Guns in the Gallery

SIXTEEN

‘So they’re just trying to airbrush Fennel’s death out of history, are they?’ asked Carole.

‘Seems that way,’ said Jude.

‘But can they? I’d have thought, given the amount of gossip there is around an area like this, the news’ll get out, won’t it?’

‘They can’t stop people talking, no, but they can keep the story out of the media.’

‘By using the Gale Mostyn company?’

‘Certainly. Privacy may come expensive, but it can usually be bought. Think of all those footballers taking out super-injunctions to keep the press away from their mistresses.’

‘Huh. And we’re supposed to be living in a society that prides itself on the rights of free speech.’ Carole turned a beady eye on her neighbour. ‘You don’t seem too worried about it, Jude.’

‘No, I’m not really. Having talked to Ned on Monday and seen the state he’s in, I’m in no hurry to make things worse for him. He can do without having reporters camping on his front doorstep.’

‘I can see that, but, on the other hand, if Fennel Whittaker was actually murdered . . .’

Jude screwed up her face wryly. ‘And what are we basing that supposition on?’

Carole was affronted. ‘We’re basing it on what you told me. You said that Fennel was so positive on the night she’s supposed to have killed herself that she couldn’t possibly have done it.’

‘Yes . . .’ Jude looked uncharacteristically dubious. ‘But now I’m beginning to wonder about that. I told you what Detective Inspector Hodgkinson said about depressives often doing it when their mood begins to lift.’

‘You did.’

‘The trouble is, Fennel would fit that profile exactly. She’d been through a really bad depression. Bawling Denzil Willoughby out had lifted her out of it. In a more positive mood she says to herself, well, I’m never going to go through that again, she laces a bottle of wine with liquid paracetamol, she secretes a knife from the kitchen, she . . .’ Jude’s open-handed gesture showed that she didn’t need to complete the sentence.

‘Is that really what you think?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Jude, are you saying you really think Fennel Whittaker committed suicide?’ A silence. ‘Or do you think she was murdered?’

There was another silence before Jude conceded, ‘I think she was murdered.’

‘And what do you base that conclusion on?’

Jude replied apologetically, ‘Instinct.’

‘Well, that’s good enough for me.’

The following day, the Wednesday, Carole was surprised to get an email from Chervil Whittaker, inviting her to attend the launch of Walden. ‘Since you’ve expressed interest in making a booking, we thought you might like to have a look at the facilities on offer.’

Of course, she was delighted and had no hesitation in accepting. Jude was going to be there and Carole would much rather share the occasion than rely on a report from her neighbour. And any opportunity to snoop round the environs of Butterwyke House could only be helpful in their ongoing investigation.

But the invitation still sounded a strange chord with her. After all, she had already had ‘a look at the facilities on offer.’ Chervil Whittaker herself had shown Carole and Jude round the weekend before last. Surely the girl would have remembered that. She had registered that they’d already met when they’d spoken on the telephone about the potential Walden booking.

Carole got the uneasy feeling that, however much she was keen to snoop on Chervil Whittaker, the girl was at least as keen to snoop on her.