Framed in Cornwall - Janie Bolitho Page 0,14
station as it was the nearest.
One of the PCs made a quick examination of Dorothy and nodded to his colleague who turned away and spoke into his lapel radio. Martin ignored them all.
‘Are you a relative?’
Rose shook her head. ‘A friend. Martin’s her son.’
They all stared at him. ‘There’ll be a doctor here soon. I think the lad needs attention too.’
The ambulance arrived, its siren shattering the subdued silence. The crew assessed the situation and saw that their services were unnecessary.
By the time the police surgeon had joined them the kitchen was crowded. ‘There’ll need to be a PM,’ he told Rose, realising that Martin was in no state to take in anything. ‘I’ll arrange for her body to be collected. Is there anywhere Martin can go?’
‘He can come back with me.’
‘Good. And I suggest you get his GP to have a look at him.’
Rose nodded. It would have to be her own. He could not be left alone now and she could not begin to think what the loss of his mother would do to him.
‘We’ll need to ask you some questions,’ one of the officers said. ‘And Mr Pengelly in due course.’
There was little Rose could tell them. She described the scene as she had come upon it and they were told they could leave. ‘What did she die from?’ Rose asked.
‘I’m not sure. Heart maybe?’ The surgeon shrugged. He wasn’t sure but there was a smell of alcohol and an empty paracetamol bottle which one of the police officers had picked up and shown him discreetly. The post-mortem would show if his suspicions were correct. It was not for him to blab to all and sundry that Dorothy Pengelly had taken her own life.
With the help of one of the policemen she got Martin to his feet. Taking his arm she led him out to the car. Tall and big-boned as he was, he allowed himself to be gently settled into the front passenger seat. Rose took a quick look at him as she started the engine. His dark hair grew long over his collar, his face was tear-stained and his brown eyes were unseeing but Rose did not think he would do something stupid, like trying to jump out of the car while it was moving. ‘Martin?’ she tried tentatively, touching his arm. ‘We’re going back to my place. You can stay the night with me.’ Her voice was firmer now. She had to take control, not let her own grief surface until she was sure Martin was all right. There were still some of David’s things in the airing cupboard, it was ironic that it had taken another death for them to be put to use. Driving home she was glad that they would not be there to see Dorothy’s body taken away.
When Martin finally spoke his words frightened Rose. ‘She’ll be all right soon, won’t she?’ he asked, making it clear that he had no idea of the finality of it.
‘She’s dead, Martin,’ Rose said quietly, but she could not bring herself to say that she would never be coming back. Once they were safely at home she would try to get through to him.
She parked on the small concrete patch at the top of the path alongside the house and let them in. In her handbag were Dorothy’s spare keys which the police had told her to take as someone would need to feed the animals. She had told them that Martin lived elsewhere and that there was another son who needed to be informed. Thankfully, that would not be her job. As she placed the keys on top of the fridge tears filled her eyes. Shock had worn off and she felt the loss of her friend badly. With her back to Martin she waited until she was more in control until she turned to face him. She had noticed there were four keys on the ring, two Yale, two Chubb, and realised that she had two identical sets. Presumably Peter would have a third.
Tomorrow the police wanted to question Martin. Rose owed it to Dorothy to ensure that he was ready and able to face up to their questions. She pulled out a chair and sat next to him.
‘Peter,’ he said before she had a chance to begin. ‘You have to tell Peter.’
Rose nodded. It was a good sign. He understood that his brother needed to know which meant he was aware that something was dreadfully wrong. ‘The police will go