‘I beg your pardon?’ Carrington looked startled.
‘The official cause of death — of your wife, for our records.’
‘Oh, I see … It said coronary failure on the death certificate, I think.’
‘Was there an autopsy?’
‘No, no. It was expected, you see. It just came much quicker than we had thought. Which was a blessing, really — she was in pain.’
Brock nodded and made as if to go, then stopped and turned back. ‘Did she leave letters to be sent to people after she died?’
‘Yes, she did. After she passed away I found letters she’d written to us — that is, the boys and me.’ He hung his head and hesitated a moment. ‘Also, half a dozen letters and packages she wanted me to post to friends and relatives and so on after the funeral. I sent them off on Wednesday. I didn’t take a note of the names. Why?’
Brock shook his head. ‘Her will,’ he said. ‘Was there anything unexpected about that?’
Carrington was beginning to look exasperated. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘I was thinking of the clinic, Mr Carrington. A legacy to someone connected with the clinic? Or a donation to the place, perhaps?’
‘No, nothing like that. I don’t quite see what you’re implying.’
Brock shook his head again. ‘Nothing, really. It doesn’t matter. We just have to make sure there are no loose ends.’
As they came back down the drive, a car pulled up at the kerb. A woman got out and gave a little wave towards the front door. She reached back into the car for something, and as they passed her they could make out the golden crust of a home-made pie.
They drove back in silence. Dusk was falling as they turned into Warren Lane and trudged back to Brock’s front door. He climbed straight back up to the study, still wearing his outdoor coat, sat on the stool at the bench and picked up the letter that had been inside the book.
‘It’s a suicide note, Kathy,’ he said heavily.
‘Yes.’
‘She died on Saturday morning, while we were driving up from Rome.’
Kathy suddenly recalled his toast to absent friends in the cafe at Orvieto.
‘We talked about forgiveness. She said it must be hard for us, the police, not being able to forgive the guilty people we have to catch. I said, on the contrary, that was what kept us sane. I think I was just being glib.’
He sighed and lowered his head on to his hands, rubbed his forehead and eyes. ‘Dear God, why should she ask my forgiveness?’
‘What about those who helped me?’ Kathy said.
‘Well …’ He spread his hands in a gesture that might have been assent or despair. ‘She needed all the help she could get.’
‘Brock, you remember I told you I visited Jerry Hamblin last week, the greengrocer? He told me that his partner, Errol, had been very upset last year because his mother died of cancer. He said Beamish-Newell had been very kind to her, visiting her and giving her medicine. Helping her.’
Brock stared at her, stunned. ‘Helping her to die, you mean?’
‘Errol started his affair with Petrou after that,’ Kathy continued. ‘It would be natural for him to talk to his lover about what had happened. Then Petrou would really have had something on Beamish-Newell. Remember that Beamish-Newell went to see Errol the day that Petrou died, perhaps to find out how much Petrou really knew.’
‘Grace must have thought that was the reason I was at Stanhope in the first place — to nail Beamish-Newell,’ Brock said. ‘When she first suspected I was the police, she was very angry. Beamish-Newell had probably already told her he would help her when things got bad, and she thought I was there to trap him, to stop him. It was only when I convinced her it was the Petrou killing I was interested in that she talked to me again.’
‘It’s a motive, Brock. If he was helping good people to go through a difficult death, Petrou’s life must have seemed pretty worthless by comparison.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you this much: I’ve been through all this’ — she waved her hand at the papers on the bench — ‘and there’s no way that Parsons did it.’
‘You’re sure?’
Kathy nodded. ‘I’m hungry too. We haven’t eaten since breakfast. I know you’re used to all this fasting, but I wouldn’t mind a bite. Let me buy you dinner, and then I’ll explain what I mean about Parsons.’
He smiled at her chiding. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. There are a few places we could get a take-away from in the High Street.’
‘Right. I’ll go and get something.’
He shook his head, ‘No. If Tanner’s out there looking for you, I’d rather not give him any opportunities. I’ll phone and get them to deliver. What do you want? Pizza?’
While they waited for the food, Kathy outlined what she had made of the documentation that Penny had provided. ‘That pile is the transcripts of interviews with Parsons since the time he was brought in to Division on the evening of Monday 1 April, through to last Sunday, the 7th. I can understand Tanner’s frustration. Parsons has said almost nothing. The transcripts are practically monologues. Look.’
She picked out a sample for Brock to read.
DCI TANNER: You’re going to have to let go, Geoffrey. What’s done is done. It has to be brought out into the open. You’re going to crack up if you don’t let it out.
(PARSONS coughs)
DCI TANNER: What? … I said you’re strung up like a fiddle.
You have to talk to us … I want you to begin with what Rose was going to tell Mr Brock. What was it that was so terrible that you had to kill her? Had you confessed to her that you had killed Alex Petrou? Is that it? And she was going to tell Brock?… Have a drink of water, Geoffrey, for God’s sake … Oh fuck, get a fucking towel, Bill. He’s dropped the water all over his fucking pants.
Brock grunted. ‘Parsons sounds as if he’s in bad shape.’
‘Yes, that comes out all the way through, how tense he is, how they’re afraid he’s going to snap. They get a doctor in to look at him on three occasions as recorded here.’
‘Does he say anything at all?’
‘He responds a couple of times to references to Laura Beamish-Newell, who is his sister, incidentally. Here.’
DCI TANNER: Your sister’s been charging up and down like a cat on hot bricks on your behalf, Geoffrey, but she isn’t going to be able to do anything to help you until you start talking to us.
PARSONS: She knows…
DCI TANNER: She knows what?
PARSONS: She won’t let you …
DCI TANNER: She can’t begin to help you until you begin to help yourself.
PARSONS: She’ll stop it. She won’t let you do anything.
‘It sounds as if he’s reverting to childhood,’ Brock said. ‘My big sister won’t let you hurt me.’
‘Or maybe, She knows who really did it, and she’ll stop this if it goes too far.’
‘Why not stop it straight away?’
‘Because she’s also trying to protect the person who did it — her husband.’
Brock scratched his beard. ‘You said you knew Parsons didn’t do it. How can you be sure from this stuff?’
‘Read this.’ Kathy pulled out another sheet and handed it to Brock. ‘This is from the last interview from last Sunday.’
DCI TANNER: Well now, Geoffrey, you’re really going to have to do better than that. We’ve found the rest of the rope you used to strangle Petrou with. We found it in a place that points only to you. Do you remember? Do you want to tell us about it?
(PARSONS mumbles)
DCI TANNER: Did I detect an answer there? Do you have something to tell us at last, Geoffrey?.. Well, let me remind you where you hid it. In your tool chest, in the stable block, under the work-bench. Remember? The locked tool chest, with your initials on it, with your old green sweater inside on top of the tools, and with a piece of the identical rope coiled up between the sweater and the tools, and bearing hair and skin particles that belong to you, and a cut end that matches the end of the rope that Petrou was hanging from. What do you say?