I Love The Sound Of Breaking Glass (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 2)

by Paul Charles

‘I believe, Mrs Farrelly, that you – er – had a relationship with Peter O’Browne.’ Kennedy shifted uncomfortably in Colette Farrelly’s kitchen chair. This interview was going to be difficult and Kennedy knew that to get anywhere, he was going to need to act with the utmost sensitivity.

  Her house, as before, smelled of freshly-cooked food. This time the smell was richer, because this time Kennedy had been invited down to the kitchen living area in the basement. The Farrellys had knocked through all the walls in the basement to create one big open family area. It was obviously the hub of the house, the walls littered with both formal family photographs and more carefree snapshots, children’s drawings, first paintings, Martyn’s album sleeves, community group flyers. The longer he sat there absorbing the homely concoction of smells, sights and sounds – Radio Four, car wheels passing on the outside tarmac like a fast-flowing river, and the clicking of the oven timer and large wall clock – the less he thought it possible that this apparently contented earth mother could have had an affair with Peter O’Browne.

  Colette did not reply immediately, nor did she show surprise. Instead she turned to the cupboards behind him and produced a packet of Walkers Chocolate Chip Shortbread (a particular favourite of Kennedy’s). She did not place the biscuits on a plate but put the pack in front of him, thus inviting Kennedy to help himself. He preferred it this way. Neither he nor his host would be embarrassed by the number he took, indeed, neither would be aware of the exact number except that maybe Kennedy would probably know that he had taken one more than he should have done. ann rea had brought this habit to his attention on more than one occasion declaring that he should be heavier than his ten and a half stone from all the goodies he ate, and claiming that she would bulge out immediately should she indulge herself like he did. He wondered why he should be thinking of ann rea at such a moment. Perhaps it was the smell of food and suggestion, or accusation, of infidelity. He felt it necessary to repeat his question.

  ‘I asked if you had a relationship with Peter O’Browne.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, Detective Inspector,’ Colette Farrelly replied. ‘You said, “I believe, Mrs Farrelly, that you had a relationship with Peter O’Browne.” That was a statement, not a question. I assumed that as I hadn’t contradicted you, you would know that your statement was correct.’

  Well, we certainly went around the houses with that one, Kennedy thought, but eventually it got us there.

  ‘Do you think you could tell me about it?’ he inquired.

  Kennedy was so calm and quiet that Colette couldn‘t believe that he really was a policeman. He seemed more like an old friend who’d come round for a cup of tea and a chat. And this was something she wanted to chat about; something she needed to talk through. She sighed.

  ‘Well, we are…sorry, were, friends, and it was different, I suppose. Oh, shit. Where do I start?’ Colette paused as she took off her apron, to reveal an ankle-length Laura Ashley-style dress, slightly-waisted, just a hint. She turned off the radio, poured herself a cup of tea and came and sat at the table with Kennedy.

  They fell silent for a while. Kennedy let the silence be. Bit by bit, as their ears grew accustomed to the absence of the radio, the daytime sounds came back: the clicking of the two clocks, the occasional car on the road above them, Kennedy removing another cookie from the packet, both of them sipping their tea.

  Kennedy smiled at Colette. He found it easy to smile at her – she was a passionate woman. He had never thought that about her before this moment, but now he was sure of it. Her shoulder-length straight blonde hair, her sharp-featured face with only hints of make-up, dark thick eyebrows and her smell of cleanness and femininity made him wonder why he had not seen this in her on his last visit. Perhaps he had looked upon her only as someone’s wife, not as someone else’s mistress too. Now there was another dimension to her. He of all people should have known that things are not always what they seem.

  Colette broke their silence. ‘Well, I suppose I liked him. I always liked Peter. He’s an easy man to like. He was a man it was easy for women to like. He didn’t feel the need to come on to everything in a skirt. So I found myself talking to him more and more. It was like he gradually became a part of my life. You feel safe talking to him about things, even some things you wouldn’t talk to your husband about.

  ‘Then he and Martyn fell out. I mean it was stupid. I think Martyn got the wrong end of the stick and made a mountain out of a molehill. I think that he was hurt that Peter didn’t want to work with him any more and so he created, in his mind, a reason for being angry with Peter and used that anger to make himself feel better about the split.

  ‘I let some time pass – you have to remember that I couldn’t talk to Peter then either. Martyn expects me to be loyal in all things, even when he’s wrong. Then I started to suggest to Martyn that just maybe he’d been wrong about Peter. I pointed out that he had done his absolute best for Martyn, and at that time it had been hard to get any deal, let alone a good deal, for a new act.

  ‘Anyway, eventually Martyn came round. I think it was easier for him then because he was successful in his own right and that meant he could deal with Peter as an equal. So they had their famous dinner where they both got quite drunk and ended up back here, and we all were mates again.’ Colette stopped talking and poured Kennedy another cup of tea.

  She thought his tea-drinking was quite comical. Detectives on TV all seemed to be hard-hitting, hard-drinking types: even Morse, with his unusual love for Wagner, liked the odd pint, or five, of real ale. But here was this gentle man with an Irish-sounding name who had an absolute passion for a good old cup of tea. And here she was talking to him about something she had never discussed with anyone in the world before.

  ‘And then,’ Colette sighed, ‘one day – it was a Friday, I think; yes it was a Friday – I bumped into Peter on Parkway in Camden. Martyn was at home minding Naimee and Sean and I was meant to be having a girls’ afternoon with my friend Diana Alexander. She was taking the afternoon off school and we were going to go to the Sanctuary in Covent Garden and beautify ourselves for hours. You know, the works.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know,’ offered Kennedy with a smile.

  Colette laughed. ‘Oh girlie things: waxing, facials, massage, manicuring, body massage, hair, make-up, recreating ourselves totally.’

  ‘I get the picture,’ said Kennedy wondering why on earth a woman so naturally beautiful as Colette needed to do that. It showed, he thought, just how little he knew about this mysterious half of the human race.

  ‘Anyway,’ Colette continued, noticing that Kennedy had drained the remains of his second cup of tea, and rising to make a second pot as she talked, ‘Diana’s afternoon off was cancelled – two teachers phoned in sick and she had to cover for one of them. I was feeling a little down so I decided to continue with the Sanctuary plan on my own and then go home early and have dinner with Martyn.

  ‘The treatment did the trick and, as they say in the adverts, I came out a new woman. I stopped off to pick up a few bits and pieces on Parkway and bumped into Peter. He seemed a bit taken aback at how I looked, as if he was looking at me for the first time.

  ‘We stood there on Parkway chatting and laughing for about ten minutes and he suggested that we went down to Café Delancey for a cup of coffee instead of standing in the street. I was in no hurry to get home, Martyn wasn’t expecting me, so I agreed.

  ‘I still felt delicious from my Sanctuary visit and it’s rare for me to be free, with no one depending on me.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s like you’ve escaped. From whom, and to where, you never really figure out, but believe me, the feeling is bliss.

  ‘Before we knew it, an hour had passed, we’d moved from coffee to wine, and you know the inhibitions disappear with wine.

  ‘I got the feeling that he was flirting with me. He kept saying how beautiful I was.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s always a bit of a giveaway, isn’t it?’ Kennedy suggested playfull
y.

  Colette smiled, more, Kennedy thought, from the scenes she was reliving than at his joke.

  ‘Yes. Peter was saying how beautiful he thought I was, and that I was glowing. Probably a combination of the Sanctuary glow and the three glasses of wine. I was having a rare old time. After demolishing the wine we left the café and walked back to the top of Parkway.

  ‘We were saying our goodbyes at the corner of Delancey Street and Parkway, across from Camden Town Records. I think I said something like how much I had enjoyed our chat and was sorry that it was over, and he said he had enjoyed it as well, so if I was not in a rush to go home why didn’t we go over to his office, listen to some of his new acts and have another bottle? So we did. It seemed harmless. He was great company, and I think we were both enjoying ourselves because we both felt that there were no sexual undertones. Obviously we were wrong, but they had never been there before.

  ‘Then the conversation took a more intimate turn with the new atmosphere – we were on our own then, not in a safe, crowded café. I started to let my frustrations come out. I told him that I was slightly disappointed in Martyn. That shocked him. He claimed that he had always considered Martyn and me to be the perfect married couple and that and that he was slightly envious of us.

  ‘The wine kept flowing and so did the conversation. I told him that although I loved Martyn dearly, and he still loved me, he was no longer interested in me sexually and had even stopped pretending that he was. I remember telling Peter that I had not expected to grow old happily with my mate, with him lacking interest in me in that way. I told him everything about my relationship with Martyn. That on the rare occasions we did have sex, Martyn was not really interested in my pleasure, and sometimes not even in his own.

  ‘He would fake it and that perplexed me. But then I realised that he was only doing it because he felt he had to carry out his duty to me. He didn’t know how bad that made me feel: so unattractive that my own husband needed to fake an orgasm with me.

  ‘Obviously, it was a dangerous subject for us to be discussing. Peter tried to console me. He put his arm around me and told me not to be ridiculous, that of course I was attractive, an extremely attractive and beautiful woman.

  ‘I said, “You’re only saying that because I’m upset”. He denied it, and went on about how beautiful and sensual I was. Then I stopped him and said, “Okay, prove it!”

  ‘You should have seen the look of shock on his face. I’d crossed an invisible line which had existed between us for years. He said, “What! What on earth do you mean?” By this stage I was feeling wicked, totally abandoned. I told him he knew exactly what I meant.

  ‘I didn’t have to ask twice. Within seconds we were all over each other. It appeared that both of us had been equally frustrated.’ Colette paused as she returned to the table with the fresh pot of tea. Preparing the tea had enabled Colette to avoid eye contact with Kennedy during this part of the story.

  ‘Well!’ Kennedy said whistling through his teeth as Colette poured him a third cup. ‘Thank you for being so candid with me.’

  ‘To be honest, part of me cannot believe I’m sitting here, sipping tea and calmly telling you all of this. Telling a policeman all this, a policeman I hardly know. I’ve never told anyone about it before. Telling you, I seem to have made it real. Does that sound weird?’

  ‘No, not at all, quite logical, to me, anyway. Did you, um, did you and Peter…?’

  ‘Do it again?’ she interjected, to cut short Kennedy's embarrassment.

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, Detective Inspector, that is not so easy to answer. Look, this may sound strange, but we didn’t actually do it on the first evening.’

  ‘But I thought…’

  ‘Yes. That’s the weird bit. We did everything but make love. That was our rule – Peter’s rule, really. We could do everything and anything to each other but not, well, you know, full penetration. I thought in a way it was as if I, or we, were stopping just short of betraying Martyn. Peter had other ideas about excitement. He had this big thing about anticipation being better than participation.

  ‘And I must admit we had several glorious months of anticipation. I’d never known anything so exciting in my life, we’d literally rush into each other’s arms and tear the clothes from each other’s bodies. More married couples should try it.’ She was blushing but unashamed.

  Kennedy was lost for words. He had a few scenes running through his mind but no words to fill his mouth.

  ‘We met occasionally. I mean, what can I tell you, except that it was great, absolutely great. We were not in love, but we had great sex, we were good friends and neither of us was looking for more out of the relationship other than what we were getting. I became a happier person because I didn’t feel that that part of my life was redundant. I liked Peter, and I cared for him. I wanted to see him happy. I even fixed him up with my girlfriend Diana Alexander, who was my best mate. I thought that they would be great together. It turned out that he wasn’t prepared to put enough into the relationship to make it work, so she broke it off.’

  Colette smiled again at her memories. ‘I was thinking of the time Diana and Peter came round for dinner and we’d all had a lot of wine. Peter and I left Diana and Martyn in the living room watching TV while we came down here to the basement to wash the dishes. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even in my own house: Martyn’s and mine. It was the one time, the only time we made love proper.

  ‘For me it was all so decadent, so thrilling, so anticipated, that for me it was the best, absolutely the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.

  ‘Around that time Martyn was saying that I’d changed and he was being turned on by me again. I guess, because of Peter, I was feeling desirable again, so I was acting desirable and therefore being desirable.’

  ‘There’s sense in that,’ Kennedy agreed. ‘Did Martyn ever have any idea about this?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. If he had found out – if he finds out – he’d be destroyed. We are just starting to get on so well again.’ Colette brushed back her hair, capturing it behind her ears. ‘He won’t have to know, will he?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Well, you know, that could be pretty difficult. I’ll be honest with you: we can’t rule Martyn out of our list of suspects.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, look at it from the outside. They were mates. They fell out. Martyn felt he was cheated.’

  ‘But they made it up!’ she pleaded.

  ‘Yes, but what if Martyn was just biding his time until a chance arose for him to get his own back? Vengeance is a very powerful and destructive force. Now we find out that Martyn’s wife was sleeping with the murder victim. You’ve got to see all this must move Martyn up a few places on our suspect list. You’ve told me yourself that he would be devastated if he found out about your affair. What if he did find out?’

  ‘But how could he have done? You are the only person who knows. Peter would never have breathed a word about it!’ Colette cried.

  ‘Mrs Farrelly, I came to you and told you that I believed you were having a relationship with Peter O’Browne. How do you think I knew this?’

  ‘Not Marty?’ she asked beseechingly.

  ‘No, of course not. Mary. Mary Jones.’

  ‘But Peter wouldn’t have told Mary.’

  ‘But Mary was Peter’s PA. He wouldn’t necessarily need to have told her. She could have worked it out, guessed for herself. Maybe from your phone calls to ask how Peter was doing; maybe someone saw you together and told her, maybe she knew he phoned you, maybe she noticed how his manner changed when you were around. Any one of a million things which you know women can pick up. So perhaps Martyn found out. After all, he would be more tuned into your wavelength than most.’

  ‘No. I’d have known. Believe me, I can tell you that there is not the slightest possibility that he knew.’

  Colette put her head in her hands, hair falling around her knees.

  ‘Oh God. If
he is a suspect, does that mean that you are going to question him? And if you question him, are you going to throw, “and your wife was cheating with Peter behind your back”, at him? Oh my God, how awful,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Listen Colette, people are only exempt from suspicion if they have a cast-iron unbreakable alibi, if they are not physically capable of committing the murder or if they have no interest in the case whatsoever. Otherwise everyone involved is a suspect. Even you are on our list of suspects. The only reason to have a list is so we can remove names from it. Eventually by a process of elimination and deduction, most names will come off, leaving – hopefully – just one; that of the perpetrator of the rime.’

  Kennedy paused, and added in a gentler voice, ‘I would strongly advise you that it may be in your best interest, and easiest for you both, if you told Martyn about Peter yourself. I’m not saying that we would tell Martyn as a matter of course but it may come up, and if it does it would be far better if Martyn had already heard it from you.’

  ‘But it’s been over for ages. It was a mutual thing. Martyn was paying me attention again and, if I’m honest, I think with Peter, you know, after we eventually did it, the novelty wore off for him.’ She thought for a while, wondering whether the fact that the relationship had been over would make telling Martyn any easier. She doubted it.

  ‘Thanks, Inspector. I know you didn’t need to tell me what you know. I know it ruins the surprise element with Martyn,’ said Colette. She was quiet for a moment. ‘But I suppose if I tell Martyn the truth – if he has the full picture at last – then we, or at least I, can start to grieve for Peter.’

  ‘There was just one other thing I wanted to ask you, Mrs Farrelly,’ said Kennedy. ‘What happened to Diana Alexander when she and Peter parted: Is she still in the area?’

  ‘Oh God! I had forgotten all about Diana,’ replied Colette in distress. ‘She’ll be devastated. I must ring her.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like us to go and see her?’ Kennedy offered helpfully.

  Colette looked up in surprise. ‘Oh no, Inspector – not unless you fancy a holiday. She’s living in a little village just outside Milan with a jewellery designer. She finally met someone who knew how to make a commitment. He’s a little possessive, but they are happily married and she’s teaching English. I haven’t seen her in over a year.’