“And has he actually talked to them yet?” Carole was having difficulty sounding as uninvolved as she knew she must.
“He had one session with them yesterday.” Debbie glanced apprehensively at her watch. “And he’s with them again now.”
“Going over the same sort of stuff as they asked you? Or hasn’t he confided what they’ve asked him about?”
“Francis didn’t say a lot yesterday evening. Wasn’t here much, actually. There were some local friends he’d fixed to meet in the pub.” Debbie Carlton looked troubled. “Funny, he seems to think he can just behave exactly the same in Fedborough, like nothing had happened, like we were still together.”
“Must be hard for you.”
“Mm. I supposed it’s always the case, in any divorce, that there’s a winner and a loser. He’s got his new life, two homes on opposite sides of the world, and…” She gestured feebly round her Italianate sitting room. “…and I’ve got this. But he doesn’t seem to be aware of the difference.”
“Are you sure that’s not just a ploy, part of some one-upmanship game he’s playing with you?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know how Francis’s mind works. If the divorce has taught me nothing else, it’s made me realize how little I knew the man I spent five years of my life with.”
“So he hasn’t passed anything on to you that the police told him?” Carole eased the question in. “Anything you didn’t already know? Whether they’ve got any further in their thinking about the case?”
Debbie Carlton shook her blonde head. “If they have given Francis any information, he hasn’t confided it in me. But then I’d been quite surprised if he did.”
“Why?”
For a moment she seemed to contemplate another answer, but then just said, “We’re divorced. The time for confiding in each other – if it ever existed – is long past.”
“All right, so you don’t know anything about the
Debbie Carlton looked up sharply. “Why should they have done?”
“Having lived in Pelling House, you can’t pretend not to be interested in what happened there.”
“I’m not pretending that.”
“And the fact that your ex-husband has come all the way across the Atlantic must mean – ”
“Is that what they’re saying?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Are the Fedborough gossips saying that Francis must’ve had something to do with the torso, otherwise he wouldn’t have come back?”
“I’ve no idea what they’re saying, Debbie. I don’t live in Fedborough.”
“No, of course you don’t,” But Debbie nodded to herself, as if some conjecture had been proved correct. “I bet that’s what they are saying.” She smiled wryly. “I don’t think Francis’d like that, knowing that the whole town thinks of him as a murder suspect. He has a rather high opinion of himself, he wouldn’t like the idea of not appearing respectable.”
“And if people were thinking as you suggest…” asked Carole gently, “do you think there’d be any reason for them to do so?”
There was a nanosecond of consideration before Debbie said, “No. No, of course there wouldn’t be.”
Carole wondered about the level of innocence in this reaction. She couldn’t forget Jude’s suggestion that Debbie might be deliberately directing suspicion towards Francis, and continued her probing. “But you’ve just admitted you don’t know your ex-husband very well.”
“No, but Francis…It’s unthinkable. He has his faults…He’s vain and a bit tight-fisted…but there’s no way I could see him as a murderer.” And yet her words slowed down, as if the idea were taking root, as if for the first time she was seriously contemplating the possibility of her former husband having some connection with the dead body. “Anyway, we’ve no idea who the torso belonged to. If, when we get that information, it turns out to have been someone who Francis knew or…I suppose in those circumstances, we might all have to think differently about what went on.”
Though her words expressed token resistance, fascination with the new thought was still growing in Debbie Carlton’s mind. Or, alternatively, that was the impression she was trying to give.
There was the sound of a key in the front door, and she tensed. They were both silent as quick, heavy footsteps mounted the stairs.
? The Torso in the Town ?
Seventeen
“Bloody police! Are they trained in techniques to make everyone feel guilty? I came back from the States to do my duty as a British citizen and…”
His words petered out when he saw that Debbie was not alone.
“Francis, this is Carole Seddon. Carole, my hus – my ex-husband, Francis.”
He dutifully shook her hand, but did not look pleased to see her. Francis Carlton was bulky, probably round six foot four, but there was a fastidiousness about him, which was at odds with his size. It showed in the high shine on his brown loafers, the crispness of his button-down collar, the crease of his light grey trousers, the ‘English-style’ cut of his American sports jacket (so different from anything purchasable in England). Most of all the fastidiousness showed in the flat oblongs of his spectacles, rimmed in matt black metal.
Debbie Carlton was visibly nervous in her ex-husband’s presence. She gestured to the coffee tray, but he dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head. Then he looked at her quizzically, demanding an explanation for the presence of a visitor.
“I’ve been showing Carole some fabrics.”
“Ah yes, of course. The
Francis Carlton looked at his watch. “I must go and wash my hands,” he said. “Absolutely filthy, the desk they had me sitting at.” Realizing this might have given Carole some clue as to where he’d been, he moved brusquely towards the bathroom.
“Are you going to want something for lunch?” asked Debbie.
“No. Meeting some people,” he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
“Am I meant to know where he’s been?” Carole murmured.
Debbie shook her head. “No. Francis wouldn’t like that. As I say, he’s very concerned about his image of respectability.”
“In that case, I’d better pretend I didn’t hear what he said when he came in. Have you any idea how long he’s going to be staying with you?”
“He hasn’t said. I wouldn’t think long. He’ll want to get back to Jonelle.” Still unable to say the name without an edge of distaste, she chuckled bleakly. “That is, of course, assuming the police allow him to go.” In response to Carole’s startled expression, she said, “Just a joke. Sorry. Me being vindictive.”
But was it just a joke – or part of a strategy of deception? “Do you have any other reason for saying that – apart from being vindictive?”
“No,” Debbie almost snapped.
“But for Francis to have come all this way – ”
Again there was the sound of the front door being unlocked. This time Debbie Carlton did not become moretense. More relaxed, if anything. She knew it was her mother.
Billie Franks arrived in the sitting room, looking exactly the same as she had on the previous occasion. She may have been wearing different clothes, but she was the kind of woman who always wore the same kind of clothes, so they made little difference. The tight grey perm looked as if it had been assumed like a helmet, and the basket was still clutched to her broad stomach.
“Morning, love. Oh, hello, Mrs Seddon.” The recall was instant. She took in the books of fabric samples. “You going to go ahead with the decorating, after all, then, are you?”
