At the door, Margot looked back. Bess was already seated. ‘See you in Mrs Crabbe’s café,’ Bess said. Margot nodded, but didn’t answer, and with a pleasant but professional smile that said both thank you and goodbye, the inspector closed the door.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs Donnelly.’
Bess smiled nervously. ‘I told Sergeant McGann everything I knew about David Sutherland on New Year’s Eve. I’m not sure I can add anything that would be of help.’
‘Perhaps not. However, due to recent developments, I’d like to show you some photographs that were taken that night. Would you to tell me if you recognise anyone from your time in London.’
Bess looked through the photographs carefully and shook her head. ‘It’s been ten years since I lived in London. I came back to Foxden in October 1939. I honestly don’t think I would recognise anyone that I didn’t know really well from that time,’ she said, laying down the photographs.
‘Thank you.’ The inspector flicked through the photographs, taking some out. ‘Your sister said there were local people in the public bar who were nothing to do with the New Year’s Eve party.’ Bess nodded. ‘I don’t expect you to know everyone who visited the hotel that night, but is there anyone in these photographs who looked out of place, seemed odd to you, or was acting suspiciously?’ Bess shook her head. The inspector handed her the rest of the photographs. ‘If you don’t mind looking through them again? Does anyone strike you as being in the wrong place - an invited guest, or a member of the staff? Someone who is somewhere they shouldn’t be…?’
‘Except for David Sutherland you mean?’ The inspector gave her a lopsided grin. ‘No,’ Bess said, ‘everyone’s where they should be, where I remember them being at the time.’ There was something not quite right, but Bess couldn’t put her finger on it. She stacked the photographs and placed them on top of the envelope. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I have your statement here.’ The policeman laid his hand on Sergeant McGann’s notes from New Year’s Eve. ‘It is often the case that witnesses remember things at a later date, or when they are on their own, that they hadn’t thought of when they were interviewed with someone else. Witnesses to the same thing at the same time sometimes rely on each other. I’m sure that isn’t the case with you and your sister. Nevertheless, if there is anything you’d like to add to your original statement?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ Bess wrung her hands beneath the desk. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t.’
‘Thank you. If you think of anything…’
‘I shall be sure to let you know.’
‘If I need to speak to you again, Mrs Donnelly, would it be all right if I came to the hotel?’
‘Yes of course, Inspector. I’m always there. Some days are busier than others and some times of the day are busier, but if you let me know before you come, give me a couple of hours’ notice, I’ll arrange for cover.’
As he had done with Margot, the inspector walked Bess to the door and opened it.
‘You’re going to a lot of trouble for a Nazi sympathiser who drowned,’ Bess said.
‘David Sutherland didn’t drown, Mrs Donnelly, he was murdered.’ Bess’s pulse quickened, but she felt neither concern, nor surprise. ‘The coroner thinks it was as long ago as New Year’s Eve.’ Unmoved by the news, Bess showed no emotion. ‘That doesn’t worry you?’
‘What? That Sutherland was murdered? Or that it was on New Year’s Eve?’
‘That he was murdered in the grounds of your hotel, after an argument with you.’
‘Not at all. Since it wasn’t me who murdered him, why would it? Besides, I wasn’t the only person Sutherland argued with. Sir Gerald Hawksley had more reason to kill Sutherland than I did.’ The inspector raised his eyebrows. ‘My father had a saying, which I’m sure you’ve heard many times. If you live by the sword, be prepared to die by the sword. David Sutherland was an evil man who lived very much by the sword. Perhaps he got what he deserved.’
Walking along the corridor, Bess could feel the inspector’s eyes on her back. Her legs felt as if they were made of cotton wool, but she walked with an even footfall, her pace steady, and her back straight. Once she was outside she slumped against the wall and shook uncontrollably. Sutherland murdered? Her head was spinning. That was what Henry meant when he said foul play. She thought she was going to faint and bent over. With her hands on her knees, to keep her balance, Bess began to breath slowly and deeply until she felt less lightheaded.
When she had regained her self-control, Bess walked from the police station to Mrs Crabbe’s Café on Market Street.
Margot jumped up as she entered. ‘Did he tell you that Sutherland was killed, murdered?’
‘Yes.’ Bess put her hands around the tea pot. It was still warm. She poured herself a cup and offered the rest to Margot.
She shook her head. ‘You have it. The thought of it makes me feel sick. My tummy’s like a coiled spring.’ Bess topped up her cup and added milk. ‘I wonder who it was,’ Margot said.
Bess’s brow puckered. It took her a minute to grasp what her sister was referring to. ‘I don’t know. McGann suspects me,’ Bess said. ‘I think this London copper does too.’
‘Why would that nice inspector suspect you? He doesn’t know about you and Sutherland does he?’
‘No. I told him less than I told Sergeant McGann at New Year. You didn’t say anything, did you?’
‘No! How could you even think I would?’
‘I’m sorry, Margot. Of course you wouldn’t. I don’t know why I even asked.’ Bess swallowed the last of the tepid tea and pulled a face. ‘I’m just sick and tired
