by Simon Brett
‘But he didn’t accuse you of taking Fennel’s mobile?’
‘No. He mentioned it, just said so far as he knew the police hadn’t found the thing. It’s Sheena who leapt to the conclusion that I’d nicked it.’
Carole was thoughtful as she had another sip of coffee. Then she said slowly, ‘You don’t think it’s herself that Sheena’s trying to protect?’
‘What, you mean that she killed Fennel and she thinks the mobile might contain some evidence against her? Like the text with which she set up their meeting?’
‘Perhaps. What do you reckon?’
Jude pursed her full lips. ‘I find it hard to cast Sheena in the role of murderer. I find it hard to cast any mother in the role of the murderer of her own child.’
‘It has happened. Read your classical myths.’
‘I know, but . . .’
Carole pressed home her advantage. ‘And Sheena Whittaker’s making no secret of her relief that Fennel’s no longer around.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Jude moved her head abruptly, as though there were a troublesome thought she wanted to shake out of it. ‘For some reason my mind keeps coming back to the first suicide attempt.’
‘In the flat in Pimlico . . .’
‘Yes. Sheena wasn’t involved in that. Well, obviously she was in the sense that it was her daughter who’d made the attempt. But it was Chervil who found Fennel and it was Ned who rushed up to London to sort things out. Why didn’t Sheena go?’
Carole shrugged. ‘There could be any number of reasons. And Sheena talked about the close relationship Ned always had with Fennel.’
‘Yes . . . I almost get this picture of a house divided. Sheena and Chervil on one side, Ned and Fennel on the other. Which is why he’s so desolated by Fennel’s death, and his wife seems relatively unaffected.’
‘And I wonder where Chervil fits into this emotional scale . . .?’ Carole mused.
‘Well, outwardly, as we saw at the Walden launch, it doesn’t seem to have got to her. Mind you, Sheena hinted that there might be strong feelings under the surface, which were being controlled because Chervil was there in her professional capacity.’
There was a silence, broken only by the grunting of Gulliver, pursuing some dream rabbit.
‘Thinking back to the Walden launch,’ said Carole eventually, ‘I was intrigued by what you said about Sam Torino.’
‘Oh?’
‘The feeling you got that Ned Whittaker might have set her up to sound you out.’
‘Well, I haven’t got any proof that he did.’
‘No, it’s an interesting idea. Pity you can’t make contact with Sam Torino to follow up on it.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude perkily. ‘But I can.’
In spite of her apparent confidence, Jude had not expected her call to be answered immediately. And it wasn’t. The answering message was not in the distinctive Canadian tone of Sam Torino, just an anonymous mechanical voice. Jude left her name and number, by now doubtful that she would ever hear back.
Carole, she could tell, was disappointed. Both of them worried that their investigation was drowning in inertia. Their suspicions about the circumstances of Fennel Whittaker’s death seemed increasingly tenuous. They needed some kind of breakthrough, but there was no hint that any might be imminent.
A subdued Jude returned to Woodside Cottage. She had a couple of clients due on that Thursday afternoon, but she didn’t feel in the right mood for them. Her mind was too full to find the focus and clarity she needed for healing.
She was contemplating calling them to put off their sessions when her mobile rang.
‘Hi, this is Sam Torino.’
‘Thank you for calling back.’
‘No problem.’ But there still seemed to be a slight tension in the voice, almost a wariness.
‘How’s the back?’
‘Fine and dandy at the moment. Can’t thank you enough for that, Jude.’
‘And are you taking the prescription I gave you?’
‘For solitude?’ She let out a throaty laugh. ‘Hell, I’m trying, but it’s hard with a schedule like mine. Why couldn’t you have prescribed something easy – like running a marathon every day?’
‘Because if you ran a marathon every day, you’d run it surrounded by paparazzi. Besides, that prescription wouldn’t make you better.’
Sam Torino chuckled again. But it wasn’t a completely relaxed chuckle. She was still circling round, waiting to hear the real reason why Jude had contacted her.
Time to own up. ‘I wanted to talk to you more about Fennel Whittaker.’
‘Uh-huh.’ No surprise. Sam had been expecting it. Jude wondered how recently Ned had been in touch with his glamorous friend.
‘I was thinking back to what we talked about in the treatment yurt . . .’ No response, just an expectant silence. ‘You said Ned had been worried there might be local gossip about Fennel having been murdered.’
‘I remember.’
‘Then maybe you also remember that I asked you at the time whether you’d set up our therapy session specifically to talk about her death.’
‘And I said no. Hell, are you suggesting the pain in my back wasn’t genuine?’
‘No, I’m not suggesting that at all. I could feel that pain. But maybe getting me to do the healing session was convenient because it did give you an opportunity to find out what I was thinking about Fennel’s death.’
‘I don’t think I’m following you here. What are you trying to get me to say?’
‘I’m not trying to get you to say anything. I promise there’s nothing sinister in my getting in touch with you.’
‘Good. Because I’m afraid someone in my position does have to be a bit careful. You know, you meet people who seem to be all upfront and then you discover that they’re trying to get something out of you. Of course, I don’t feel that with you, Jude . . .’ But the caution still lurked in Sam Torino’s voice.
‘The only thing I want to get out of you is an admission that you set up our therapy at Ned Whittaker’s request.’
A long silence ensued while the supermodel considered her response. Then slowly she said, ‘Well, OK, it was a bit of each. I was talking to Ned at the launch and—’
‘Ned wasn’t at the launch.’
‘No. OK, he wasn’t on the Walden site, I agree. I talked to him before the launch up at the house.’
‘And he then asked you to set up the healing session with me?’
‘It wasn’t as overt and calculating as that. Ned was kind of marking my card for the afternoon, telling me who I might expect to meet there . . .’
‘I thought Walden was Chervil’s project.’
‘I guess, but Ned seemed to know all about it. Anyway, he mentioned you and he said you were a healer and I said, “Maybe I should get her to take a look at this bastard back of mine.” And he said, “Not a bad idea. Well, if you do talk to Jude, ask her if she thinks there’s anything odd about Fennel’s death.” And I ask him how he means “odd” and he says there’s rumours going round she might have been murdered. And so I do as he asks. But it was really just that I wanted to get my back looked at. And I’m sure as hell glad I got you to sort that out.’
There was almost a note of pleading in Sam’s voice by the end, so Jude granted her forgiveness. ‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.’
‘Well, you can’t just leave it there,’ said Sam Torino.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’ve answered your question, but you haven’t told me why you needed to ask it. Do you have some reason to believe that Fennel was murdered?’
‘More of an instinct than a reason. But what you’ve told me about Ned does open up other possibilities.’
‘How so?’
‘If he does think someone killed his daughter, then why hasn’t he shared his suspicions with the police? There’s only one reason I can think of for him doing that.’
‘Which is . . .?’
‘That he knows who
the killer is, and he wants to protect that person from prosecution.’
‘I see what you mean. So we’re talking someone very close to him here, are we?’
‘We could be. Actually, I’ve just remembered, Sam . . . there was another thing I wanted to ask you.’
‘Ask away.’
‘We’ve established that Ned set you up to question me. Did he also instruct you that, if I did seem to be thinking along the lines of a murder, then you should encourage me to cast Denzil Willoughby in the role of murderer?’
The guilty silence had already answered Jude’s question before Sam Torino admitted, ‘Yes, he did. Look, I didn’t know what the stakes were – I still don’t, come to that. Ned was just a friend going through a bad patch – a really bad patch – he’d kind of lost the love of his life when Fennel died. And he asked me to do something for him and I thought, hell, if it’s going to make the poor bastard feel better, there can’t be much harm in it.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Jude ruminatively. ‘You and Ned . . . you were never more than friends?’
‘Hell, no.’ She seemed affronted by the idea. ‘I never mix friendships and love affairs. Friends are kind of private people you get along with privately. Love affairs are big public commitments.’
‘To be splashed all over the tabloids?’
‘If I’m one of the people involved, then I’m afraid the answer’s yes. It’s not something I’ve particularly sought out, but that’s the way it is. My love affairs have become part of my career. So I wouldn’t spoil my friendship with someone like Ned by going to bed with him. Apart from which, I’ve never begun to fancy him. And then again he’s absolutely locked into that marriage with Sheena.’
‘You think the marriage is secure?’
‘God, yes.’
‘But there seem to be things about which they disagree.’
‘Look, it’s a marriage – what the hell do you expect?’
‘But like the way they’ve reacted differently to Fennel’s death . . .’
‘The reason for that is that Ned always tries to keep the bad stuff away from Sheena. You talk about him trying to protect someone . . . well, the person he’s protected right through their marriage is his wife.’
This was a new perspective on the lives of the Whittakers. It stimulated a niggling suspicion about Sheena that Jude had been nursing for some time.
‘I mean,’ Sam Torino went on, ‘look what happened over Fennel’s first suicide attempt.’
‘Sorry? I don’t really know much about what happened then.’
‘Chervil found her sister in the Pimlico flat. She immediately rang Ned who went straight up to London, without even telling his wife what had happened.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘He got Fennel safely back home and had her checked out by a doctor, and it was only then that he told Sheena. He didn’t want to worry her until the situation was as stable as it could be.’
‘Right.’ Jude nodded thoughtfully.
‘Ned did his best to keep all the unpleasant details away from Sheena. He didn’t even show her the suicide note that Fennel had written.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude. ‘I didn’t know there had been a suicide note.’
TWENTY-SIX
As soon as she had finished the call to Sam Torino, Jude hurried round to High Tor to bring Carole up to date with the new development. But there was no reply. Of course, Gulliver was being taken to the vet’s about his inflamed foot.
Back at Woodside Cottage she didn’t hesitate, but straight away rang Ned Whittaker. The phone was answered by a girl whose laid-back manner did not disguise the fact that she was actually a secretary. As ever, the slightly hippyish atmosphere of Butterwyke House masked rigid efficiency.
Ned came on the line immediately on hearing who was asking for him. His ‘Hi, Jude’ was spoken with a degree of caution. Presumably Sheena had updated him on their encounter that morning.
As soon as Jude told him that she knew about the suicide note found in the Pimlico flat, he announced that he’d come over to Fethering immediately ‘to explain what happened.’
The Prius in which he arrived outside Woodside Cottage soon after was driven by Kier, who had clearly been told to wait in the car. In spite of his T-shirted dress code, the young man was as much a chauffeur as one in a uniform and a peaked cap.
Ned Whittaker looked more stressed than ever. Refusing offers of tea or coffee, he asked immediately, ‘How did you find out about the suicide note?’
‘Sam Torino.’
He sighed with annoyance. ‘I’d forgotten she knew. I should have warned her to keep quiet about it.’
‘Tell me what happened in the Pimlico flat after the first suicide attempt,’ said Jude calmly.
‘You know most of it. The flat’s a kind of family bolt-hole in London. There have been times when one or other of the girls were living there full-time . . . you know, when Fennel was at St Martin’s . . . or when Chervil was between jobs or houses. We all have keys. Thank God, because otherwise Chervil wouldn’t have found Fennel that afternoon and . . . Mind you, Fennel’s dead now, which means . . .’ Grief threatened to overwhelm him.
‘So Chervil just dropped into the flat that afternoon by chance?’ asked Jude.
‘Yes. And she found Fennel unconscious. She realized immediately what had happened. The pill bottles and the whisky left her in no doubt.’
‘Nor did the suicide note,’ Jude prompted.
‘No.’ Ned sighed again. There was despair in his manner, but also an element of relief. Holding in the information had taken its toll on him. ‘I have, incidentally, called Chervil. Told her that you knew about the note and that I was coming to see you. She may appear here at any moment.’
‘Fine. So go on. Chervil rang you after she’d found Fennel, you got Kier to drive you up to London . . .’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me.’
‘Ah.’ Wearily he said, ‘Very difficult when you try to keep things quiet, you know. You think you’ve warned off everyone you should . . . and then you discover there’s someone you’ve forgotten.’
‘So when you got to Pimlico, Chervil showed you the suicide note?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it straight away that you decided to keep quiet about it?’
‘Pretty much. I was terribly shocked, but it looked as if Fennel was going to pull through. The cuts on her wrists were only surface injuries, most of the painkillers had been flushed out of her system and I was starting to think: no one need actually ever know that this has happened. No one outside the family, that is . . . or close friends.’
‘Like Sam Torino?’
He nodded.
‘So did you take the suicide note with you?’
‘No, I left it with Chervil. Told her to destroy it before the people arrived to clean out the flat.’
‘And do you think she did destroy it?’
‘I assume so.’
‘No, you don’t, Ned,’ said Jude, with a new strength in her voice. ‘Because you’ve seen that suicide note since then, haven’t you?’ He made no attempt to deny the allegation. ‘It was the suicide note that was found near Fennel’s body in the yurt at Walden.’
Ned Whittaker looked totally drained. He couldn’t summon up the energy to provide any further defence. He just sat slumped in his armchair as Jude went on, ‘Which of course does put a whole new interpretation on the circumstances of her death, doesn’t it? There was no way Fennel herself left that note, was there?’
‘No,’ Ned agreed wretchedly.
‘Equally, there’s no way that Chervil destroyed it, as she said she had.’
Before Jude could pursue this argument to its logical conclusion, she was interrupted by a ring on the doorbell. With no great surprise, she found Chervil Whittaker standing outside.
Ned had followed her to the front door. ‘I’d better go,’ he said.
‘But, Daddy—’
‘I’d
better go,’ he repeated, pushing past his daughter without making any eye contact. And as Ned Whittaker walked along Jude’s garden path towards the waiting Prius, his body language reflected deep pain and a sense of betrayal.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Chervil Whittaker walked through into the sitting room of Woodside Cottage in silence and sat herself down in one of the armchairs. She was, as ever, perfectly groomed in designer jeans and polo shirt, but her face had lost its animated sparkle.
Jude took a seat opposite her. ‘So . . .?’ she said.
‘Daddy told me you’d found out about the suicide note.’
‘Yes. You didn’t destroy it after Fennel’s first attempt?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘You can ask. I’m not sure how coherent an answer I can give you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Have you got a sister?’ Jude shook her head. ‘Well then, you’ll just have to take my word for it that relationships between sisters can be quite complex.’
‘I know that from my work as a therapist.’
‘Yes, of course you would. I’m sure there are all kinds of psychological terms applied to the situation – “sibling rivalry”, that kind of thing – but I don’t know that they quite cover it. The fact is, within our family I’ve always felt that I was kind of playing second fiddle to Fennel.’
‘Because she was your father’s favourite?’
‘It’s not as simple as that. Daddy loves both of us, in his way, but if there ever was a direct competition for his attention, Fennel would win it.’
‘Because she was needy?’
‘I guess, yes. You might imagine that someone with power over other people has to be pushy and upfront . . .’
‘I wouldn’t imagine that, actually. I know how potent vulnerability can be.’
‘I’m sorry, of course you’d understand. Presumably you deal with that kind of stuff every day. Anyway, that’s how it worked with Fennel. She was always fragile emotionally, and you could tell Daddy was almost literally afraid she might break if he didn’t rush to look after her. To be fair, I don’t think Fennel actually played on that. It’s just how she was.’
