She sat beside him, and took his hand. "I do believe you," she whispered. "Like I said, you're a good guy." She paused. "Will you go to Paula?"
He shook his head at once. "No. That would be as wrong as if I stayed. I'm not being seen to leave you and move in with another woman."
"Will you keep seeing her?"
"Would it bother you?"
"Not a bit. And why should it, if it hasn't up to now?"
"Then to be honest with myself as well as you, I probably will. It might fizzle out, or it might go on for thirty years. Who knows? But I don't think we'll ever live together. I don't know if I ever told you, but the family trust owns Uncle Beppe's place. Auntie Sophia's going to live with Nana Viareggio for good, so it's going begging. I'll move in there, and you can stay on in this house, if you want to,"
"Don't you want your share of it?"
He grinned, and shook his head. "I don't need it, honey. Anyway, you'll have this and more coming in a property split."
"No!" Her vehemence surprised him. "You give me this house and that'll do me. I don't want any more. I owe you, Mario. I owe you my life, and I'll never forget it. I'm not going to stay here for long, though."
"I can understand that. That's a deal then. I'll clear off what's left of the mortgage and you can sell it." He paused. "Of course, maybe if we both moved somewhere else, together…"
She squeezed his hand, and gave him a sad smile. "You don't really believe that, any more than I do. You said it earlier; we're done. It wasn't all bad, though, was it?"
"No, it was not. In fact, I have to tell you that if you were, like you say, faking it all along, you had your act honed to perfection."
"You gave me plenty of practice." She was suddenly aware of her nakedness. She picked up the silk robe and put it on. "So, you want to go and get a take-away?" she asked, matter-of-fact. "You must be starving."
He stood up from the bed, and retrieved his tie. "Yeah, okay. Pizza, kebab, or curry?"
"Fish and chips."
He laughed. "Trust you to be difficult." He put his hand on the door knob, then stopped. "Mags, tell me something. When did it all go down the pan?"
She took a quick breath. "When I told you about myself, all about myself. I think we were done from then on. If I'd done it at the very start, maybe we'd never have got married, and then we'd have been spared the grief."
"In that case," he replied, "I'm glad you didn't. For the good times we had, the grief's been well worth it."
Fifty-Two
"Bob, you have to head Brady off before he embarrasses himself," Sarah protested. "He can't possibly imagine that Ian Walker could have had anything to do with Ron's death."
"How the hell could I do that, even if I wanted to?" Bob retorted. "I kick-started this bloody investigation, when he was happy to send you straight down the river. I can't turn around and tell him to rein it in. Besides, he needs to be checked out, after your loose-tongued friend Mrs. Bierhoff stuck him well in the frame."
"No friend of mine!"
"Thank Christ you see that. If only you'd seen the same about dear Babs."
"I've always known what Babs was like, but in spite of everything she's always been my friend. I can't help it."
"We'll see if that survives her old man being interviewed by the police."
"But why?" she exclaimed. "What possible reason could Ian have had to harm Ron?"
"They're looking at the possibility that he might have held a grudge against him for a long time. Over you, in fact. Alice told them that you chucked him for Ron when you were in college. Is that true?"
"No, it isn't! Ian and I were more friends than anything else. We had a relationship, sure, but we never made a commitment to each other. It wasn't a case of me chucking him at all."
"Alice suggested that Ian might have seen it that way."
"Well, the bitch is wrong," said Sarah, angrily.
"You sure about that? Did you ever talk it through with him?"
"No, but… Bob, this is ancient history."
"That may be, but there's been a new chapter written lately. What if Ian heard about it and didn't like it?"
"Not a chance. I just don't believe it."
Skinner shrugged his shoulders. "For what it's worth, neither do I, but Bierhoff made the suggestion and the police have to look into it."
"Well let's hope they do it discreetly."
"Brady will, don't worry."
Sarah frowned. "It's your discretion that's worrying me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you haven't said a word about Ron and me," she exclaimed, her voice rising. "I keep waiting for you to explode, but it's not happening. All I see is icy calm. Or is it just indifference? Is our marriage already over as far as you're concerned?"
He looked at her, unsmiling. "My only purpose at this minute," he answered, 'is to prove that you didn't kill Neidholm. I don't actually care who did, but given the circumstantial evidence against you the only way I can clear you is by finding that person. Once I've done that, you and I will deal with us."
She bit her lip, and sat forward in the big drawing-room chair, tugging nervously at her hair. As Bob stared at her, he noticed for the first time the dark circles under her eyes, and the lines around them that seemed not to have been there before. "That's something, I suppose," she conceded. "It would be easy for you simply to let me go to jail."
"Easy?" he retorted. "Do you think I want my kids visiting their mother in the slammer?"
She frowned. "In other words, "don't make any assumptions, Sarah".
"If you like."
"Don't you feel anything?"
Finally he allowed himself a smile, but it was not one that she enjoyed. "Sure," he said. "I feel bloody pleased that your lover's dead. It takes a great weight off my shoulders and a great temptation away from me. He looked good on the slab, though; it was obvious what you saw in him."
"No it wasn't," she answered, quietly. "For one thing, he was here for me."
The barb got to him, and he winced. "Touche. No, let's not get into this now. Let's just concentrate on the job at hand. Does the name Candrace Brew mean anything to you?"
"No. Should it?"
"Not necessarily; but he's heard of you all right. He was on Alice's gossip list; she told him all about you and Ron."
Sarah shuddered. "Ugh! It makes me feel soiled, knowing that cow's been telling the town about me. Who is this person Brew?"
"He's the librarian."
"The librarian! My God, our library's always been an information exchange. It'll be all over town."
"Honey," said Bob, quietly, 'if Brady's investigation doesn't get a result by this time tomorrow, it'll be all over Good Morning bloody America."
"Don't remind me, please. I'm scared enough as it is." The truth of that showed in her eyes.
He sighed; it was the first sign of tenderness he had shown towards her since his arrival. "You must be. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He smiled at her again, but more kindly this time. "Let's do something about it, then. I want you to think back, to the time when you arrived at Neidholm's house. Then I want you to describe what you saw."
She leaned back in her chair, frowning. "I can't remember, Bob," she whispered, after a few seconds. "All I can see in my mind's eye is Ron, lying there dead on the floor."
"Of course you can remember. Just close your eyes and concentrate.
Tell me what you saw."
She did as he said. He watched her as she concentrated. "There was a man walking a dog," she said at last. "An old black man, walking an old black dog."
"Did you recognise him?"
"No, but I would if I saw him again."
"Good. Now, what about cars; did you see any cars?"