‘I’m Kate – Kate Palmer.’
‘Well, I’m Clare Payne and I’m pleased to meet you, Kate. Thank you for coming. I know how busy you must be, but it’s so much easier for me to have home visits.’
‘It’s no problem,’ said Kate, ‘and I enjoy getting out and about. Now, let’s have a look at this leg of yours.’
As Kate busied herself with dressings, she was aware of being scrutinised by Clare Payne.
‘So, you’re new here?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Kate replied, ‘I’ve been here about two months.’
‘Still finding your way around?’ asked the doctor as he reappeared with a tray of coffee, which he set down on the table. ‘How do you like your coffee – and the Tinworthys?’
‘I like my coffee with just a dash of milk and no sugar, please. And my sister and I have bought a cottage in Lower Tinworthy,’ Kate replied, ‘so I’m not too familiar with this area up here. But we both like it there very much.’
‘Just so long as you don’t get murdered,’ Clare Payne said with feeling, glaring at her husband.
‘Oh come on, Clare!’ Dr Payne’s hands shook as he was handing round the cups. Fortunately, there were saucers because the coffee had slopped everywhere. Did he have a medical problem or was he nervous? Now why would he be nervous? Kate wondered.
‘Did you know Mrs Barker-Jones very well?’ Kate asked.
‘We’d been neighbours for ten years but we weren’t what you’d call friends,’ Clare replied.
Hmm, thought Kate, that’s not what I’ve heard. She continued dealing with Clare’s dressing.
‘I was in the village hall the night of the murder and was called to inspect Fenella’s body,’ Kate said. ‘It’s not an evening I’m ever likely to forget.’
‘I was told it was you who discovered the body of Kevin Barry on the beach,’ the doctor said.
‘Yes, it was,’ Kate replied. ‘I’ve not been sleeping well since, as you can imagine.’
‘How awful for you,’ said the doctor. ‘How do you feel about wandering around in the evenings?’
‘I don’t go out much in the evenings,’ she said.
‘And do you lock your doors?’ There was an inflection in his voice that made Kate shiver. He sounded almost amused. Kate was aware that he was studying her intently. Was her imagination running away with her or was there a strange look in his eyes?
‘Oh, the door is usually locked anyway, but this business certainly doesn’t stop me going out,’ Kate said, sipping her coffee. ‘My sister is convinced there’s a serial killer on the loose, but I don’t agree.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Clare.
There was silence for a moment. Then the doctor asked, ‘Why do you not think there’s a serial killer on the loose?’
‘Because I think it’s someone local,’ Kate said, meeting his unblinking eye. ‘I think he or she probably had a score to settle.’
‘I think you’re quite right,’ said Clare. ‘People seem to think that because I’m in this chair I don’t know what’s going on, but I do. And, of course, they suspect poor Dickie because he made that trip to the supermarket at the time Fenella was murdered. We’d run out of milk, you see. And here I was, all on my own, and I could hear the police sirens blaring away. I was quite terrified, and very relieved when Dickie got back. He’d had to go all the way to Camelford to get the milk.’
Kate couldn’t think of what to say to this and neither, apparently, could Dickie. She concentrated on what she was doing, the Paynes concentrated on their coffees and nobody said anything. Clare Payne was supposed to be fragile, rumour had it, shielded from what was going on, unaware of her husband’s philandering. In Kate’s opinion Clare knew only too well what was going on, and probably knew about Dickie as well. Her body might be frail but her mind was sharp as a needle. Kate cast an eye at the doctor, who was staring out the window.
‘I have some work to do in my study,’ he said eventually. ‘Will you excuse me?’ Without waiting for an answer he headed out the door, still holding his coffee cup.
Now, thought Kate, if I was watching this little scenario on the television, I would reckon he was as guilty as hell. He showed no sympathy at all for Fenella or Kevin. He said nothing about his trip to the supermarket. He was a cold fish. He could well be a suspect.
But, try as she might, Kate couldn’t imagine this tall, stooped Englishman shedding his tweed jacket and grey V-neck to wrench a knife from Fenella and then plunge it into her heart. Though at least he’d have known exactly where her heart was, which was more than could be said for most people.
‘There now, almost finished,’ Kate said into the silence as she finished bandaging. ‘How does that feel, Mrs Payne?’
‘It feels fine, and please call me Clare.’
‘I will, Clare.’
‘And please forgive Dickie for shooting off like that but he’s got a lot on his mind at the moment.’
Has he now? Kate wondered.
‘He was fond of Fenella, you know. Took it very badly, her murder.’
‘I expect he did,’ Kate murmured, thinking that ‘fond’ might be something of an understatement. How much did this woman know precisely?
Kate drained her coffee and could think of no reason to prolong the visit. ‘I should be going,’ she said.
‘I hope you’ll come again,’ said Clare. ‘It’s good to meet someone from the outside world, if you know what I mean.’
‘Well, we’re doing our best to integrate. And I will come again. It’s been lovely to meet you.’
‘Likewise.’ Clare looked sad. ‘I haven’t got much physical movement these days, but I miss very little, you know.’
‘I believe you,’ Kate said truthfully as she packed up her bag.
There was a definite feeling of tension in the house and Kate was glad to leave.
She wouldn’t be ruling out Dickie Payne from her list of suspects.
Twelve
Kate got home, kicked off
