the diaries. I admit the key may mean that her murderer came in uninvited, but it still had to be someone very close to her or she'd have screamed her head off. And there's so much intimate detail involved-the Stanley knife, the sleeping pills, her yen for Shakespeare, the scold's bridle. Whoever it was probably even knew there were nettles and daisies in her garden
Cooper took the second fax from his notebook and spread it on the desk. 'According to the fingerprint tests we made, bearing in mind I told the lab to get a move on so these results will have to be double-checked for accuracy, they've made tentative identifications on four of the prints in that house, excluding Mrs. Gillespie herself, Mrs. Spede, the Blakeneys, Mrs. and Miss Lascelles and now James Gillespie. The four are...' he ran his finger slowly down the page, 'the Reverend Matthews, matched in ten points with print located on hall mirror; Mrs. Orloff, matched in sixteen points with print located on kitchen worktop and in fourteen points with print found on kitchen door; Mrs. Spencer, matched in twelve points with print on hall door; and, lastly, Mrs. Jane Marriott, matched in eighteen points with two prints on desk in library and one on stair newel post.' He looked up. 'Mrs. Orloff is her neighbour. Mrs. Spencer runs the local shop and Mrs. Marriott is the receptionist at the Fontwell surgery. What's interesting is that the Reverend Matthews, Mrs. Orloff and Mrs. Spencer all admitted quite happily that they had been inside the house in the week before Mrs. Gillespie died. Mrs. Marriott didn't. According to Jenkins who interviewed her when he was going door to door, she said she hadn't been near Cedar House for years.'
With careless disregard for the restrictions placed on his movements by the Bournemouth police, Jack waited until Sarah had left for work then set off for Fontwell on the old bicycle that Geoffrey Freeling's next-of-kin had abandoned in the garage. His car was in the pound at Freemont Road and looked like remaining there indefinitely until a decision was reached on whether or not to prosecute him, but he was deeply suspicious about their motives for holding it. They had claimed it was material evidence, but he saw Keith's devious hand at work behind the Inspector. It's unreasonable to expect Dr. Blakeney to guard her husband for you, so deprive Jack of his wheels, and he may stay put. For once he was grateful to Smollett's lingering partiality for his wife.
Ruth was dead to the world upstairs, worn out by the mental and physical stress that had taken its toll of her all too meagre reserves the previous night, but he left a note on the kitchen table in case she woke up and panicked to find him gone: 'You're quite safe with Hughes in the nick,' it read, 'but don't answer the door to anyone, just in case. Back soon, love Jack.'
'Mrs. Marriott?' Cooper leant on the receptionist's counter in the empty surgery and held up his warrant card. 'DS Cooper, Learmouth Police.'
Jane smiled automatically. 'How can I help you, Sergeant?'
'I'd like a word or two in private, if that's possible.'
'It's private enough here for the moment,' she said. 'The only thing likely to disturb us is the telephone. Would you care for a cup of coffee?'
'Thank you. White, two sugars, please.'
She busied herself with the kettle.
'We've had some interesting results from our fingerprint tests,' said Cooper to her back. 'One way and another the evidence points to quite a few people visiting Mrs. Gillespie before she died. You, for example.'
Jane became very still suddenly. 'I hoped you wouldn't find out,' she admitted after a moment, plucking invisible fluff from her jumper. 'And then, of course, you invited us all to give examples of our fingerprints. It was very difficult to know what to do then. Should I confess that I'd told a lie the first time or sit it out in the hopes I hadn't touched anything?'
'Why didn't you want us to know you'd been to Cedar House?'
'Because you'd have asked me my reason for going.'
He nodded. 'Which was?'
She turned back to the coffee cups and poured out the water. 'It had nothing to do with Mathilda's death, Sergeant. It was a very private matter.'
'I'm afraid that really won't do, Mrs. Marriott.'
She pushed a cup across the counter and placed the sugar bowl and a spoon beside it. 'Will you arrest me if I refuse to tell you?'
He chuckled good-humouredly. 'Not immediately.'
'When?'
He sidestepped the question. 'If I say to you that, as long as what you tell me really does have no bearing on Mrs. Gillespie's death, it will go no further than these four walls, will you trust me enough to keep my word?' He held her gaze with his. 'You've no idea of the sort of publicity you'll face if I have to take you in for questioning. Once the press have their teeth into you, they don't let go easily.'
Jane's plump homely face took on a very bleak expression. 'How Mathilda would adore this if she were still alive,' she said. 'She loved making trouble.'
'You knew her well then.'
'Too well.'
'And you didn't like her?'
'I couldn't bear her. I tried to avoid her as far as I could but that wasn't very easy once I started working here, what with phone calls demanding a doctor's visit and requests for repeat prescriptions.'
'Yet you went to see her?'
'I had to. I saw James coming out of her house the day before she died.' She held a hand to her bosom. 'It
