The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,47
with this information is obviously up to you.”
She made a little impatient, fluttering gesture with her hands and looked from one to the other.
“But do you know that feeling you get sometimes when you’ve misplaced something, and you’ve looked absolutely everywhere for it? And then you step back for a moment, think about it, and suddenly, with absolute certainty, you know exactly where it is? And you go straight there and you look in the pocket of that jacket you haven’t worn for ages and sure enough, there it is. What you lost. That’s how I feel about this. I feel absolutely certain that if you look there, you’ll find her. Meg Wynne Thompson.”
She sat back, distressed and exhausted. The late-afternoon sun filtered through the curtains lighting the flowers on her desk, the art books on her shelves, and the watercolours on the walls. Morgan, drawn out of the moment, looked around and wondered admiringly how anyone could live such a clutter-free life.
“Miss Brannigan, do you have anyone you could call who might come and stay with you for a little while? Is there anyone you’d like us to get?” Davies asked. “Normally, I’d suggest that the WPC here stay with you, but in light of what you’ve just said, I’m going to need her back at the station.”
Penny met his gaze.
“Well, since Emma died, I don’t really have a very close friend, and everyone who might be able to come over is probably at work.”
She sat there for a moment.
“There’s Bronwyn, of course.”
A moment later, she added, “Wait, there is someone, actually, but I don’t have her phone number. She’s called Victoria Hopkirk, and Bronwyn Evans, the wife of our rector, knows where to find her. She seemed a sensible, kind woman. I don’t know her very well, but I quite liked her. Could we ask her?”
Davies nodded at Morgan, who excused herself to make the arrangements.
“The thing is, though, Miss Brannigan, we’re going to have to ask you to keep this to yourself for the moment,” said Davies.
He smiled at her and she was surprised by how reassured she felt.
He stood up and took a few steps to take a closer look at one of the paintings.
“Is this yours?” he asked, turning around to look at her.
She nodded.
“Very nice. I like landscapes. I like when things look the way they’re supposed to look.”
“That’ll be the policeman in you.”
This time, she smiled and he nodded.
Morgan returned a few moments later.
“It’s done, sir. Mrs. Hopkirk said she’d be happy to keep Miss Brannigan company. She should be here in about twenty minutes.”
Morgan looked at Penny.
“I told her you weren’t feeling well, that you’d had a bit of a shock. She was concerned but seemed rather pleased that you asked for her. I got the feeling that she quite likes you, too.”
“Good,” said Davies as he sat down again. “Well, that’s that, then.”
While Morgan tidied away the tea things, Davies and Penny went over the funeral scene again in greater detail and when Victoria arrived, the two officers took their leave.
“What’s going to happen now, sir?” asked Morgan when they were in the car. “Do you think she’s credible?”
“She very well may be,” Davies said cautiously, “because she’s an artist and what’s been bothering her, I think, is that from an artistic point of view, the perspective at the gravesite was wrong. But still, she could be mistaken, and I’d feel more comfortable if we had another point of view. If somebody else noticed something amiss, I’d feel better about moving forward with this. What we need is corroboration.
“And who has the best view of the coffin at a committal service?” he asked slyly. “And who’s probably seen more of them than anybody else?”
Morgan grinned, turned the car around, and reached for her mobile.
“Good one, sir! Interesting, isn’t it, that I only had to press redial?” she said as she handed her phone over to her supervisor in the passenger seat.
“Ah, good afternoon again, Mrs. Evans,” said Davies. “This is DCI Davies here. I wonder, do you think we might pop in for a word with your husband?”
A few minutes later they were shown into the rector’s comfortable, if somewhat shabby study. What the small, book-lined room lacked in style, it more than made up for with the beautiful view of the rectory garden leading down to the River Conwy and the hills beyond.
Noticing Morgan detaching from business for a moment to admire the view, Rev. Evans smiled at her.