‘Save it for the jury,’ I sneered. ‘Derek would die, and no one would suspect a thing. That was until John Ramsey ruined it.’ Like a bomb going off in my head to ruin my theory, I remembered that Derek just claimed he jumped. I kept going regardless, now making it up as I went along.
I took a pace to my right, then another, moving about as I watched her and wagging a finger in her direction. ‘You didn’t know Derek jumped. You thought John pushed him. We all did. But Derek landing in hospital was never part of the plan was it? He started to get better and you couldn’t have that. It’s why you were fighting so hard to use his cream this morning. You thought John ruined your perfectly crafted murder, so you took revenge by fixing his brakes.’
I turned my head to meet DS Atwell’s eyes. ‘She’s all yours,’ I told him with a note of finality.
He nodded his head in acknowledgement, but he didn’t move. I expected him to call the constables in, but he remained where he was, watching Joanne. Several seconds passed.
No one was speaking. Joanne’s chest heaved from the shock of being exposed for the criminal she was. Tamara’s delicate features contained not one jot of colour and she looked like she might faint. Derek was still holding his wife’s hand.
Just when I thought I was going to have to say something, DS Atwell, scratched his chin. It was the same thoughtful motion I saw him perform in the corridor outside.
He frowned next and narrowed his eyes at Joanne.
This was it. He was going to read her, her rights.
‘Mrs Bleakwith what were you doing at the golf club?
Her cheeks flushed and she looked guiltily down at her husband lying on his hospital bed. The bed she had put him in.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’ Her voice was a hushed whisper. ‘I took a cleaning job.’
I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and wiggle them around to clear out the wax. I must have misheard her.
Derek sighed. ‘How much this time?’
‘Not much,’ she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter, darling.’
Mindy raised her hand. ‘What’s going on?’ I wanted to second her question.
Joanne forced her face up to look across the room. There were tears in her eyes which she refused to wipe away. ‘I am a gambling addict,’ she announced with shame.
As Tamara rushed to her mother’s side and the two of them embraced, Derek took over.
‘Joanne has been fighting this for years. It got really bad about a decade ago and she started going to meetings. She even had hypnotherapy to try to control it, but it rears its ugly head every now and then.’ He swore under his breath. ‘The problem is that it is so easy, and the websites target people they know are vulnerable.’
Joanne broke away from Tamara but kept hold of her daughter’s hand for support. ‘I took the job at the golf club to make money I could play with. And to hide what I was doing from Derek. We are supposed to be saving to buy a holiday home. That’s what the brochures are for.’
‘We’ve been talking about it for years,’ Derek explained. ‘What’s this about the cream though? How is it that you think the cream was poisoning me?’
When I came into the room, I had been certain about all I knew. Now I wasn’t sure I knew anything.
Trying not to mumble, I said, ‘Well, your skin was terrible, and your joint pain was enough to make you try to take your own life. I thought it had to be the cream. It made complete sense. As soon as Joanne stopped putting it on you, you started getting better.’
Joanne held up her hands. ‘I put the cream on with my bare hands. Even if I washed it off afterward, surely it would have some effect on me if there was something in it that was causing Derek’s condition.’
To prove a point, she opened one of the jars and smeared a glob of cream up her left forearm. ‘It’s just medicated skin cream.’
‘So who killed John?’ I had to ask, utterly flummoxed.
Before anyone could answer, the doors behind us burst open. The person coming in did so with such force that almost everyone in the room jumped, and I turned to find Chief Inspector Quinn glaring at me.
‘DS Atwell I hope you have a very good reason for this woman to not be in cuffs,’ he growled. The two constables from outside now flanked him on either side and he’d brought more officers with him.
With nonchalance DS Atwell said, ‘I’ve always found it best to only arrest people if they are guilty, sir.’
Quinn’s head and eyes snapped around to face the detective in his rumpled too-big jacket. ‘What?’
An amused flicker played across DS Atwell’s face. ‘Well, sir, Mr Bleakwith wasn’t pushed. Not by Mr Ramsey and certainly not by Mrs Philips. Mr Bleakwith jumped. As for Mr Ramsey’s unfortunate demise, sir, I believe the official verdict is still accidental death because his car’s brakes failed due to poor maintenance. Half of the Maidstone constabulary are looking for a killer when no one has, in fact, been killed, sir.’
A muscle was twitching in the chief inspector’s jaw. It didn’t show, but I gauged his rage level to be somewhere close to apoplectic.
With a snarl, and without taking his eyes from DS Atwell, Chief Inspector Quinn said, ‘Constables Romanov and Barton, place these two women under arrest and make sure they are secure.
The two constables who had been manning the door stepped forward, pulling handcuffs from their belts.
A voice rang out to stop them.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Chief Inspector.’
Mindy bounced up onto her toes
