Bloodline

I sat at Clare’s desk making some phone calls on the landline while Angela cleared out the kitchen. I tried to tell her that she didn’t need to bother but she’d simply said that being busy would help take her mind off Emily.

I suppose she was right but a renewed lethargy had come over me. That feeling of ‘what’s the point?’ had returned.

After a while, I pulled myself together and rang DCI Coaker.

‘Any news about my phone and computer?’ I asked him. ‘I’m desperate for them.’

‘They’re here at police headquarters in Huntingdon.’

‘Can I come and collect them?’ I asked.

‘I’m just waiting for clearance from my superintendent,’ he said. ‘He may decide that they are evidence.’

‘How come?’

‘Computers are routinely investigated for evidence in all crimes.’

‘You won’t find much on mine,’ I said. ‘I only use it to access horseracing data as part of my job. And, occasionally, for making bets.’

‘Nevertheless, it will need to be checked.’

‘How about my phone?’ I asked. ‘I need one of the numbers on it.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Call me back in twenty minutes.’

I spent the time using the Yellow Pages to find a local builder who could send someone round as soon as possible to fix the broken door, and then I called a Newmarket car-hire company and arranged for them to deliver a car to the cottage.

I didn’t know yet how I was going to replace my old Ford but, in the meantime, I urgently needed some wheels, not least to get to Brighton races the following afternoon and Kempton Park on Wednesday and Thursday evenings, not that I really felt like going back to work.

I was completely wrung out, both physically and mentally.

‘What shall I do with all the pots and pans, and the crockery?’ Angela asked, putting her head round the door. ‘Were they Clare’s? Or did they come with the cottage?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ I sighed, dragging myself reluctantly to my feet. ‘I’ll go and ask in Geoff Grubb’s office. I need to go in there anyway and they might know.’

Better than that, Geoff’s secretary had a full inventory of what was in the cottage when Clare had moved in.

‘Don’t worry too much if it doesn’t match what’s in there now,’ she said, handing me a copy of a printed list. ‘It’s years since Clare moved in.’

I gave the list to Angela, who eagerly disappeared with it back into the kitchen.

I checked that twenty minutes had passed and then again called DCI Coaker.

‘My super says you can have all your stuff back.’

‘Great. How do I collect it?’

‘The forensic computer guy is just finishing examining your hard drive.’

I thought it was a gross invasion of my privacy, and I said so.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But the items were in Mrs Lowther’s possession at the time of her death and therefore they have to be checked.’

‘So when can I collect it?’

‘Where are you now?’ he asked.

‘Newmarket,’ I said.

‘I’m going to Cambridge shortly. I’ll take everything with me. You can collect it anytime after one o’clock from Parkside police station on the eastern ring road.’

‘Good. Thanks.’

‘And I’ve got your phone here for that number you need.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ I said. ‘I need the number for Detective Sergeant Sharp. It should be in my contacts list under S.’

I could hear him pushing the buttons of my phone.

‘Here you are.’ He read out the number and I wrote it down. ‘Can I ask why you want to speak to DS Sharp?’

‘He’s the Metropolitan Police officer who’s investigating my sister’s suicide. She fell to her death in London last month.’

‘Clare Shillingford,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Of course, the jockey. Now I recognize the name. I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s not been a great couple of weeks.’

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘What news of your investigation of last night?’

‘None that I can give you, I’m afraid. How are you feeling?’

‘Rather sore,’ I said, ‘but I’ll live.’

Unlike Emily.

I used the number DCI Coaker had given me to call Detective Sergeant Sharp, but he was unavailable. I left a message on his voicemail asking him to call me back as soon as possible. ‘I’ve got some fresh evidence about my sister’s death,’ I said, ‘from the hotel.’

Angela brought me in a cup of coffee.

‘I’m afraid we’ve only got powdered milk,’ she said.

I smiled at her. ‘Fine by me.’

Angela sat on the arm of the sofa, the same sofa where Emily and I had snuggled down together on Saturday evening.

‘Oh, God!’ I said, sighing again. ‘Life is so bloody at times.’

‘You really liked Emily, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And I feel it was my fault she was killed.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t take enough care. I should have seen the car sooner.’

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Angela said, trying to comfort me.

‘But I do.’

‘Have the police any idea who was driving?’ Angela asked.

‘Not that they’ll tell me.’

‘Maybe it was Emily’s ex husband. From what I hear he has a fiery temper. Perhaps he didn’t like her going out with somebody else.’

‘She told me at Tatiana’s party they were divorced,’ I said, ‘but they weren’t quite. No decree absolute apparently. Technically, she was still married to him.’