Sisters - Michelle Frances Page 0,93
it still hit him like a punch to the stomach. Of course, he had pointed out there were other Berettas like his out there, but they all knew the bullet was probably from his gun. Also, they had no knowledge of who had actually pulled the trigger, but Matteo had a strong sense he knew which of the two sisters it was. Which meant his wife was a killer.
The lead cop, Detective Carlos Vila, had recently ordered fresh coffees and the questioning was about to continue. He was a tall, lanky man and the froth from his coffee caught in his moustache.
‘We’d like to ask you a little bit about your wife, Señora Abby Morelli,’ said Detective Vila. ‘You live together, yes?’
Matteo nodded. ‘In Elba.’
‘It’s a house you both own?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Señora Morelli, does she have a job?’
‘No.’
Detective Vila raised an eyebrow.
‘She’s retired.’
‘Retired? At’ – he checked his notes – ‘thirty-six? This is a very nice life!’
Matteo shrugged. He didn’t need to discuss Abby’s financial circumstances with this man.
‘And how is it, living with Abby?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘She good company?’
‘The best.’
‘Does she have any history of violence?’
Matteo bit down his irritation. ‘Of course not.’
Detective Vila glanced down at his notes again. ‘Except for this accusation from Abby’s mother, Susanna Spencer. That Abby harmed her sister as a child.’
‘You’ve got it the wrong way around,’ said Matteo, ignoring the niggling disquiet in his gut. ‘It was Susanna who harmed Ellie.’
Detective Vila watched him for a moment, then nodded.
‘How well would you say you know your wife?’
‘Extremely well.’
‘Enough to predict her behaviour?’
‘None of us can predict what other people will do.’
‘Like shoot someone?’
‘You don’t know it was her.’
Detective Vila smiled. ‘No, we don’t. You’re right. But let’s assume for now it was. Your wife and her sister had a very lucky escape. The man who was killed – he is a nasty piece of work. We have wanted to nail him for some time. We believe he had kidnapped a woman before. Robbed her and then murdered her. So it could be self-defence. It’s very possible. The thing is, we need to know more about that. About who your wife is.’ The detective paused. ‘So you say you know her pretty well?’
‘I’ve just confirmed that.’
‘How long have you been married?’
Matteo made himself stay calm. ‘Three months.’
Detective Vila gave a look of surprise. ‘Four months? So, you are newly-weds!’
‘But we’ve known each other for a year.’
‘A year? Still not very long, is it?’
‘It’s long enough.’
‘OK. So you saw each other regularly during that year?’
Matteo wondered if he already knew. If he was deliberately winding him up. ‘Not at first, no. She lived in the UK and I lived in Italy.’
‘So how often would you say you saw each other? Every week? Every month?’
‘We met in July last year. We started dating in September. We’d see each other one, maybe two weekends a month. We got married this April and Abby moved to Italy. I don’t see what relevance this has to anything.’
‘You’re right. The most important thing is that we find your wife. Before anyone else gets hurt.’
‘She’s not on some killing spree,’ snapped Matteo.
‘Let’s hope not.’ Detective Vila let his comment hang in the air.
Matteo held his gaze for as long as he could. He didn’t want to believe Abby was responsible for any of these terrible crimes. Three acts of violence that had reared their ugly heads in the last three days.
But he was a policeman. He’d been trained to be attentive, thorough. His whole being was telling him to look further, deeper, beyond his agonized emotions, and face up to the very real possibility that the truth was something he wouldn’t like one bit.
SIXTY-NINE
Ellie lay back against the seat and closed her eyes, still filled with a sense of wonder at her sister’s generosity. Her hands rested on her lap, the new blue fabric under her palms. She felt the warm breeze on her skin as it rushed over the car and thought how she could just fall asleep. The coffee Abby had given her earlier hadn’t perked her up; in fact, if anything, after she’d drunk it, she had felt decidedly unwell. Not wanting to complain, she’d kept it to herself and gradually the feeling had passed.
As the sun created a kaleidoscope of colours on her closed lids, she wondered if she should come clean to Abby about Susanna, admitting their mother was alive. But however she tried to phrase it, it sounded like a betrayal. She’d kept it secret so long