‘She said she thought Duncan was the father.’
‘The priest?’
Mrs Shepparton’s shocked outburst echoed the thought that ricocheted in Kay’s head.
‘Do you mean Duncan Saddleworth?’
‘Yes.’ The girl’s voice trembled. ‘I knew Sophie fancied him – she said when we’d passed him in the town one afternoon that he was good looking. “One to watch”, she said.’ Eva snorted. ‘I didn’t think for one minute she meant she was going to have sex with him as well.’
She shook her head, and then burst into tears.
Kay waited while the girl’s mother pulled her into a hug and settled her down before picking up her pen once more.
‘After she told you who the father was, what else did Sophie say?’
Eva shook her head. ‘Nothing. Her mum appeared on the terrace wanting to know where Mrs Jamieson was. We were frightened, I can tell you – we thought she’d overheard us, but she didn’t say anything. The housekeeper came along a few seconds later anyway, and they both disappeared. By then, Sophie had clammed up. She didn’t tell me anything else.’
And didn’t get a chance to, thought Kay.
‘Eva, you’ve been a great help today.’ She raised herself from the kitchen stool and signalled to Barnes through the window to return.
As Mrs Shepparton showed them to the front door, Kay lowered her voice.
‘How’s your daughter coping in the circumstances?’
The woman’s lips pursed. ‘As best she can. You find out who did that to her best friend, Detective. That’ll help her. She wants to see Sophie’s killer caught.’
‘So do we.’
Forty-Seven
Kay leaned against the car door and took a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air.
Duncan Saddleworth’s car had been parked to the side of the church, and she’d spotted two of the women who had been tending to the flower arrangements the first time she’d been to the church, although they hadn’t seen her. They’d walked out the doors, busy chattering while carrying brooms before disappearing around the corner of the building.
She’d parked away from the place of worship, along the lane and at an angle that she could see the main doors to the building as well as a smaller door that she presumed led from the vestry where she’d spoken with Saddleworth at the beginning of the investigation.
‘How do you want to do this, Sarge?’
Carys locked the vehicle and wandered round to join her, her neck craning up at the bell tower that cast a shadow over the front apron of the church grounds.
‘We’ll ask him down to the station. He hasn’t been interviewed formally yet, and I’d rather not have to repeat myself.’
‘Sounds good. Ours or his?’
Kay cast her eyes over the blue hatchback at the side of the church. ‘He can meet us there. I don’t get the impression he’s going to do a runner. Not when we know where he lives, and where he works.’
‘Do you think he killed her?’
‘I don’t think so, no. I do want to get to the bottom of whatever Sophie was playing at, though.’
‘You think her blackmailing the three of them was what got her killed?’
‘Not sure.’ She pushed off the car. ‘One way to find out.’
She strode towards the church as the doors opened once more, and Duncan Saddleworth appeared, a harried expression on his face.
His shoulders slumped when he noticed the two detectives approaching.
‘DS Hunter.’
‘Morning, Mr Saddleworth.’
He held up the briefcase in his hand and gestured towards his car. ‘I was about to go home and do my paperwork there. Did you want something?’
‘Actually, we’d like you to come to the police station.’
‘What? Why?’
‘We’ve obtained some more evidence in relation to the murder of Sophie Whittaker.’ Kay lowered her voice at the sight of the two women reappearing, their eyes agog at the presence of the police. ‘We’d like to speak with you as a matter of some urgency. Away from prying eyes – and eavesdroppers.’
Duncan glanced over his shoulder at the two cleaners, who scurried through the doors to the church, guilty expressions on their faces.
He sighed. ‘That’s not a bad idea, Detective.’
Duncan took the steaming cup of coffee from Carys, and then set it on the table between them while Kay pressed the “record” button and recited the formal caution for the interview to begin.
She’d draped her jacket over the back of her chair, silently cursing the temperamental air conditioning that was evidently going to start going on the blink as the summer began, and opened up the folder in front of her.
‘When did you first start receiving the letters from the blackmailer, Mr Saddleworth?’
He rocked back in his seat, stunned. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Please answer the question.’
He ran a hand over his mouth, and then leaned forward and cradled the coffee mug between his hands, his gaze downcast.
‘It started about two months ago, maybe a bit longer.’
‘Were you aware that there were others being blackmailed?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll need to know who.’
‘Blake Hamilton.’
‘Anyone else?’
He shook his head.
‘Mr Saddleworth—’
‘Call me Duncan.’
‘Thank you. Duncan – we were alerted to your being blackmailed by a Mr Felix Ashgrove, a resident of Tonbridge.’
A gasp escaped his lips. ‘Felix?’
‘Can you confirm you know him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was your relationship to Mr Ashgrove?’
His Adam’s apple bobbed, before he blushed. ‘We – we had a bit of a fling while I was studying at Oxford.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Late Nineties.’
‘But you’ve spoken to him recently?’
Saddleworth lowered his eyes. ‘Yes. He told you?’
‘He saw your face on the news report about Sophie’s funeral, and telephoned us. Is Blake Hamilton the reason you went to Connecticut after you finished your volunteer stint?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know he was married at the time?’
‘Yes.’ His lifted his head, his face miserable. ‘It only happened once after we left Oxford. He’d already gone months before I left for South America. His leaving was partly the reason I made the decision I had to get on with my life. Then I heard a rumour he
