The Torso in the Town

Thirty-Six

“Your note,” said Jude. “Your anonymous letter to me, perhaps I should say…asked if I thought I knew how Virginia Hargreaves died.”

“And do you?”

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t die a natural death.” There was a silence. “Almost equally sure she was murdered.”

“And who do you think killed her?”

“I don’t think it was Roddy. In fact I know it wasn’t.”

“Why?”

“He had a pretty solid alibi for the weekend she disappeared. He was in France.”

“Anyone can say they’re in France.”

“But he was seen on to the ferry at Newhaven by the Rev Trigwell, and met off another ferry four days later by James Lister.”

“Ah. Of course, someone plotting to murder his wife could deliberately set up such an alibi and then catch another ferry back to England…”

“I agree they could, but from what you knew of Roddy Hargreaves – and the state he was in at the time – could you see him being that organized?”

“Perhaps not.”

Another silence fell between them. Not an uncomfortable one. The houseboat swayed gently as the tide of the Fether tugged at its hull. July sunlight spilled through the windows and reflected off the highly polished surfaces of the old dark wood and the brass fittings.

“So, Jude…if Roddy wasn’t the murderer…who was?”

“I haven’t worked it out yet. There are quite a few options.”

“That’s nice to know. Says a lot for the people of Fed-borough, doesn’t it?” A chuckle. “Incidentally, I was talking to Debbie…”

“Hm?”

“She said you’d been enquiring about an anonymous letter sent to the police.”

“Oh yes. Sent by someone determined to push the burden of suspicion on to Francis.”

“Have you got any closer to finding out who sent that letter?”

Jude shook her head. “Well, this morning I thought logic dictated that the person who sent the anonymous letter to me must, by definition, be the one who contacted the police. But now I see it was you who wrote to me…” She chuckled. “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” There was an answering chuckle. But it didn’t sound very amused. “I’ve got a document that I think might interest you, Jude.”

“Oh?”

“Rather relevant to the death of Virginia Hargreaves. Would you like to see it?”

“Very much indeed.”

“It’s through here.” A door was opened to the back part of the houseboat. “After you.”

Jude stepped into the other room.

Too late she heard the door closing behind her, and the sound of a key turning in the lock.