Free Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) by Alison Joseph

long have you known this whole story about the dead husband?’
    ‘Hardly any time at all,’ he said.
    She didn’t reply.
    ‘You managed very well,’ he said.
    ‘I had no choice.’ She circled her glass on the kitchen table, along the floral swirls of the PVC tablecloth.
    ‘What are you thinking?’ she said, and he didn’t dare say that he was thinking that the table would look better without those abstract pink flowers, the plain wood underneath would be so much better, oak, he seemed to remember it was, unvarnished…
    She was waiting, again.
    He met her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say. If you want apologies, I can apologise. They’re just parishioners, you heard about it on the news, her husband, and now they’re saying he was killed – ’
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s all she talked about. What I don’t get…’ she leaned back in her chair, her glass in her hand… ‘What I don’t understand is, why she cares. It’s quite clear from what she was saying at lunch that she never liked him, that they were living separate lives– ’
    ‘That’s not true.’ His voice sounded loud.
    ‘It isn’t?’ She took a sip of wine, watching him.
    ‘She told me she loved him very much. Until – ’
    ‘Until what?’
    ‘Something changed, she said. Six years ago.’
    ‘They had a son.’ Helen’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘She said at lunch. She mentioned him.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well?’ Helen’s voice was sharp.
    He looked up at her. ‘Their son died. Drowned. Six years ago. He was eight.’
    She was sitting straight-backed, waiting. Chad said nothing more. ‘Are you going to tell me the rest?’ she said. ‘Drowned sons, drowned husbands, some kind of foul play, this weird connection with the research lab…’
    ‘There’s really very little…’ he began.
    ‘ – or do you want me not to know? Do I just serve out lunch, the proper vicar’s wife, and sit quietly, and smile when appropriate, and look sympathetic and not ask any questions, even when it’s quite clear from the way she looks at you…’
    Now it was his turn to sit upright, his gaze fierce. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s quite clear?’
    Helen stood up. She went over to the sink, found a tea-towel, began to dry the glasses.
    ‘I don’t know how you can even begin to think that,’ he said.
    ‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she said.
    ‘She’s a very unfortunate woman.’ He picked up his empty glass, turned it in his hand.
    ‘Clearly.’ Helen reached over and took the glass from him, and immersed it in the soapy water in the sink. ‘And why did she give you that book?’
    ‘Book?’
    ‘That old book there, the one about atoms. Why you?’
    He glanced towards the book where it sat on the edge of the table. ‘I’m not sure. I expressed interest and then she said I could have it.’
    ‘Your kind of thing, I suppose.’
    ‘Yes,’ he agreed. He raised his eyes towards her, but she was washing up, taut and silent, her back to him. ‘It is my job,’ he said. ‘I’m their priest. Her husband’s been killed, thrown off a tower, after all their other troubles, she has to care for Tom as well…’
    He waited for a response, but there was only the splash of her hands in the soapy water. ‘How was your work?’ he said.
    ‘Fine,’ she said.
    ‘Did Finn behave?’
    Her hands ceased their movement. ‘Do you care?’ she said.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I care.’
    ‘Well…’ She turned, dried her hands. ‘Finn didn’t behave, no. Which is a shame, as he and Lisa are the two most talented dancers in the group. It’s all very well Anton saying I should tell him I don’t need him, but the problem is, I do.’ She perched on the edge of a chair.
    ‘Anton? When did you speak to him?’
    ‘After class.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t speak to my old friends?’
    ‘None at all.’ He shifted on his chair. ‘None at all,’ he repeated. ‘How is he?’
    ‘Fine.’ Her eyes were