Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,58

drying spaghetti.

‘Thank you for making it,’ I said, wrenching open the stiff door. As we entered, globules of fat floated towards us, suspended in the air ready to envelope our clothes and settle in our hair. It wasn’t a place I would have picked.

I hesitated, but Wendy seemed at home, heading straight for the counter to order. I caught up with her, insisting I pay. She ordered a diet Coke and pointed to a salad.

‘Sorry, I missed lunch. Is this okay?’

‘Sure. Absolutely.’ It was the least I could offer, given her rapid response in meeting me.

Wendy picked up a plate with a dry slab of ham and two sprigs of gem lettuce. I took a bottle of mineral water; I didn’t trust anything else.

Wendy pulled out a chair at a table where plates of congealed chips in gravy had been left by the previous customers, stacked on top of each other. She found a space for her own plate, then shifted the used crockery to a table already occupied with diners. Not surprisingly, they gave her an affronted stare in return. I tried not to catch their eye.

‘So you’re working with the police?’ Wendy said, as I joined her.

I explained my position.

‘You were lucky to catch me. I’ve not been well,’ she said, rubbing her forehead. ‘Mum’s been in and out of hospital and it’s taken its toll on the rest of us.’ Wendy spoke with overfamiliarity, as if we were old school friends. ‘And now you’re bringing it all up again.’ She sniffed. ‘I hope it’s worth it.’

It was only when Wendy started on her lunch that I saw the size of the fork she’d been given. She could have harpooned a whale with it. She snorted and put it down, tearing a piece of lettuce from the plate directly with her fingers instead. She nibbled it, then pushed the plate to one side, not having touched the meat.

‘I hope so. Anything you can tell me, anything you might have overlooked during the initial interviews, could be really helpful.’

She dropped her head. ‘Poor Charlie. It was dreadful. She was so beautiful, had all these plans to go back to college to do English. She’d just got involved in a campaign against animal cruelty – she hated all that. Did you know she wrote amazing poems and took great wildlife photos too? I’ve never known anyone like her.’ A grave shadow claimed Wendy’s face. ‘Did you know I was the one who found her?’

I shook my head. I must have missed that in the file. One of the problems with not having access to the records outside the admin office.

‘I barely recognised her.’ Wendy drew a shuddering gasp and fussed with the loose cuffs of her corduroy jacket. ‘I can’t believe they never got the bastard.’

‘Who let you in?’

‘I had a key to her flat. We had a shared thing where if she went away, I could use her place and vice versa. She hadn’t shown up for work and wasn’t answering my calls, so I dropped round. I let myself in when she didn’t answer the door.’

‘I hate to take you back to that scene, but do you remember anything unusual when you went inside?’

Someone shouted out ‘table nine’ from behind the counter and Wendy flinched. She took a nervy sip of Coke. ‘Charlie was in her pyjamas. She often did that in the evenings. To keep warm before she went to bed. Her duvet was scrunched up on the floor beside the settee. There was no pillow though. The police said whoever killed her took it with them to avoid leaving DNA behind. They also think he wore gloves, because there were no fingerprints unaccounted for in the flat.’

I remembered those details from the file.

I nodded. ‘They thought Charlotte must have known the killer, because there was no evidence of a break-in. Is that how you saw it?’

Wendy shrugged. ‘There were no smashed windows, nothing at the front door to suggest it was forced. No mess, like there’d been a fight. Her gas fire was still switched on, the CD player too, and there was a bunch of flowers in a bag on the floor. So, she must have let him in.’

I recalled the police file. They had followed up the yellow roses they’d found on the floor. They’d been left in a used bag from WHSmith with no branded or distinctive wrapper. No till receipt or fingerprints either. The local florist had been checked out, but it