The Body of a Woman by Clare Curzon

Author:Clare Curzon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

While Superintendent Yeadings relaxed at home, Z awaited the scene-of-crime experts. She agreed with her chief that it wasn’t an obvious murder scene, but they could not afford to ignore that Leila Knightley had been kept tied up somewhere before her body was dumped in Shotters Wood.

As well as Knightley’s dinner jacket she had also removed the computer from the study to pick over its contents at her convenience. Now she had a tussle with her conscience over having commandeered Chloë’s stack of disks as well. She decided it was better to be over-cautious, and transferred them all to the car, using a grocery carton she found in the utility room.

With Knightley’s departure for questioning, the Hadfields had moved their luggage in, Janey collecting it from beside the front doorstep and transferring it to a twin-bedded guest room at the rear.

‘If Aidan comes back and needs somewhere to sleep,’ she decreed, ‘he can use Eddie’s old room or make up a fresh bed for himself. I don’t mind cooking but I don’t intend waiting on him.’ She then took over the kitchen and started preparing an evening meal.

Charles Hadfield had been curiously silent since Yeadings intervened in the flare-up on Knightley’s arrival. He had been content to listen and ponder. Now, with Chloë pottering about at the far end of the garden, he voiced his opinion that if the police had any sense at all they needn’t expect her father back that night. He appeared to have changed his mind yet again about Knightley’s guilt.

‘They’ll keep him as long as permitted without charging him. Isn’t that thirty-six hours? By which time he’ll have broken down and admitted the killing. I suppose I should get in touch with his solicitor, if only for Chloë’s sake. And we may need someone ourselves to keep those social workers at bay. Not to mention the Press once they’re on to this. Can’t have them upsetting the poor girl.’

For a long time Chloë had stayed crouched on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. Elsewhere in the house there were sounds of comings and goings. She thought at one point she heard her father’s voice. A little later the front door had closed noisily and a car drove away but she didn’t bother to look out.

It didn’t matter. Nothing did. It was awful, this swirling void. Whenever she closed her eyes she seemed to be moving in a vortex. Needing air she slipped out into the garden. The ground seemed to be tipping under her. Lying flat she had to dig her fingers into the lawn to keep herself from sliding away.

She pulled herself up on to the stone bench by the garage wall. Now at least she had her feet against the ground but still there was movement, and she knew it was inside her head.

Janey had asked if she would ‘like something’; meaning aspirin, she supposed. She had refused because it was both too little and too much. She had feared being any more confused than she already was.

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