Close to Death

Felicity Browne had come down from the bedroom and was sitting on the sofa next to her sister. She was wearing a dressing gown and slippers and her hair was bedraggled, but apart from that, she didn’t look much worse than she had done when her husband was still alive. That was the cruelty of her illness. It had dragged her down to such a low level that there wasn’t anywhere further to go. Hawthorne and Dudley sat on a second sofa, facing her. Gareth had already taken the only armchair.

‘I know how difficult this is for you,’ Hawthorne said. ‘But there are still unanswered questions relating to the deaths of both your husband and Giles Kenworthy.’

Felicity said nothing.

‘You don’t have to talk to them,’ Alison said quietly.

‘Actually, I think she does,’ Hawthorne contradicted her. ‘We believe there’s a good chance that Mr Browne did not kill himself . . .’

‘Mr Khan never said anything about that.’

‘Fresh information has come to light over the weekend which may have altered the picture.’ Hawthorne was deliberately trying to sound as official as possible. In fact, had Khan known they were there, they might well have ended up under arrest.

His strategy worked. ‘What do you want to know?’ Felicity asked.

Dudley took out his notebook. His iPhone was already recording everything that was said.

‘Do you think your husband killed Giles Kenworthy?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘What sort of question is that?’ Alison cut in, appalled.

‘A reasonable one,’ Hawthorne returned.

‘Maybe we should call the Detective Superintendent . . .’ Alison took hold of her sister’s hand.

But Felicity pulled away. Hawthorne had roused something within her, an anger that until now she hadn’t been allowed to express. Khan had told her that her husband was dead. He had explained that he had confessed to the murder. He had destroyed her world. But he had never listened to her. ‘Of course he didn’t kill anyone,’ she said. ‘Roderick didn’t have it in him. He was the gentlest, kindest of men. The police don’t know what they’re talking about.’

‘So you don’t believe he committed suicide either,’ Dudley said.

‘He would never have left me on my own. We’d been together for twenty-six years and we were happy until this illness came and turned me into what I am. Nobody wants to be married to an invalid, but he stuck by me because that was the sort of man he was. Ask any of his patients. They’ll tell you the same thing. He worried about every single one of them. If he was going to do something complicated – root canal surgery, or an extraction – he would go over and over the X-rays. Everything had to be perfect.’

Alison and Gareth exchanged glances. It had been a long time since they had heard Felicity say so much in one breath.

‘So how do you explain the letter he sent you?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why do you think he wanted you out of the house?’

‘He was worried about me.’

‘Roderick called us,’ Alison said. ‘He told us that Felicity’s neighbour had been found dead. He said there were police everywhere, a lot of noise and activity, and it would be better for Fee to be away for twenty-four hours. He asked to bring her round.’

‘Of course we agreed,’ Gareth said. He was a large, bearded man, sitting with legs splayed and his hands on his knees. ‘Ever since Felicity got poorly, we’ve taken her in from time to time. We’ve got both our kids at college now and it’s not as if we don’t have the room.’

Hawthorne turned back to Felicity. ‘In the car, when he drove you over here, did he say anything that struck you as strange? Did he give you any indication of what he was thinking about?’

‘He said he’d done something stupid.’

‘Like . . . killing his neighbour with a crossbow?’ Dudley suggested.

‘No. That’s not what he meant. He was angry with himself. But he told me not to worry. He brought me in and he kissed me goodbye in this very room and I can tell you – just from the way he looked at me – he was expecting to see me again.’ She closed her eyes, remembering the moment. ‘It wasn’t a final goodbye. I’d have known.’

A Siamese fighting fish swam lazily across the aquarium, a multicoloured tail rippling behind it. Bubbles were rising from a pump concealed in a plastic pirate’s galleon. The hum of the motor was constant, insinuating itself into every silence.

‘So what do you think happened?’ Hawthorne asked. ‘If he didn’t take his own life, why do you think he was killed?’

‘I think he saw something and somebody silenced him.’

‘Who?’ Dudley asked.

‘The same person who killed Giles Kenworthy.’ Felicity made it sound as if she was explaining the obvious. ‘I don’t know who that was – but when they took the crossbow from our garage, Roderick might have seen them. There’s a skylight on the roof and you can look through it from the bathroom. He could have seen them while he was cleaning his teeth.’

‘But he didn’t say anything to you.’

‘He wouldn’t have wanted to worry me.’