"Yes, sir," the custody sergeant said. "Just sign for your belongings, just here, on the line. Thank you."
Hennessey and Yellich and two constables, one male, one female, convoyed in two cars to Shane Widestreet's address in Tang Hall. There was no answer to the loud, confident, but not aggressive knocking on the door.
Yellich walked to the rear of the tenancy and came back and shook his head. "Nothing, sir," he said.
"She left this morning. Her and the dogs. Drove away in a car, a taxi."
The officers turned. The owner of the voice was a neighbour, who stood in the knee-high grass of her front lawn. She had a round, ruddy face and, thought the officers, could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years of age. This is Tang Hall, where life can be hard.
"She left?" Hennessey echoed.
"This morning. Not going far though. Only carried a small bag."
"Thanks." Hennessey turned to Yellich and the male constable. "Put the door in, please."
Hennessey didn't know what he expected to find in the small, cramped tenancy, and he didn't find it. The flat was very Tang Hall—cluttered, clothes strewn, unwashed dishes in the sink, refuse spilling out of black bin-liners which rested against the grease-caked sink unit and there were flies, many flies, buzzing in the shade, enjoying feasting. But the officers found nothing, nothing at all to attract the attention of the police: no documents about offshore accounts, no firearms, just a small, unclean and untidy council house.
Yellich glanced at Hennessey. "There's only one place she can be, boss."
Hennessey nodded. "I think you're right, Yellich. I think you're right."
Sadie Ossler was located at Thundercliffe Grange. She opened the door to Hennessey and Yellich and the two constables, held eye contact with them and then retreated into the building. Hennessey and Yellich and the constables followed her, through the kitchen, past two growling Alsatians, and into the living-room of the house. Clothing and a half-packed suitcase rested on the settee. A generously proportioned leather shoulder bag sat on the coffee table.
"Going somewhere, Sadie?" Hennessey asked.
Sadie Ossler or Widestreet or Cloch, nee Kuppe, stared out of the window but didn't reply.
Hennessey stepped forward and picked up the shoulder bag and delved inside. He extracted a brown envelope, took the paper it contained and read the contents. "You're a wealthy woman, Sadie." He passed the document to Yellich. "Offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, no less."
Sadie Ossler stood and stared blankly out of the window.
"Three husbands, Sadie, all shot. Two very rich and one very useful, there to alibi you because you told him to do so. Isn't that right?" Hennessey paused. "Come on, Sadie, the answer's not out of the window. You're not in the children's home now, the Majesty of the law won't get tired and go away."
No reply. Just a continued steady stare at the front lawn.
"Calling it a won game were you, Sadie? Leaving a forwarding address with a solicitor, so he could send you what you were going to inherit from Mr Ossler's estate after he'd wrapped it up and sold it. Was that your plan?" He delved further into the bag. "What were you and your husband, who you said was your brother, drinking that night in the pub? Alcohol-free lager to keep your heads clear? A drive out to Strensall in a hire car parked some distance from the house? No problem getting past the dogs for you, was there, Sadie? Found your husband in his study…he stood up because he was surprised to see you, and even more surprised to see a gun in your hand. Then you shot him, once in the head, with a bullet that would fragment on impact…" Hennessey paused.
Yellich saw him frown and then watched as he pulled a small calibre gun from the shoulder bag. The two officers glanced at each other. "Sadie…the bullet in Shane's head—that didn't explode…did you know that? If it proves to have been fired from this gun then you really have got some explaining to do. Sadie? Mrs Ossler? Do you hear what I'm saying…I'm going to arrest you for the murder of three men."
The female constable took her handcuffs from her waist pouch and advanced on Sadie Ossler.
Sadie Ossler continued to look at the lawn, and then began to smile a very vacant smile.
About the Author
Peter Turnbull is the internationally successful author of many crime and mystery titles, some set in Glasgow, including Condition Purple, And Did Murder Him, The Killing Floor and The Man With No Face.
Fear of Drowning, from Severn House, is the first of his Hennessey and Yellich titles.
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