Free Dead End by Leigh Russell

easy.

13
    Mistress
    ‘L et's start with the obvious and ask Matthew for Charlotte's details,’ Geraldine said. ‘She's his alibi, so he should be keen to tell us where to find her, as long as we ask him when his children aren't around.’ ‘And if his alibi's a complete fabrication, he's had plenty of time to brief her on exactly what he wants her to say.’ Peterson sounded irritated. ‘That can't be helped and remember, he's not a suspect yet.’
    At first Matthew Kirby was reluctant to give them his girlfriend's details. Peterson advised him that wasting police time was treated very seriously.
    ‘It's not that I don't want to tell you where she lives,’ Matthew Kirby rubbed the top of his head with the palm of one hand, ruffling his dark hair until it stood on end. ‘The thing is, I don't want to drag Charlotte into all this. She had nothing to do with my wife. They never even met.’
    ‘By naming Charlotte as your alibi, you've already dragged her into the enquiry,’ Geraldine pointed out.
    Charlotte Fox lived in a converted block of flats on the outskirts of town, off the main road.
    ‘Fidelis Lodge,’ Geraldine read the sign aloud. ‘Ironic.’
    There was an entry phone. ‘Charlotte Fox? This is the police. We'd like to have a word with you about Matthew Kirby.’
    ‘Has something happened to Matthew?’
    ‘No. But I expect you know his wife's dead.’
    ‘Yes. Matthew told me. But that's nothing to do with me.’
    ‘May we come in, Miss Fox?’
    ‘How do I know you are who you say you are?’
    ‘You can check our ID, or you can phone the local station. We'll wait.’
    There was a pause. ‘You'd better come on up. It's the second floor. Number twenty-two.’
    Charlotte Fox opened her front door on the chain and studied Geraldine's warrant card. ‘Alright,’ she nodded, making no move to take the chain off the door. ‘What's this about?’
    ‘May we come in?’
    Charlotte frowned. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘We need to ask you a few questions and it'll be more comfortable for all of us if we don't conduct the interview in the hallway. I don't suppose your neighbours want to hear this.’
    Charlotte led them into a neatly furnished living room with a sloping ceiling, original attic accommodation for servants converted into a bijou flat. Geraldine studied Charlotte as they all sat down. She was slim, aged between twenty-five and thirty, with brittle blonde curls that moved when she turned as though her whole head had been carved in stone.
    ‘Miss Fox,’ Geraldine began. The other woman's eyes flitted nervously from Geraldine to Peterson and back again. ‘How well do you know Matthew Kirby?’
    Charlotte Fox hesitated. ‘We're friends,’ she said at last, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘We met in York.’
    ‘How long have you known him?’
    ‘Nearly five years.’
    ‘How did you meet?’
    ‘Matthew was a partner at a firm of surveyors in York. One of my friends worked there as a receptionist. I met her for a drink after work and Matthew was there and – well, that's how we met.’
    ‘And you moved to Kent at about the same time as Mr Kirby and his family?’
    ‘Yes. They moved here and I followed soon after.’
    ‘Because of your relationship with Matthew Kirby?’ Charlotte Fox nodded. ‘Charlotte, we're interested in Matthew Kirby's movements on Saturday afternoon.’
    ‘Was that when it – when she – when it happened?’ She paused. ‘When his wife died? How did it happen?’ Geraldine and Peterson exchanged a glance before Geraldine answered.
    ‘That's exactly what we're going to find out. Now, can you tell us what time you saw Matthew on Saturday afternoon?’ Charlotte Fox looked worried. ‘I don't know,’ she whispered. ‘I was here. On my own. I was waiting for a call from Matthew.’ She hesitated, crossed her slim legs and wrapped her arms around her body, staring at the carpet.
    Geraldine prompted her. ‘Did Matthew Kirby come here to see you on