Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,63

me. This was news to him too.

‘Listen,’ I went on, ploughing through Fenway’s reprimands, ‘according to the police file, Chris Pitlock, Charlotte’s ex-fiancé, had an alibi for the period of her death. The record shows his van was picked up by CCTV on a traffic-light job in Brixton, miles away from her flat in Primrose Hill that night. But now it seems his work colleague, Bernie Proud, borrowed his van at that time and Chris wasn’t with him. Wendy said Bernie let the police know about it, but I can’t find any trace of him on the file. He never contacted the police. He was never interviewed.’

Fenway went quiet, taking in what I’d said, before speaking again. ‘So, he needs to be interviewed. This needs following up.’

‘Yes, I thought so. And I think I’ve found Charlotte’s secret boyfriend too. And, if I’m right, it creates a direct link to Lorna’s case, back in 2010.’

‘You have been busy,’ he said, without enthusiasm. ‘But you’ve also breached protocol, Dr Willerby. In a very serious fashion.’

I squeezed the edge of the passenger seat, not looking at Terry, waiting to face the consequences.

An icy silence chilled the air between us.

I gritted my teeth. ‘Are you going to tell Claussen?’ I asked, unable to stand the wait. I knew I’d be thrown off the project in as much time as it took a pin to burst a balloon, if she got wind of it.

‘I don’t know yet.’ Another silence. I glanced over at Terry. He was staring through the windscreen, shaking his head.

‘Let’s get over and speak to this Wendy Leigh first, shall we?’ Fenway said.

I blinked at Terry, my face caught between expressions, wondering if I’d heard correctly.

‘She’s going abroad tomorrow,’ I told Fenway.

He spoke again. ‘Can you get to Camden police station before lunchtime?’

‘I’m already there,’ I said gleefully.

47

I made the call to Wendy from Terry’s car, as soon as I saw Fenway’s sedan approaching through the gate.

‘Just so you know,’ I told her, ‘the inspector and I will be with you shortly. And he’s not too happy I spoke to you on my own.’

‘Sailing close to the wind, Willerby,’ Terry growled from the driving seat, with a knuckle against my cheek rather than a kiss.

I clambered out of his car, then leant down by the open window. ‘Sometimes you have to stick your neck out to get results.’

‘You’ve stretched the therapy regulations before – we all know that, but this is different.’ He tapped the wheel with his finger. ‘You’re playing with the legal system here. Ignoring direct orders. Messing with the law.’

I straightened up to wave to Fenway, before turning back to Terry. ‘I know. But things are different this time. It’s personal. I didn’t know this assignment would involve one of my own patients. I want Lorna’s killer to pay for what he did to her.’

Terry gave me a stare sufficiently fervid to singe off my eyebrows and sped away in the opposite direction.

Wendy sensed the atmosphere as soon as she opened the front door. Fenway introduced himself on the doorstep, holding out his badge. He made no reference to me.

‘Hi,’ I said with a diffident wave.

We all stood awkwardly in the hall.

I kept my eyes on Wendy. ‘I know you’re getting ready to head abroad for a break,’ I said in an apologetic tone.

‘It’s okay – I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘It means you’re taking what I said seriously.’

Fenway took a step between us. ‘It’s me, and my officers you’ll be talking to from now on.’

Wendy looked affronted. ‘For the record, I’m glad Dr Willerby approached me.’ She glared at Fenway unwaveringly as she spoke. ‘Being interviewed by the cops scares the hell out of some people, you know – makes them nervy.’

I could have hugged her. I slipped her a sly wink instead.

Wendy led us into the lounge and offered us seats. Her feet were bare and she wore tiny shorts with a strappy top, as if she was already in the Mediterranean.

‘Anything to drink?’

Fenway and I spoke together.

‘Nothing for me,’ I said.

‘Coffee,’ was his response.

We glanced at each other. It was toe-curlingly uncomfortable.

After Wendy came back with a mug for Fenway, she sat and answered his questions. It soon became clear that we were learning nothing more than I’d already told him. Nonetheless, Fenway had to hear it for himself. Only then could the information be recorded on the relevant files.

By the time we left, it was evident what the next steps should be. Neville Larch