‘No, of course not.’ Jude would have given a lot to know what conversations had been shared between Sheena Whittaker and her surviving daughter since Fennel’s death. But that was not information she thought she was about to be vouchsafed. And she still hadn’t worked out precisely why Sheena had been so insistent on coming to see her.
‘I’ll tell you why I’m here, Jude.’ Ah, so she was maybe about to be given the answer to that question. ‘I want to ask you a few details about that night you spent with Fennel in the yurt . . . you know, the night she died.’ Again the actual mention of death brought a slight tremor to her voice.
‘I’ll tell you as much as I can remember. As you know, Fennel and I had both had quite a lot to drink.’
‘Yes. When the police talked to me, they said you’d mentioned Fennel having a call on her mobile.’
‘A call or a text. I think it was a text, but I was half asleep when it happened.’
‘Obviously, in the light of what subsequently happened, the identity of the sender of that text becomes rather important.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more.’
‘But in their searches of the yurt – in fact of the whole Walden area – the police didn’t find any trace of Fennel’s mobile.’
‘Ah. I didn’t know that. The officer who interviewed me – Detective Inspector Hodgkinson – said she’d check it out. But I never heard any more from her.’
‘You met Detective Inspector Hodgkinson too, did you?
‘She questioned you?’
‘Mm. Though she did it in such a subtle way that it didn’t feel like questioning.’
‘I know what you mean. I thought she was quite bright.’
But clearly Sheena Whittaker hadn’t shared that opinion. She shuddered slightly as she said, ‘I didn’t warm to her. Too clever for her own good, if you ask me. And I think she was probably lesbian.’
Jude shrugged. ‘Anyway,’ Sheena went on, ‘Ned’s been worrying a lot about the missing mobile . . . and what it implies.’
‘That someone took it?’
‘That’s one possible explanation, yes.’
‘But if someone took it, that would change the way one views the circumstances of Fennel’s death.’
‘It certainly would.’
‘So, Sheena, do you have any suspicions who might have taken it?’
‘I certainly do.’
‘Right. So who is your suspect?’
‘There’s only one person it could have been.’
‘Who?’
‘You, Jude.’
TWENTY-FIVE
‘But why did she think you’d taken it?’ asked Carole somewhat plaintively.
‘I suppose I was on the scene. I had the opportunity.’
‘But for what reason did she think you might have taken it?’
‘That’s what I couldn’t get out of her. Because if someone did take the phone, then they were probably trying to cover something up. What might they be trying to cover up? Well, one thing is obviously murder.’
‘So did you ask Sheena whether she’d considered the possibility of murder?’
‘Yes. And she wouldn’t be drawn on that. She’s a very stubborn woman. Maybe not stubborn . . . strong-willed perhaps is the word I’m looking for. She comes across as all meek and fluffy, but she has a core of steel. I think she’s the dynamo in that marriage.’
‘So how were things left between you?’
‘Rather as they were with Ned yesterday evening. I was strongly discouraged from suggesting to anyone that Fennel might have been murdered.’
Carole nodded and took a sip of coffee. They were at the kitchen table in High Tor. It was so mild that the Aga had now been switched off for the summer, but out of habit Gulliver still lay beside it, snuffling quietly in his doggy dreams. He had a slight inflammation on one of his paws, not doubt caused by some foreign object on Fethering Beach. An appointment at the vet’s had been booked for later that day, but the injury didn’t seem to be worrying him.
‘So, Jude, do you think Ned and Sheena have the same agenda?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, the fact that they both seem so keen to get you – or us – off the case might suggest that they’re trying to protect someone. The question is: are they both trying to protect the same person?’
‘I see what you mean. Well, Ned had certainly relayed to Sheena the conversation I had with him in the car park last night. That’s what brought her round to see me.’
‘But he didn’t accuse you of taking Fennel’s mobile?’
‘No. He mentioned it, just said so far as he knew the police hadn’t found the thing. It’s Sheena who leapt to the conclusion that I’d nicked it.’
Carole was thoughtful as she had another sip of coffee. Then she said slowly, ‘You don’t think it’s herself that Sheena’s trying to protect?’
‘What, you mean that she killed Fennel and she thinks the mobile might contain some evidence against her? Like the text with which she set up their meeting?’
‘Perhaps. What do you reckon?’
Jude pursed her full lips. ‘I find it hard to cast Sheena in the role of murderer. I find it hard to cast any mother in the role of the murderer of her own child.’
‘It has happened. Read your classical myths.’
‘I know, but . . .’
Carole pressed home her advantage. ‘And Sheena Whittaker’s making no secret of her relief that Fennel’s no longer around.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Jude moved her head abruptly, as though there were a troublesome thought she wanted to shake out of it. ‘For some reason my mind keeps coming back to the first suicide attempt.’
‘In the flat in Pimlico . . .’
‘Yes. Sheena wasn’t involved in that. Well, obviously she was in the sense that it was her daughter who’d made the attempt. But it was Chervil who found Fennel and it was Ned who rushed up to London to sort things out. Why didn’t Sheena go?’
Carole shrugged. ‘There could be any number of reasons. And Sheena talked about the close relationship Ned always had with Fennel.’
‘Yes . . . I almost get this picture of a house divided. Sheena and Chervil on one side, Ned and Fennel on the other. Which is why he’s so desolated by Fennel’s death, and his wife seems relatively unaffected.’
‘And I wonder where Chervil fits into this emotional scale . . .?’ Carole mused.
‘Well, outwardly, as we saw at the Walden launch, it doesn’t seem to have got to her. Mind you, Sheena hinted that there might be strong feelings under the surface, which were being controlled because Chervil was there in her professional capacity.’
There was a silence, broken only by the grunting of Gulliver, pursuing some dream rabbit.
‘Thinking back to the Walden launch,’ said Carole eventually, ‘I was intrigued by what you said about Sam Torino.’
‘Oh?’
‘The feeling you got that Ned Whittaker might have set her up to sound you out.’
‘Well, I haven’t got any proof that he did.’
‘No, it’s an interesting idea. Pity you can’t make contact with Sam Torino to follow up on it.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude perkily. ‘But I can.’
In spite of her apparent confidence, Jude had not expected her call to be answered immediately. And it wasn’t. The answering message was not in the distinctive Canadian tone of Sam Torino, just an anonymous mechanical voice. Jude left her name and number, by now doubtful that she would ever hear back.
Carole, she could tell, was disappointed. Both of them worried that their investigation was drowning in inertia. Their suspicions about the circumstances of Fennel Whittaker’s death seemed increasingly tenuous. They needed some kind of breakthrough, but there was no hint that any might be imminent.