Free Stone Killer by Sally Spencer

yourself for what happened to you?’ Mrs Burroughs demanded.
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    â€˜Do you ever think that it might be your fault that your husband left you for another woman?’
    â€˜I—’ Paniatowski began.
    â€˜Because I do,’ Mrs Burroughs interrupted. ‘I sometimes lie awake at night wondering if it’s all my fault.’
    â€˜You mustn’t—’
    â€˜Because I don’t think I ever really satisfied him in bed, you see. But maybe if I’d tried a little harder, he’d never have strayed. Maybe if I’d been a better lover, he’d still be alive!’

Eight
    T he prison uniform consisted of a plainly cut dress and flat cloth shoes. The dress was dishwater grey in colour, and was an almost perfect match with the complexion of the woman who, just a few days earlier, had tried to take her own life.
    It had not been Woodend’s intention to visit Judith Maitland so early in the investigation – he’d wanted to fill in more of her background first – but finding he had unexpected free time on his hands, he had come to the prison almost on a whim.
    Or perhaps it had not been a whim at all, he suddenly thought.
    He remembered Stanley Keene’s parting words –
    â€˜If, having talked to her, you still believe she’s guilty of this terrible crime, then you’re simply not the judge of character I took you to be.’
    Maybe, though he hadn’t realized it on any conscious level, that was what had motivated him to come to the prison. Maybe, because Keene had seemed so sincere and so sure, he’d felt the need to find out for himself just how good a judge of character the caterer himself was.
    The prisoner was still standing uncertainly in the doorway.
    â€˜Sit down, Judith,’ Woodend said.
    The woman hesitated for a moment, and then crossed the room and took the chair at the opposite side of the table from the Chief Inspector.
    Woodend studied her face, and thought he could detect, just below the surface, the prettiness and confidence which she must have shown to the world before her arrest.
    â€˜Smoke?’ he asked.
    Judith Maitland glanced down at the packet of Capstan Full Strength he was holding out to her, then shook her head.
    â€˜Are these too strong for you?’ Woodend asked. ‘Would you prefer cork tipped? Because if that’s what you want, I’m sure I could soon rustle up a packet from somewhere.’
    â€˜I don’t smoke anymore,’ Judith Maitland said, in a voice which was almost a whisper.
    â€˜Probably wise,’ Woodend told her. ‘Bad for your health. I wish I could give it up myself.’
    â€˜If I cared about my health, I wouldn’t have slashed my wrists,’ Judith Maitland countered.
    â€˜You’re right,’ Woodend said contritely. ‘I’m an idiot. I spouted out the first cliché which came into my head, without even thinking about it. I won’t make the same mistake again.’
    â€˜It doesn’t bother me what you choose to say or you don’t choose to say,’ Judith Maitland told him flatly. ‘This whole interview is a complete waste of time because I really have no interest in talking to you at all.’
    â€˜Why did you give up smokin’?’ Woodend asked.
    â€˜Is that just another conversational gambit – words with no purpose but to break the silence?’
    â€˜No,’ Woodend assured her. ‘I’m genuinely curious.’
    â€˜I used to think that death was the worst thing that could happen to a person,’ Judith Maitland said. ‘Now I know that I was wrong. The truly terrible thing is to realize that you’ve lost your ability to control your own destiny – to understand that you’re totally in the power of others.’
    â€˜What’s that got to do with smokin’?’
    â€˜In here, it’s the warders who have most of the power. But what little