‘Grace said you wanted to talk to Diane and me?’
She turned at the sound of Matthew’s voice behind her, and was relieved to see he’d left his guests elsewhere.
‘Good morning, Mr Whittaker. Yes, we would. We were told your wife was waiting for us in the sunroom.’
‘Through here.’
Kay stepped to one side to let him pass, then followed him through double oak doors and into a glass-panelled room that had been added on to one side of the house several years ago. Despite the bright sunlight outside however, the angle of the extension on the building left it in shade, and Kay noticed that spotlights had been set into the ceiling at some point over the years.
‘Late twentieth century addition.’
Kay tore her eyes away from the patches of damp and peeling paint in the far corners of the room and made her way over to where Diane sat in a wicker armchair, a tray containing two china cups and a teapot in front of her on a small matching table.
Matthew hovered near one of the windows that overlooked a walled garden, and folded his arms across his chest.
‘What did you want to talk to us about?’
Kay gestured to the seat next to Diane’s. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit?’
‘I’ll stand,’ he said and glared at her. ‘What’s taking so long with this investigation? Surely the mongrel should have been in front of a magistrate by now?’
Fine, thought Kay.
‘Peter Evans attempted suicide last night while in police custody.’
Diane gasped and rocked back in her chair.
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. ‘Attempted?’
‘He’s currently recuperating in hospital, having undergone emergency surgery overnight.’
‘More’s the pity he survived.’
‘Mr Whittaker—’
‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Obviously, the guilt got to him and he couldn’t live with himself.’
‘How well did you know Peter?’
‘We didn’t. He turned up here a few times, like I’ve already told you. I had a word, told him to stay away, and we haven’t seen him since.’
‘Did Sophie ever stay away from home overnight?’
Matthew’s brow creased, and he glanced across to where Diane sat, her face white.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘but she always told us where she was going, and we know her friends’ parents, so it was never a problem.’
Kay checked her notes. ‘She was studying part-time, wasn’t she?’
Diane withdrew a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, then nodded. ‘Art school. Four days a week.’
‘No school for one day a week?’
‘No, that’s right. It’s to give the students a chance to build up their portfolios. Sophie would often paint in here, or take a sketchbook into town and find somewhere to sit and draw.’
‘What on earth has this all got to do with Peter Evans?’ demanded Matthew.
Kay took a deep breath. ‘We’re trying to build up a picture of Sophie’s life these past few weeks. Peter Evans attempted suicide after discovering Sophie was pregnant when she was killed.’
‘Oh, my Lord,’ whimpered Diane.
Matthew staggered, and reached out for the back of the chair, his knuckles white. ‘Where the hell did he get that idea from?’
‘We received the information yesterday. At which point, Peter Evans was re-interviewed and asked if he had slept with Sophie.’
Diane emitted a wail, and Matthew rushed to her side, crouching next to her and taking her hands in his.
He turned and glared at Kay.
‘Peter Evans confirmed that he had slept with Sophie recently,’ she said softly. ‘It seems the method of contraception they used didn’t work. The post mortem results are still awaited, at which point we’ll be seeking a paternity test as well.’
‘I’m going to be sick.’
Diane launched herself from the chair and rushed from the room.
Matthew straightened, his face distraught.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Whittaker. We had to let you know. You had no idea?’
‘No.’ He ran a hand over his face, and then pointed towards the door. ‘I’d like you to leave now.’
Twenty-One
A hush descended on the incident room the next morning as Kay let the door close behind her, as if she’d interrupted a private conversation.
She checked her watch, but the morning debrief was still twenty minutes away.
She ran her eyes over her colleagues as she passed them, but none would look up and meet her gaze.
Instead, they seemed intent on staring at their computer screens, or taking phone calls. A couple of the administrative staff appeared from the corner where the photocopier was, chatting happily until one of them saw Kay, and lowered her voice before nudging her colleague. Blushing, they scurried back to their desks and sat down, studiously ignoring her.
Before she could sit at her desk, Sharp peered out of his office and beckoned to her.
‘Got a minute?’
Perplexed, she dumped her bag on the desk and followed him.
He shut the door behind her and gestured to the chairs opposite his desk.
‘Have a seat,’ he said and pulled the blinds down.
‘I’d prefer to stand, thanks. What’s going on?’
He moved past her, then perched on the corner of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.
Kay raised an eyebrow. Sharp had never seemed the nervous sort to her, especially with his military background, but right now he looked like he’d prefer to be anywhere other than talking to her.
Afghanistan, perhaps.
‘Guv?’
‘There’s – ah – there’s a rumour circulating that your health might not have been all that good these past few months, Kay.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘In what way?’
He dropped his gaze and ran a hand over his hair. ‘Is it true you’ve had a miscarriage?’
The air left her lungs so fast, Kay staggered and reached out for the back of one of the chairs to steady herself.
Her vision blurred, the corners of her eyes darkening before filling with pinpricks of light, and her stomach heaved.
‘Who—’
‘I don’t know how the rumour started. No-one seems to know who heard it first, but you know what it’s like – one moment it was business as usual out there, and the next everyone’s
