by K. J. Frost
“Thank you for coming back early, Mr Templeton.” I look up at him.
“It’s my wife’s birthday on Friday,” he says. “I was going to come home tomorrow afternoon anyway and I’ve got some constituency business that needs my attention.” I nod. “But this is all very mysterious, Inspector,” he continues. “Amelie told me that you needed to ask me some questions, but she wouldn’t say what about.”
“No. Well, that’s because it’s to do with an ongoing case.”
“An ongoing case?” he queries.
“Yes, sir.” I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid that one of our officers was shot and killed last night.”
“Dear God,” he says. “Shot, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Where did this happen?”
He seems more concerned about the details of the case than he does about the fact that I’m clearly here to question him.
“In Kingston,” I reply, and before he has the chance to ask anything else, I continue, “and we believe there may be a connection with the Ellis case.”
I notice his eyes widen. “Is that why you want to speak to me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You… you think I may have had something to do with this?”
“If I’m being honest, no I don’t. But in light of evidence that we found at the scene, I’m duty bound to ask all of the relatives of Ellis’ victims to account for their whereabouts yesterday evening at about seven-fifteen to seven-thirty.”
He pales significantly, then looks down at his hands, inspecting his fingernails, and I get the feeling he’s playing for time. “I—I was occupied,” he says eventually, giving me the most evasive answer possible.
I scratch my head. “I’m afraid that’s not really enough of an explanation, Mr Templeton. I’m going to have to ask for details.”
He stares at me, frowning. “In that case, I think I’d rather Amelie left the room,” he says.
She sits forward in her seat and looks up at him. “You want me to leave?” she asks, surprised and I think a little hurt.
“Yes, if you don’t mind, my dear.”
His voice is genial, but his meaning is clear and it suddenly dawns on me that he must have been ‘occupied’ with his mistress, Abigail Foster, at the time in question, and I recall his embarrassment when I visited his London apartment and found the couple together. I’m aware that Amelie knows nothing of that relationship, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t want her here.
“We can do this at another time, if you’d prefer?” I offer, wishing I’d never started my questioning now.
“No,” Amelie says, glancing at me, before turning back to her guardian. “What are you keeping from me, Uncle?”
“Nothing.” Templeton blushes slightly, doing a very poor job of looking innocent.
“Don’t lie to me,” she says, raising her voice.
Templeton closes his eyes just for a moment, then opens them, and looks across at me, as though he’s hoping for inspiration, I think, although I have nothing to offer him, and he flops down into a chair, defeated. “I’ll tell you the truth,” he says to her, rather than to me, “but I’m relying on you not to reveal this to anyone else.” Amelie gives him a single nod of her head and he swallows hard, before continuing, “For several years now, I’ve… I’ve been seeing another woman.” I hear Amelie’s gasp, and wish I could go to her, but I can’t.
“You’ve been having an affair?”
Templeton stares at her. “Well, it’s a little more than an affair,” he replies, quite truthfully. “During the week, when I’m not here, I live with a young woman by the name of Abigail.”
“Young?” Amelie says.
“Yes.” A blush creeps up Templeton’s face.
“How young?”
“She’s twenty-five.”
I can see Amelie’s expression change from surprise to shock, presumably at hearing Miss Foster’s age.
“How long has this… this… been going on for?” Amelie asks, struggling to find the right words.
“Seven years,” he replies.
Amelie’s mouth drops open and her shock becomes revulsion as she works out that Abigail would have been younger than she is now when the affair started. “Seven?” He nods. “Did Beth know?” she asks.
“No.”
She pauses for a moment. “You’re married,” she says, stating the obvious.
“I know. But you have to understand how difficult it can be, being married to your aunt.”
“You made vows.” It’s like she hasn’t heard him.
“Yes, I did,” he says.
“And that doesn’t entitle you to change your mind, just because it gets a bit difficult.”
A deathly silence falls over the room, as Templeton clearly has no idea how to respond to Amelie’s accusations. Very slowly, she shifts in her seat and looks at me.
“Did you know about this?” she asks. “Is that why you just offered to continue your interview at another time?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “I found out as part of my investigation into Beth’s murder. I had to visit your uncle at his flat in London and his friend was there at the time.”
“Friend?” she scoffs, and stares at me. I can see tears forming in her eyes, but she blinks them back. “How could you?”
I get to my feet and take a step towards her, but she holds up her hand, halting me instantly. “How could I what?” I murmur.
“Lie to me…” She turns away, but I’m almost certain she’s crying.
“Don’t blame the inspector,” Templeton interrupts, in an attempt to defend me.
“He lied to me,” Amelie repeats, rounding on him, and confirming my suspicions; there are tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No, I didn’t.” I try in vain to keep my voice calm as she looks back at me again and my heart aches for her. “What I did is part of my job, Amelie. I tell you whatever as I can about what I do, and I love that I can share so much with you, but I can’t always reveal everything to you. I’m sorry, but there are rules about things like that, I’m afraid.”
“He’s right, Amelie,” Templeton says, in a placatory tone. “I can’t always tell your aunt about what I do either.” God, I wish he hadn’t said that.
Amelie turns and faces him again. “You’re cheating on my aunt,” she replies, and her voice sounds low and steady, despite her heightened emotions. “Of course you don’t tell her everything you’re doing. And besides, you’re just sticking together because you’re men. You’re all the same…” Now her voice fades and cracks.
“No,” I say quickly. “We’re not the same at all.” I look at Templeton and shrug my shoulders, addressing myself to him now. “I’m sorry, but I’d never do what you’ve done. As far as I’m concerned, marriage is for life, no matter how hard it gets.”
“Nice words,” Amelie says sarcastically.
“They’re more than that.” I turn back to face her and she narrows her eyes.
“Really?”
“Yes.” I sigh deeply, wondering how I ended up in this position. “I’m just doing my job here. What do you want from me, Amelie?”
“The truth,” she shouts, standing and looking up into my eyes.
“Well, I’m very sorry, but I can’t always tell you the truth, not where my work is concerned. You know I’ll always tell you anything you want to know about myself, but sometimes in the course of my work, I’m given pieces of information in confidence and I have to respect that. It’s part of what I do… part of who I am.” I take a breath and try to calm down. I really don’t want to argue with her; especially not about this.
“But this is about me.” She glares at me, breathing hard. “It’s about my family. I have a right to know.”
“No you don’t,” Templeton says, getting to his feet as well now. “This is about my life, Amelie, not yours. If I’d wanted you to know about it, I’d have told you before now.”
A shadow crosses her face and I can te
ll that hurt her. “Did you keep it from me because I’m not your real daughter?” she says, in a barely audible whisper.
“No, of course not. It’s got nothing to do with that. You know I’ve never treated you any differently to Beth. This is about my right to a private life. Nothing more.”
The room falls into an uneasy silence and I keep my eyes fixed on Amelie as she flounders, rudderless, on a stormy tide of churning emotions. She turns to look at me and I smile softly at her, but she shakes her head slowly from side to side.
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“You can’t what?” An icy chill creeps up my spine.
“I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”
Her words pierce my flesh like arrows. “I am honest with you.”
“When you can be,” she retorts.
“I am honest,” I repeat. “I haven’t lied to you, but I can’t help the restrictions of my job, Amelie, and that sometimes there are things which I simply can’t tell you.”
I’m oblivious of Gordon Templeton now, focusing solely on Amelie. “Can’t, or won’t?” she says.
“Can’t.” She shakes her head once more by way of response. “What does that mean?” I ask her.
“It means exactly what I just said. I can’t be with someone who won’t guarantee to at least be honest with me,” she murmurs.
“Are you seriously saying you don’t want to see me anymore?”
She raises her eyes and looks at me, hesitates for a second and then nods her head.
“Because of this?” I can’t believe this is happening.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I stare at her, but she looks away, focusing on the floor. After a few moments, it becomes clear she’s not going to look up again. She really means it. She really doesn’t want me, and I can’t think of anything to say to change her mind, mainly because I don’t understand how I ended up the villain here, just for doing my job.
“I suppose I’d better go,” I say eventually.
Templeton steps towards me, then stops, looking awkward, as though he doesn’t know whether to play the host and accompany me from the room, or stay with Amelie. I make the decision for him by just shaking my head, and I make my way over to the door. As I open it, I turn back and look at her. She’s still standing, staring at the floor, looking beautiful as always, and more lost than I ever wanted to see her.
“Amelie,” I say and I wait until she looks up. When she does, my breath catches in my throat at the thought of what might have been, and all of a sudden, I know exactly what I have to say, even if it is too late. “I—I’m sorry I’m not the man you want me to be. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I can promise you, it wasn’t intentional. I’m in love with you, Amelie, and the very last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt you…” I hear her gasp from across the room and then, before I can say anything else, she lets out a sob and runs, skirting around the furniture and darting past me. I grab her arm, pulling her back.
“Let me go,” she cries and I release her at once and watch as she flees up the stairs, the sound of her weeping still audible above her pounding footsteps.
I feel a hand on my arm and turn to find Gordon standing beside me. “This is my fault,” he says softly. “I’ll speak to her.”
I look down at him and suck in a deep breath. “I’m not sure there’s much point,” I reply. “I think Amelie’s made her feelings very clear.”
“She’s upset, that’s all.”
I think she’s a little more than upset, but that’s because I know how she feels. “Well, that makes two of us.”
He nods his head. “Yes.” He puts his hands in his pockets and takes a step back, then looks up at me. “But take it from someone who knows, this is one of those occasions when you have to remember that she’s very young, and you have to be the grown up.”
I’m not sure I want advice from a man like Gordon Templeton, so I change the subject and become the policeman that Amelie seemingly despises. “Can you tell me exactly where you were last night at seven-thirty?” I ask him.
He frowns at the alteration in my tone, then says, “Yes. I was in my flat, with Abigail.”
“And she’ll confirm this?”
“Yes.”
I nod my head. “And do you own a gun?” I ask.
“A gun?” He tilts his head. “Yes, I do. I’ve got an old army revolver. It’s kept locked in my desk. Do you want to see it?”
“No. Either myself or someone else will come and collect it tomorrow.” I don’t want to think about it at the moment. And besides, I need to ensure everything is done properly in terms of collecting evidence, so me taking a firearm back to Aunt Dotty’s for the night isn’t really acceptable.
“Collect it?” he enquires.
“Yes.” I don’t explain and he stares at me for a moment before nodding his head.
“Very well,” he replies.
I make my way towards the front door, picking up my hat and coat on the way.
“Give Amelie time,” Templeton says from behind me.
“She can have as much time as she needs,” I reply, opening the door. “But I doubt it’ll make any difference. I can’t change who I am, and I’m evidently not the man she wants.”
Chapter Eight
So much for peace and quiet.
My brain won’t let up. The thoughts won’t stop. And what’s more, the cheese on toast I’ve made for my supper is just making me feel sick, so I put it to one side, feeling queasy. My stomach’s churning. Of course, I know it’s not really the food that’s causing that uneasy sensation; it’s the chilling silence in my flat, the feeling of being watched everywhere I go, the memories…
I put my shoes back on, get up and shrug on my coat, then grab my keys and head out of the flat. I can’t face the Queen’s Head again. The recollections of my last visit there are too fresh, and I certainly don’t want to risk seeing that young woman again… I decide to walk a little further back towards East Molesey and go to The Lord Harry instead. It’s only about a mile or so away from the Queen’s Head, and it’s a pleasant enough evening. It’s cold, but at least it’s not raining.
Inside, the pub is reasonably busy and I go up to the bar and order a half pint of beer, taking it over to a table by the blacked-out window, from where I can keep myself occupied, watching the locals at the bar, and the comings and goings through the main door.
I’ve been sitting here for about twenty minutes when a young woman comes in by herself. She looks uncertain as she approaches the bar, and I think I know why. Women don’t usually visit pubs by themselves. It’s not considered ‘becoming’, but beneath that doubtful expression, there’s something else. A hint of defiance. It makes me smile, and as she glances over towards me, I let my smile widen. She nods her head and returns the gesture, and I wonder if I might be able to spend a few hours with her… forgetting. Or maybe even rebuilding.
After just a moment’s hesitation, she comes over to my table.
“There aren’t very many free seats. Would you mind if I joined you?” she asks, looking down at me, that smile still settled on her lips.
“Not at all,” I reply, and make a little space for her.
She’s also bought herself a half pint, and we sit together and talk for a while. She works as a secretary for one of the manufacturing companies in Hersham, and seems to enjoy her job. She certainly talks about it with enthusiasm, anyway. I manage to avoid telling her very much about my life, not that she seems to notice and, after we’ve both finished our drinks, she leans a little closer to me.
“H—How would you feel about coming back to my room with me?” she asks.
“Your room?” I notice the stutter in her voice and wonder how many times she’s done this before.
“Yes. I rent a room in a house in Grange Road. It’s not far from here.”
I know perfectly well where Grange Road is and, while I’m nervous that things could go just as badly as they did before, I kn
ow I have to try. I’m going insane just sitting around remembering how it used to be…
*****
I feel absolutely dreadful, but that’s got nothing to do with the fact that I haven’t slept a wink. It’s got everything to do with what happened between Amelie and me last night. Every time I think about it, I still can’t believe it’s happened. She may have only been in my life for a few weeks, but the thought of trying to live without her is like trying to breathe without air.
While I may not fully understand what’s happened, one thing I do know for certain is that I cannot face Aunt Dotty this morning. I can’t bear the idea of having to explain it to her, or having to listen to her well-intentioned advice. So, I get up early, bathe and dress, and leave the house before six. Given our current investigations, I doubt she’ll be surprised.
I spend the first hour of my day catching up on paperwork, by which time Thompson has arrived.
“You’re in early,” he says, poking his head around the door.
“I’ve been here for an hour already.” I glance up from the file on my desk before closing it and putting it to one side.
“Really?” He comes in and sits down opposite me. “Any particular reason?”
“No. I just thought I’d catch up with all of this.” I indicate the stack of files in front of me.
“I see. Well, while I’m here, I meant to ask, what are we going to do about Gordon Templeton? He’s the only person from the Ellis case that we haven’t interviewed yet… assuming we’re excluding Miss Cooper, of course.”
I look at him and see he’s smiling, but try as I might, I can’t smile back.
“I’ve spoken to Templeton already,” I tell him. “He returned from London yesterday, so I went and saw him and Miss Cooper last night.”
“And?”
“And he has a revolver – another Great War relic – but he also has an alibi, courtesy of his mistress, Abigail Foster.”
“Does he now?” Thompson shakes his head in disapproval.
