‘You don’t have to talk to them,’ Alison said quietly.
‘Actually, I think she does,’ Hawthorne contradicted her. ‘We believe there’s a good chance that Mr Browne did not kill himself . . .’
‘Mr Khan never said anything about that.’
‘Fresh information has come to light over the weekend which may have altered the picture.’ Hawthorne was deliberately trying to sound as official as possible. In fact, had Khan known they were there, they might well have ended up under arrest.
His strategy worked. ‘What do you want to know?’ Felicity asked.
Dudley took out his notebook. His iPhone was already recording everything that was said.
‘Do you think your husband killed Giles Kenworthy?’ Hawthorne asked.
‘What sort of question is that?’ Alison cut in, appalled.
‘A reasonable one,’ Hawthorne returned.
‘Maybe we should call the Detective Superintendent . . .’ Alison took hold of her sister’s hand.
But Felicity pulled away. Hawthorne had roused something within her, an anger that until now she hadn’t been allowed to express. Khan had told her that her husband was dead. He had explained that he had confessed to the murder. He had destroyed her world. But he had never listened to her. ‘Of course he didn’t kill anyone,’ she said. ‘Roderick didn’t have it in him. He was the gentlest, kindest of men. The police don’t know what they’re talking about.’
‘So you don’t believe he committed suicide either,’ Dudley said.
‘He would never have left me on my own. We’d been together for twenty-six years and we were happy until this illness came and turned me into what I am. Nobody wants to be married to an invalid, but he stuck by me because that was the sort of man he was. Ask any of his patients. They’ll tell you the same thing. He worried about every single one of them. If he was going to do something complicated – root canal surgery, or an extraction – he would go over and over the X-rays. Everything had to be perfect.’
Alison and Gareth exchanged glances. It had been a long time since they had heard Felicity say so much in one breath.
‘So how do you explain the letter he sent you?’ Hawthorne asked.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why do you think he wanted you out of the house?’
‘He was worried about me.’
‘Roderick called us,’ Alison said. ‘He told us that Felicity’s neighbour had been found dead. He said there were police everywhere, a lot of noise and activity, and it would be better for Fee to be away for twenty-four hours. He asked to bring her round.’
‘Of course we agreed,’ Gareth said. He was a large, bearded man, sitting with legs splayed and his hands on his knees. ‘Ever since Felicity got poorly, we’ve taken her in from time to time. We’ve got both our kids at college now and it’s not as if we don’t have the room.’
Hawthorne turned back to Felicity. ‘In the car, when he drove you over here, did he say anything that struck you as strange? Did he give you any indication of what he was thinking about?’
‘He said he’d done something stupid.’
‘Like . . . killing his neighbour with a crossbow?’ Dudley suggested.
‘No. That’s not what he meant. He was angry with himself. But he told me not to worry. He brought me in and he kissed me goodbye in this very room and I can tell you – just from the way he looked at me – he was expecting to see me again.’ She closed her eyes, remembering the moment. ‘It wasn’t a final goodbye. I’d have known.’
A Siamese fighting fish swam lazily across the aquarium, a multicoloured tail rippling behind it. Bubbles were rising from a pump concealed in a plastic pirate’s galleon. The hum of the motor was constant, insinuating itself into every silence.
‘So what do you think happened?’ Hawthorne asked. ‘If he didn’t take his own life, why do you think he was killed?’
‘I think he saw something and somebody silenced him.’
‘Who?’ Dudley asked.
‘The same person who killed Giles Kenworthy.’ Felicity made it sound as if she was explaining the obvious. ‘I don’t know who that was – but when they took the crossbow from our garage, Roderick might have seen them. There’s a skylight on the roof and you can look through it from the bathroom. He could have seen them while he was cleaning his teeth.’
‘But he didn’t say anything to you.’
‘He wouldn’t have wanted to worry me.’
‘Do you have any more questions, Mr Hawthorne?’ Gareth cut in. ‘I think Felicity should get back to bed. This has been a terrible time for her.’
‘Yes. I do.’ Hawthorne ignored the brother-in-law and turned back to Felicity. ‘Adam Strauss was the last person to see your husband.’
‘I know. The police told me.’
‘They were friends?’
‘Very much so. Adam was always helping us, finding ways to do small kindnesses. All our neighbours were lovely. May and Phyllis next door. Andrew Pennington, giving us advice about the planning permission. Tom Beresford prescribing temazepam for me . . .’
‘Roderick couldn’t do that?’
‘It’s against the guidelines set down by the General Dental Council.’ She struggled for breath. ‘How can I help you, Mr Hawthorne? I will do anything . . . anything to find out what really happened.’
‘I want to revisit the house,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Can I borrow your keys?’
‘Well, I don’t know—’ Alison began.
‘Let him have them,’ Felicity said. ‘The police have given up on us. They don’t care about Roderick.’ She pointed towards the floor. ‘They’re in my handbag.’
Gareth looked doubtful but fished them out: two Yale keys attached to a silver ring with a mortice key next to them. Hawthorne showed Felicity the third key. ‘This opens the door into the garage,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve had it on you all the time? There’s no chance someone else might have used it?’
‘No. It always stays with me.’ Felicity had answered enough questions. She was exhausted. ‘If there’s nothing more you want to know, I think I’ll go back to bed now,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, but there are still a few things, Mrs Browne. The police were only able to find one set of car keys. It was in your husband’s pocket.’
She nodded. ‘There is only one set. He lost the other one while we were on holiday in Torquay and he hadn’t got round to ordering a replacement. Why? Is it important?’
‘Probably not. Also, they weren’t able to find his mobile.’
‘That’s very strange.’
‘He had it when he came here,’ Alison cut in. ‘He checked his messages. That was about midday. I saw him.’
‘And then he went straight back home?’
‘He kept his phone on the chest of drawers in the hallway,’ Felicity said. ‘He was quite religious about that. He could hear it from everywhere in the house if it rang and he always knew where to find it.’
‘We’ll look for it,’ Hawthorne said. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know the PIN?’ Felicity looked unsure, so he added: ‘If we do find it, it might give us valuable information. We’ll need to open it.’
She nodded. ‘One nine six five. It was his birthday.’
She reached out and Gareth helped her to her feet. She had expended all her strength on the conversation. Gareth started to lead her out of the room, but before she reached the door, Hawthorne stopped her.
‘There was a second meeting,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry?’ Felicity turned.
‘I’d imagine they were all there – probably at The Stables. That was where the first one happened. It was probably sometime over the weekend. Giles Kenworthy died on Monday, so just before that.’
She stood there, clinging on to Gareth. It took her a long time to find the strength to reply. ‘It was Sunday evening,’ she said. ‘How did you know about it? Who told you?’