‘No, no, but apparently they could hear the stepson rowing with her on a regular basis and, as we guessed, he wanted money. They rowed a lot because she wasn’t obliging.’
‘Where have I heard that before!’ Woody exclaimed. ‘And that doesn’t make him a killer. That’s assuming we are now looking for a killer.’
‘But it could. And then there’s that Cornelius Crow! I mean, the very name is spooky! He’s really creepy and he writes murder novels full of blood and gore apparently. Perhaps he knows all about poisons too.’
‘That doesn’t make him a killer either,’ Woody retorted. ‘Just as likely to be one of your old ladies who’d got a grudge against her. If you ever have to do some super-sleuthing again then you can’t just come up with random theories. You’ve got to work on means – how they managed to do it, on motive – why they wanted to do it, and then, when would they have had the opportunity to do it. Kate, I appreciate you’re trying to protect your job and the surgery, but we have no real proof that there’s a killer around.’
‘I’m trying to be methodical and, if my suspicions are correct, then I’ve discovered how the person did it and also how they had the opportunity. I’m convinced one of them is a killer! But the residents are all so weird, apart from the Potter twins, so it makes it difficult to narrow down the choice of suspects. Don’t forget there’s the old vicar as well who was besotted with Edina, but the feelings were not reciprocated. Perhaps he was driven mad with desire and couldn’t live with the rejection?’
‘How do you know his love was unrequited?’
‘Well, that’s what the very chubby couple in Flat 3 reckoned.’
‘The chubby couple?’
‘The Pratts, who, according to the ladies, had won money on the lottery or something, and upgraded themselves from a flat on the estate. The twins, who are a wee bit snobby, think they are a tad common. Not my words,’ she said as Woody raised an eyebrow. ‘Ollie, the husband, did lots of small jobs for Edina and she rewarded him with CDs of opera, which made Gloria, his wife, jealous as can be. She’s not a very nice woman but I have to admit that I find it hard to believe she had enough motive.’
Woody laughed. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got all their birth dates, heights, waist measurements and hobbies yet.’
Kate grinned. ‘Give me time! The only resident I don’t know much about yet is the little lady in Flat 1, but she’s been away and missed all the drama.’
‘To change the subject,’ Woody said as he refilled their glasses, ‘how’s that crazy sister of yours getting on with her beau?’
‘Oh, you mean Fergal?’
Fergal was very Irish, very friendly, and worked for a firm in Plymouth who supplied postcards and local paraphernalia to tourist shops. In fact, that’s how he met her – he literally picked her up when she tripped and fell flat on the pavement right outside the shop he was delivering to. Kate hadn’t told Woody that, some months previously, Angie had got completely plastered on her own in The Greedy Gull and Kate had been summoned to take her home. The person who gallantly came forward to help Kate get Angie onto her feet was none other than Fergal, a fact of which Angie was completely unaware. So, in fact, he’d picked her up twice.
Fergal was a free spirit. He appeared to be very fond of Angie but one weekend he’d appear and the next weekend he wouldn’t. It drove Angie mad.
‘At least he seems a good influence,’ Kate said, ‘and keeps her out of The Greedy Gull. Pity he lives in Plymouth; if he lived nearer they’d probably see each other more often.’
Woody sighed. ‘Poor Angie.’
‘She takes after our dad. “The alcoholic gene” is what my mother called it. Mind you,’ Kate said as she drained her glass, ‘the way I’m knocking back this wine, who am I to talk?’
‘It is a great wine,’ Woody said, holding up the bottle and scrutinising the label. ‘Considering it’s only French and not Californian, it’s pretty good. I guess maybe we’ve taught the French a thing or two!’
Kate laughed. ‘Very decent of you to consider drinking it.’
‘I may even be persuaded to open another bottle of the stuff. What can we celebrate? Your great discovery? Or you becoming a grandmother? Me retiring? Or supposed to be. A day without rain?’
They clinked glasses.
‘Now, Kate, shall we take this bottle upstairs with us and go to bed?’
‘Sometimes you come up with just the right solution.’ Kate smiled.
Ten
The next day Kate presented herself at the police station in Launceston at half past nine. Detective Inspector Bill Robson looked his usual dour self. He had a considerable paunch, which he massaged continually with one hand.
‘Ah, Mrs Palmer,’ he said when Kate was shown in, ‘we meet again. Do take a seat. Woody Forrest told me you’d be calling. Nasty business, this, at Seaview Grange.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Kate agreed. ‘I’ve got to know most of the residents due to my visits there as a nurse from time to time. And I think I’ve discovered some interesting facts.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bill, shuffling some pieces of paper around.
Kate told him again of her visit to Edina prior to her becoming ill, and reminded him about how convinced Edina was that someone was trying to kill her by causing her to trip down the stairs.
‘Well, of course,’ he said with a sniff, ‘it’s easy enough to trip down the stairs.’
‘It’s a lot easier when an electric flex has been positioned across the top,’ Kate pointed out.
He continued to stroke his belly. Did the man have an itch, Kate wondered, or was it some sort of method to activate his brain?
‘I know from my own visit there,’ Kate continued, ‘that Edina Martinelli’s stepson was frequently calling on her asking
