The Case of the Stained Glass Widow

by Douglas Lindsay

  'Maybe,' she said quickly, 'but that doesn't prove anything.'

  'I know.'

  There was a pause. She could have laughed, and might have had she been someone else, but she was too cool.

  'So, what evidence do you have for your preposterous allegation?'

  Jericho popped a last piece of cake into his mouth and licked his fingers. Then, keeping his audience waiting, he lifted his cup of tea, cleared his mouth and straightened up. Insomuch as he ever straightened.

  'To be honest,' he said, 'that thing I said when I came in, about you being under arrest for the murder blah blah... I just made that up. Wanting to see your reaction.'

  Haynes glanced at him, even more curious. The Cathedral widow smiled.

  'I'm sorry to leave you so devastatingly empty-handed.'

  'On the contrary,' said Jericho. 'Come on, you're nicked.'

  She looked confused, then said, 'For this absurd passport thing?'

  She tried to laugh.

  'Sure. Then there's the fact that you gave your passport to your sister to travel, then swapped passports. It'll add up. In these days when the border control people are peeing their pants about terrorism, we can get you down for a decent sentence. Then we'll go over every single inch of your house and your effects, and at some point we'll nail you. And in the meantime, you won't be able to kill either of these other deluded women.'

  He looked down at Haynes, who was sitting with his mouth slightly open.

  'Finish your cake,' said Jericho. 'We're leaving. Mrs. Parks, you're coming into custody. You might want to put a bra on.'

  She sneered. 'I'm phoning a lawyer first.'

  'Of course you are. Get him to meet you at the station.'

  xiii

  Later that evening Jericho was sitting in his office, a solitary sidelight on his desk, looking out on the few lights of the country, stretching out towards the south east. Tenth cup of coffee of the day, which was a lot, even for him. He was aware of Haynes walking into the room behind him, and then his sergeant came and stood beside him, looking out of the window.

  'She really doesn't look anything like her sister,' said Haynes after a few moments.

  'There's always a similarity with siblings,' said Jericho. 'Much easier for them to affect the disguise. Watch the mirror scene from Duck Soup. Those guys didn't look anything like each other. But watch that scene...'

  Duck Soup. Haynes had forgotten about that. He could YouTube it when he got back to his office.

  'So, is that it?' asked Haynes.

  Jericho turned and looked at him.

  'Pretty much,' he said. 'We'll get her with something. Might take a day or a week or a few months, but we'll get her.'

  'What if it wasn't her?'

  'And she just pretended to go to Australia, because that's what people do...?'

  'I suppose.' He paused, thought of something else. 'What about that thing you said a couple of days ago? Never make your mind up until you've got concrete proof?'

  Jericho shrugged.

  'Did I say that?'

  'Yeah. I wrote it down.'

  'It goes hand in hand with always follow your gut instinct. It's juxtaposition. You'll figure it out in the end.'

  A silence settled over them, though it was not destined to last for long.

  'I just thought...' said Haynes, then his voice drifted off.

  'There'd be more car chases and explosions and shit?' suggested Jericho.

  'Closure,' said Haynes instead.

  'Ah,' said Jericho, nodding. 'I'm afraid this is the real world, son. None of your two hour detective shows on ITV where everything's neatly wrapped up, it turns out the retired sergeant-major did it and he's led away to a life of imprisonment. There's no black, no white. Just great swathes of grey. And too many lawyers.'

  Haynes sighed heavily, shook his head and looked at his watch.

  'I need to get going, if that's OK? We can take it up again tomorrow?'

  'Sure,' said Jericho. 'What've you got on?'

  'Going into Bristol with some mates to get pished.'

  Jericho waved a dismissive hand; Haynes turned and walked slowly from his office.

  Jericho continued to stare out over the dark of night for another few minutes, then eventually he turned and once more opened the file on Mrs. Rosalind Parks. The file was slim, but over the next few weeks he knew it would get much thicker, and there was a fair chance he'd be spending a lot more time with her, playing dangerous games in small rooms.

  ***

  Also by Douglas Lindsay

  We Are The Hanged Man

  (the first DCI Jericho novel)

  When the latest hit reality TV show, Britain's Got Justice, needs an expert police panellist, DCI Robert Jericho's boss thrusts him into the media spotlight, knowing full well that Jericho's been desperate to avoid the limelight after his wife's unexplained disappearance ten years ago.

  With the press now hounding his every move, there's nowhere to hide.

  Meanwhile, sinister tarot cards are turning up on Jericho's desk, each one more bone-chilling and grotesque than its predecessor. As he investigates a series of seemingly unrelated deaths, he becomes aware that a noose is gradually tightening around his throat.

  Someone is setting him up for a neck-breaking fall.

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  Barney Thomson Novellas

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  The Face Of Death

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  A Plague Of Crows (DS Thomas Hutton #2)

  Short stories

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