‘Is Kate here?’ I asked again in a more forceful tone.
‘She’s asleep. In the spare room.’
‘Are the children with her?’ I asked.
‘No. They’re in the attic rooms,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and wake them?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘leave the children. Let me go and wake Kate.’
She looked at me quizzically but made no objection as I went past her into the house and up the stairs.
‘It’s the room at the front,’ she called after me, ‘over the front door.’
I knocked gently on the door and opened it a little.
‘Is that you, Mum?’ said Kate sleepily from inside. ‘Who was that at the door?’
‘Kate,’ I said, speaking through the crack. ‘It’s Sid Halley. Can I come in?’
‘Sid! What are you doing here? Did Bill send you?’
‘Yes, Bill sent me. Can I come in?’
‘Just a minute.’ I heard her get up and open the wardrobe door. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She was wearing a tweed overcoat and pink slippers.
‘Sorry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I haven’t got a dressing gown with me.’ She looked tired and her eyes were red from too much crying. ‘Where’s Bill?’ she asked.
‘At home.’
‘What are you doing here, then? I told Bill I’d be back by ten.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When did you tell Bill you’d be back by ten?’
‘Last night. Look, Sid, what’s all this about?’ She was beginning to be alarmed. ‘Is Bill all right?’
‘No, Kate,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid he’s not.’
‘Oh my God! What’s happened? Where is he?’
‘Kate, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.’ There was no easy way.
‘Dead? He can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘I’m so so sorry.’
She sat down heavily on the bed, her overcoat swinging open to reveal a pink nightdress with little blue and yellow flowers embroidered around the top.
‘He can’t be dead,’ she whispered. ‘Everything was all right last night. He came round about eight o’clock and we talked for a couple of hours. He wanted me to go home with him then but the children were asleep so I said that I’d be home this morning.’
She looked at me. ‘Was it a car accident?’
I nodded. Better, I thought, to have only one shock at a time.
A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her coat. A second followed and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She lay down on the bed and I put a pillow under her head and covered her with the duvet.
‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ I said, and went downstairs to find that Daphne was still where I had left her.
‘Is Bill dead?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Thought so. Why else would you be here and so determined to see Kate. How?’
‘Let’s get some tea.’
She led the way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘How?’ she asked again.
‘I’m not really sure. He was shot.’
‘Shot! I thought it must have been an accident.’
‘No, I’m afraid not. He was shot in the head. It looks like suicide — but I’m not so sure it was.’
It was Daphne’s turn to sit down. ‘You mean it might be murder? It can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘How did he seem?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the usual… bloody-minded.’ It was no secret that Bill and his mother-in-law did not get on, and that was putting it mildly. As she had rightly said, she had not approved of the marriage and thought that Bill was nowhere near good enough for her daughter.
‘He came round here and begged Kate to go back to him. I thought she was better off without him and I told her so.’
Daphne could be a very stupid woman at times, I thought. The fact that it had been Kate who had cheated on Bill seemed to have passed her by.
‘Grannie, why is Mummy crying?’ Young William was standing in the kitchen doorway. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that his father’s brains are all over the sitting room wall?
His carefree, little-boy days had ended. Today, as the eldest of the four, he would have to carry his share of responsibility for his brothers and his sister. Today, he would become a man. A challenging task for one so young.
I made the tea for us all and took one up to the spare room.
Kate was lying on her side, curled up like a foetus. She wasn’t actually crying now. She was staring with unseeing eyes at the pillow next to her head.
I sat down beside her and laid my feeling, right hand on her shoulder. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’ It seemed to be an inadequate starting point.
She rolled on to her back and looked at me. ‘Where was the crash?’ she asked. ‘Was it last night? I must go and see him.’
She started to get up but I held up my hand.
‘Kate,’ I said, ‘you must not go and see him. You must remember him as he was and not as he is now.’
‘Oh God!’ she wailed and the tears flowed again. There would be many tears in the days ahead. She sat up and clung to me, her head on my shoulder. I could feel the wet warmth of her tears on my neck.
And I cried with her. I cried in grief for my lost friend.
‘Please tell me what happened,’ she said when at last the sobs eased.
If I had not been there, she would have learned the grisly details soon enough. Just as soon as some caring but clumsy policeman, detailed to inform the next of kin, had arrived to notify her that her husband had put a.38 revolver in his mouth and blown off the back of his head. I had no doubt that the gun in question was the same gun that Chief Inspector Carlisle had been looking for two days ago, the same one that was used to make the holes in Huw Walker’s chest.
‘Kate, my love, I’m afraid Bill didn’t die in a car crash. It seems that he may have shot himself.’ I tried not to make it sound as dreadful as it was.
‘You mean — he committed suicide?’ She had leaned back to look at my face.
‘It appears that he might have.’
‘Oh, my darling. Why?’ Her voice was a-quiver as a fresh round of sobbing sent a shudder through her body.
‘Here, drink your tea.’
She drank the hot sweet liquid. Best cure for shock there is.
‘Why?’ she said again. ‘Why would he? It’s my fault. I should have gone with him last night. Oh God, why didn’t I go with him?’
‘Kate, you mustn’t blame yourself.’ But I could see that she would. ‘You need to be strong for the children.’
‘Oh my God, how will I tell the children?’
‘You’ll find a way,’ I said.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Daphne came in with all four of them, little three-year-old Alice in her arms.
I told Daphne to contact me on my mobile if she needed anything and left them to it. This was a family-only task.
I let myself out of the front door and was walking over to the Audi just as a police car swept up the drive and the same young policeman as before climbed out.
‘Ah, Mr Halley,’ he said, ‘we’ve been wondering where you’d got to.’
‘You only had to call,’ I said, holding up my phone.
‘My inspector’s not pleased with me for letting you and Miss Burns leave the scene.’
‘Tough.’
‘I’ve been sent to inform the next of kin of Mr Burton’s death.’ Punishment for his failing, I thought. ‘Is Mrs Burton here?’
‘Yes, she is. But I’ve saved you the trouble. I told her myself, gently.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed relieved. ‘But I need to make it official so that I can report back.’
‘She’s telling her children now. So don’t interrupt her.’
‘Right,’ he said rather indecisively. ‘I’ll just wait here for a while. I’m expecting a female officer any minute. Please will you go back to Mr Burton’s house to see Inspector Johnson right now.’