‘He’s justdropped back. A black BMW X6. He’s speeding up a bit now, see him?’
Morton angledhis head and caught sight of a black car – was that a BMW? He had noidea, but the car was gaining ground. ‘How do you know he’s following us,though? We’ve pretty much stayed on the same road since leavingBrighton.’
‘He’s tryingnot to be seen, speeding up, slowing down, taking odd decisions.’
‘Are you sureyou’re not just being paranoid?’ Morton asked.
‘Hold tight,’Juliette said, ‘and get the plates.’
Morton wasabout to ask what she meant when she yanked up the handbrake and hard-lockedthe steering wheel. The tyres squealed like dying pigs as the car spunround one hundred and eighty degrees. A split-second later and the blackBMW sailed past at top-speed. Morton forgot the plates as soon as he sawthe driver and recognised him; the question he had posed to Juliette about herparanoia had been answered.
There could be no mistake, the man who hadfollowed them out of Brighton in the BMW was the same man who had dropped hiscigarettes on the steps of the Brighton District Probate Registry. AsMorton sat at the desk in his study with his research notes spread out in frontof him, it crystallised in his mind that Peter’s death, the mugging and thecar-trailing were anything but coincidences. Even Juliette was beginningto understand his reticence in reporting the robbery. The first thingthat Morton did when they returned home was to jot down all that he couldrecall typing into the notes about the case so far. When he finished, hesifted through the folder until he came to Soraya Benton’s address and phonenumber. Should he call her or visit? He would usually phonefirst and explain who he was and why he was making contact, but he didn’t wantto take a chance that she wouldn’t be willing to meet in person. Hedecided to pay her a visit.
When Morton parked outside the addressthat the electoral register search had provided, he was relieved not to havehis fears confirmed that he would arrive to find Soraya’s bludgeoned corpsebeing stretchered out by paramedics. The quiet tree-lined road was closeto Peter Coldrick’s house, but on the more affluent side of town. Thehouse was a chunky Victorian semi with a carefully trained yellow-floweredhoneysuckle enveloping much of the façade.
Hedouble-checked the rear-view mirror and was as certain as he could be that hehadn’t been followed. With a final glance in the mirror, Mortonapproached the house and pressed the doorbell.
A moment latera woman in her early forties appeared at the door in jeans and an over-sizedcream jumper, with tousled brown hair tied back in a looseponytail. Could she be Soraya Benton? If so, then Mortonwas both impressed and astonished that Coldrick had managed to pull someoneso... well, someone so way out of his league. She was not at allthe frump he’d conjured up in his imagination on the journey over here.
‘Hi there,’Morton began, ‘are you Soraya Benton?’
She lookedbaffled, her eyes narrowing as if she were struggling to recognise an oldschool friend. ‘Yes,’ she said warily.
‘My name’sMorton Farrier, I hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this-’
‘-Ah, Iwondered when you might make an appearance,’ Soraya interjected with a shygrin. ‘Come in.’ She stepped aside, showing Morton into a brighthallway. He was puzzled by her cryptic greeting. He’d anticipated along and protracted doorstep discussion, especially if Soraya and Coldrick hadseparated acrimoniously. This was quite baffling to him. Sorayamoved past him and he followed her into a large and comfortable lounge.
‘What did youmean, you wondered when I might make an appearance?’ Morton asked. Soraya smiled and invited him to sit down.
‘I wasexpecting you – I knew that if you were as good a forensic genealogist as yourwebsite claimed that you’d find me somehow. You see, I was the one whosuggested Peter employed you.’ Morton was still perplexed – hemight never have found her, were it not for Juliette mentioning her veryexistence, but he wasn’t about to reveal that snippet of news; he wasenjoying the view from the pedestal she had placed him on. She spoke socalmly and confidently that it unnerved him slightly.
‘Well, here Iam,’ Morton said, adding after a pause, ‘I’m very sorry about Peter’s death.’
‘Me too,’Soraya said, her expression suggesting that such simple words couldn’t evenbegin to express what she was feeling. He could see entrenched sadnessand sorrow implicit in her eyes and couldn’t imagine what she must be goingthrough. ‘I’ve just opened a bottle of red – can I persuade you to helpme out with it?’
Mortonnodded. ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’
Soraya left theroom then returned with a glass. ‘Can I ask what you think about Peter’sdeath,’ she asked.
‘Well, he onlyhired me on Tuesday, but…’ Morton’s voice trailed off. He didn’t know howmuch he wanted to say, how much he could say.
‘But?’
‘But he didn’tseem the suicide type,’ Morton answered, hoping that his answer was diplomaticand pointed enough without cutting a fresh wound in her grief.
Soraya set herglass down on the table between them. ‘No, he wasn’t the suicide type atall. Even if he had wanted to kill himself, he never in a million yearswould have used a gun. I mean, he didn’t even own a gun. Whygo to all that bother when there was enough paracetamol in his bathroom cabinetto fell a large horse? Or a kitchen full of knives?’
‘It doesn’treally add up,’ he agreed.
‘Well, I knowfor certain he didn’t do it.’ The way that she emphasised the word knowsuggested to Morton that she must be sitting on some kind of irrefutableevidence, which surely she had shared with the police?
‘How can youknow? The police seem fairly convinced it was suicide.’
‘I know theyare, but they’ve got it wrong. Very wrong.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘No, reallywrong. Follow me.’
Morton put downhis glass and followed Soraya down the hallway where she gently pushed open adoor and stood back, allowing Morton to stick his head inside. Thetightly drawn Incredible Hulk curtains should have been sufficient enough cluefor him, but it wasn’t until his eyes fell upon a sleeping child, right legdangling precariously
