‘Cherchez la femme!’ he pronounced in an execrable French accent.
‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I don’t follow you . . .’ Troughton looked at the DS as though he had taken leave of his wits.
‘Look for the woman,’ Noakes translated ponderously, clearly very pleased at dazzling his audience with this smattering of culture.
‘I still don’t—’
‘I think Sergeant Noakes is suggesting that Ms Stanley might have supposed you to have some kind of sexual interest in Rebecca Shawcross and that this triggered a jealous explosion of rage.’
‘Yeah, a love triangle thingy,’ Noakes confirmed happily.
Troughton looked appalled.
‘I don’t have feelings of any kind for Ms Stanley,’ he said stiffly. ‘She is a dedicated, thoroughly professional colleague . . . but that’s where it begins and ends.’
‘What if she wanted more, though?’ the DS said with man-of-the-world mateyness.
The doctor’s horror-struck expression might have been comic in other circumstances, thought Markham. Watching Troughton closely, he saw another expression cross his features. One of troubled conjecture.
‘What is it, Doctor?’
‘These rooms aren’t particularly well sound-proofed,’ he said hesitantly.
‘So Ms Stanley could have . . . overheard your conversation with Rebecca Shawcross.’ Burton’s eyes were fastened on Troughton with an earnestness which clearly unnerved him.
‘Eavesdropping.’ As ever, Noakes wasn’t one to mince words.
‘No,’ the GP stammered, ‘she wouldn’t have. It would’ve been unethical.’
Noakes shook his head pityingly.
None so blind as those who will not see.
‘If Nurse Stanley’s got the hots for you an’ earwigged your little chat with Shawcross, she might’ve had the idea of clobbering her . . . y’know, as payback for what she did to you.’
Dumbfounded silence was the only response from the other side of the table.
Noakes looked decidedly gratified at the effect of his hypothesis, but Markham decided his witness had had enough for now. ‘I’d ask you to keep everything said in here today confidential, Doctor.’
‘I don’t want to talk to anyone about Phil, Inspector . . . It would be like a betrayal of his memory.’ Again that sudden fierceness. ‘And that little bitch has done enough damage already.’ He brought himself up short. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, she didn’t deserve to die like that . . . no matter what she did.’ He bit his lip. ‘But when I looked down at her body, all I could think was karma . . . like there was finally some justice for Phil and he could at last rest in peace . . .’
‘You wouldn’t be human if you’d felt otherwise, Doctor.’ Markham’s compassion was unfeigned.
‘How did you part from Ms Shawcross?’ Burton asked. ‘Sounds like it was all very calm between you in the end.’
‘We just looked at each other and she walked out.’ His tone hollow with regret, he added, ‘I didn’t put up much of a fight for Phil . . . couldn’t even get that right.’
‘Don’ be too hard on yourself, mate,’ Noakes said gruffly. ‘Sounds like you said what needed to be said . . . you did right by your Phil . . . I bet he knows that an’ all.’
No hint of handcuffs in the offing now, Markham reflected wryly, amused despite himself by Noakes’s volte-face.
The doctor was clearly touched. Making a pretence of polishing his spectacles on his sleeve, he pulled himself together.
‘Thank you, officers,’ he said quietly, once more the nondescript locum. ‘I take it I’m free to go now?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Markham escorted him to the door then paused.
‘Just one last thing, Doctor . . . I believe you sometimes work with a Doctor McCaffery from the Newman Hospital?’
‘That’s right.’ Troughton’s expression was perfectly open and ingenuous. ‘We’ve co-authored various papers . . . In fact he’s due to see me and,’ he paused, suddenly self-conscious, ‘Nurse Stanley about some histology results. Presumably we can still have our meeting here, or should I reschedule?’
‘No, that’s fine . . . Just have a word with DC Doyle who’s on gatekeeping duties and he’ll sign your visitor in.’
‘Well, back to the chuffing drawing board,’ Noakes sighed once the door had closed behind the locum. ‘Unless we think poor ole Doctor Troutface did for Shawcross.’
‘Unlikely, I would say,’ Markham replied. ‘That was a broken man alright.’
‘What about Maureen Stanley?’ Burton was doodling maniacally in her pocketbook, a habit with her at times of intense cogitation.
‘Tell us your thoughts, Kate.’
‘Well, maybe she had some motive of her own for killing Rebecca Shawcross . . . something we don’t know about as yet . . . And then she overheard the conversation between Doctor Troughton and Shawcross and saw how she could get away with murder . . .’
‘By framing the doc, you mean?’ Noakes looked dubious.
‘She might have been calculating on Phil Carmichael’s story eventually pointing to Troughton as the most likely suspect.’
‘Nah.’ Noakes shook his head with decision. ‘She’s deffo got a thing for the doc. You could tell jus’ by the way she looked at him . . . like she wanted to ’ave him for lunch or summat . . .’
Burton stuck to her guns. ‘If he slapped her down or she realized she wasn’t going to get anywhere romantically, that could be a reason to want to get back at him.’
‘S’pose it’s possible,’ Noakes conceded. ‘Women go a bit funny round that age . . . turn into bunny boilers . . . hormones, y’see . . . Like in that film Fatal Attraction—’
‘I wasn’t referring to the menopause,’ Burton countered frigidly.
Noakes looked affronted. ‘I’m not saying every woman goes Looney Tunes, obviously. Jus’ the ones who can’t get a grip.’ He drew himself up. ‘My missus says it’s all about strength of mind,’ he added magisterially as if that settled the
