Murder on a Winter Afternoon by Betty Rowlands

Author:Betty Rowlands [Rowlands, Betty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786817754
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2018-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Halfway through tapping out the number of police headquarters, Melissa put the phone down, telling herself it would be better to go there in person to make her statement. She pushed aside the unworthy thought – unworthy because the violent death of a young woman made her anxiety about Ken Harris seem relatively unimportant – that by so doing she might snatch a moment with him. At least, she reasoned as she drove into the visitors’ car park, this explained his silence. He must have been working on the case, probably with very little sleep, since returning home.

A young WPC was at the desk, relaying messages between someone at the other end of the telephone she held to her ear and a middle-aged officer standing at her elbow. Melissa had known Sergeant Waters since the early days of her acquaintance with DCI Harris; he caught her eye, gave a friendly salute and, as soon as the conversation ended, came across to speak to her.

‘Mrs Craig, good afternoon. I was going to get in touch with you,’ he said, in his soft Gloucestershire accent. Behind his smile, his expression was serious.

‘Oh, why?’

He glanced round, as if concerned that what he had to say should not be overheard. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come through to an interview room,’ he said. ‘Unless … is there something you wanted to report?’

‘That’s why I’m here. It’s about Carole Prescot. Is Chief Inspector Harris …?’

His manner altered slightly, becoming more official. ‘You have some information? This way, please.’ Without giving her a chance to finish her question, he led her along a passage to a barely furnished room with dingy green walls, motioned her to a chair and closed the door. He sat down opposite her, pulled out his notebook and placed it on the table between them. ‘Ready when you are,’ he said.

Convinced that his reason for intending to contact her had something to do with Ken Harris, it was all Melissa could do not to question him about it right away. She reminded herself, with another twinge of guilt, that her personal problems were as nothing compared to the brutal murder of Carole Prescot.

During the drive into town, she had mentally gone over her last conversation with the dead girl, anxious not to omit any detail that might help in the hunt for her killer. It was, she realised as she repeated it to Sergeant Waters, pitifully lacking in content.

‘And she gave absolutely no indication of what she wanted to talk about?’ he asked when she had finished.

‘None at all, except she was quite definite it wasn’t anything to do with writing. Although,’ she added, ‘on reflection, that might have been the reason just the same.’

‘Why should she lie about it?’

‘People are sometimes very reluctant to admit they write. They get embarrassed, afraid of being teased. Maybe she didn’t want anyone in the office to know. I got the impression when I met her that she was quite a shy person.’

Waters gave a nod of understanding.

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