Free 02 Blue Murder by Emma Jameson Page A

But tell me this.”
Hetheridge swiveled his computer monitor to face Kate. She found
herself staring at recent photos of Trevor Parsons and Clive
French, no doubt provided by the victims’ families. Trevor, kitted
out in his rugby uniform, grinned at the camera, a golden trophy
lifted in triumph. Square-jawed and tanned with sun-bleached hair,
he looked like the perfect companion for Emmeline Wardle. Clive, by
contrast, was just a disconnected white face staring into a webcam.
He kept his mouth shut to conceal his buck teeth and wore a
baseball cap to hide his receding hairline, but Kate knew him by
his chubby cheeks and weak chin.
    “ Would you say these young
men are likely to be connected by a mutual partner?”
    “ No.” Kate crossed her arms
over her chest. “So. Here’s what we have so far. Emmeline Wardle,
Trevor’s girlfriend, screams herself hoarse when she sees him die
but doesn’t want to be detained under the same roof as his body.
What’s your opinion, based on her interview? Was Ms. Wardle
genuinely distraught?”
    Hetheridge shook his head.
    “ Do you think she may have
had a hand in Trevor Parsons’ murder?”
    “ I don’t know. I do know she
called Clive French a blackmailing little toad,” Hetheridge said.
“And she was well aware that Sir Duncan was her neighbor. Yet she
told me specifically — so specifically, her barrister now claims it
never happened — that if Sir Duncan killed her guests, she did
nothing to precipitate it.”
    “ Bizarre.”
    “ Oh, yes. The piss tests are
backed up, and we’re overloaded with formal complaints, but in a
day or two we should have Ms. Wardle’s tox screen. Either she’s an
unusually belligerent young woman, or she was high on stimulants.
Meth, or cocaine.”
    “ Kyla Sloane seemed
perfectly sober, so I waived the piss test,” Kate said. “But
overall, her demeanor was much too calm. Answered my questions like
a professional witness. Only showed remorse over a broken vase.
Think about it, guv. We have two dead males and two very suspicious
females. Are you sure you want to hang your hat on the notion of a
male killer?”
    “ Yes.” Hetheridge stood up
and stretched, fighting back a yawn. “Not merely for the
circumstantial reasons I named, but because of Emmeline Wardle’s
comment. Taken in context with DS Bhar’s report, an exploration of
Sir Duncan Godington’s possible involvement is now
inevitable.”
    “ Bhar?” Kate repeated. “What
do you mean?”
    Hetheridge looked surprised at himself.
“Perhaps I’m getting too old for all-nighters. Here. Have a look at
this transcript of his interview with three witnesses — Matthew
Bice, Jeremy Bentham and Quinton Baylor.” Returning to his seat
behind the desk, Hetheridge opened the document for Kate to read
off his computer monitor.
    “ That’s interesting,” Kate
said when she’d finished. “A man in the back garden with
Kyla?”
    “ And Clive French’s body
almost certainly moved from the spot where he died.”
    “ I have to admit, just on
the facts alone, it all seems rather cold-blooded,” Kate continued.
“The murders are committed in a public venue, in close proximity to
dozens of potential witnesses …”
    “ Who must also be considered
suspects.”
    “ Exactly. Talk about
muddying the waters,” Kate said. “Plus, the crime scene included a
huge supply of drugs and alcohol. Therefore, most of these
witnesses-slash-suspects were in a state of reduced inhibitions
during the time of the murders. Who knows whom they argued with,
flirted with, even went to bed with? From what I saw, most of the
guests acted either terrified or guilty as sin.
    “ Of course,” Kate continued,
warming to her subject, “under ordinary circumstances, entering a
public place with two axes in hand might be considered bizarre
rather than cold-blooded. Except at this one time of year. At a
Halloween party complete with rubber rats, joke blood, plastic body
parts — and plastic axes, too,