Mark Sanderson - The Whispering Gallery

“It was found in the collection box. Why would he voluntarily give away such a cherished memento, unless he knew he was going to die?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps someone else put it there.”

“Who? Did anyone hold a grudge against your husband?”

“He was a doctor. Doctors don’t have enemies.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Any of his patients die recently? The bereaved, in their grief, are prone to suspect foul play or gross incompetence.”

“My husband was a very good doctor and a very popular man. I’ll thank you not to cast aspersions on his character.” She made as if to get up from the table.

“Please wait, Mrs Callingham. I’m sorry. Writing about crime day in and day out tends to make you think the worst of people. You and I are on the same side. We both want to know exactly what happened on Saturday, but we never will unless we continue to talk.” He fished for the key that Gillespie had given him. “Have you ever seen this before?”

Somewhat mollified, she held out her hand for the key. She examined it with interest.

“No, I haven’t. It wouldn’t fit any of the locks in our house. Where did you find it?”

“It was in the same collection box.”

She looked up. “That’s as maybe, but I can assure you it did not belong to Freddie.”

“Perhaps your son might recognise it.”

“Why would he?” She sighed. “If you wish, I’ll ask him this evening.”

“I’d prefer to ask him myself.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“Why? It would be in your presence.”

“I don’t want you coming anywhere near our home.”

Johnny chose not to be insulted. “Where do you live?” Seeing her hesitate, he added: “I can easily find out. Your husband will be listed in the Medical Register.”

“Number 21 Ranelagh Avenue, SW6.”

Johnny knew his GPO codes. The Callinghams lived in Barnes.

“Was your husband’s practice there?”

“Indeed. Two rooms and a lavatory on the ground floor. The separate entrance made it ideal.”

“Will you stay, or are you planning to move?”

“It’s far too early to say. Daniel’s unsettled enough as it is.”

“Did your husband have life assurance?”

“Is impertinence another concomitant of the job?” The narrow eyes glared at him. “You think I pushed Freddie over the edge?”

“You wouldn’t be the first wife who valued money more than their spouse’s life – but no, I don’t suspect you of murder. Are you the sole beneficiary?”

“Daniel will receive his share when he’s twenty-one – not that it’s any business of yours.”

Johnny tried again. “I really would like to meet him.”

“Impossible, I’m afraid. Term ends this week, then he’s off to France for a fortnight on a cultural exchange organised by the school.”

“He still wants to go?”

“Why wouldn’t he? It will do him good.”

“Do you have any other children?”

“No.” She turned away from him and stared out of the window. A coal wagon rattled past. No matter how high the temperature people still needed hot water. He waited for her to say what was on her mind. “We did have a daughter, but she died sixteen years ago. Scarlet fever. Freddie did everything he could but the infection just kept on spreading.”

“I’m sorry.” His sister’s premature death would have made Daniel, their only son, even more precious. No wonder his mother was so protective of him. “Was your husband particularly religious before your daughter died?”

“He didn’t turn to God afterwards, if that’s what you mean. We’ve always gone to church once a week.”

“Which one?”

“St Mary’s in Church Street. It’s only a short walk away.”

“I’m still puzzled why a religious man would choose to kill himself in a house of God.”

“I told you: he didn’t!”

“Just humour me for a moment. What were his views on suicide?”

“Freddie was a man of science rather than superstition. He saw a lot of suffering in his work and did his best to relieve it. He said there was nothing noble about suffering. It was quite meaningless. He disapproved of those who seemed to take pleasure in wallowing in Christ’s agony on the cross. He found it sadistic and distasteful.” Johnny couldn’t have agreed more. “He was a good man and he did his best to help others. He valued life too much to take his own: suicide went against everything he stood for.”

“Who did he see when he needed a doctor himself?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Perhaps he had discovered that he was terminally ill and wanted to spare you the pain of watching him die inch by inch. Believe me, there’s nothing worse. It is agonising for both parties. My mother succumbed to bone cancer – eventually . . .” A lump came into his throat. Lack of sleep was making him emotional. The older he became the more his memory ambushed him.

“You have my condolences – and my assurance that Freddie was fit as a fiddle.”

“He didn’t appear so on Saturday. He was gaunt, thin as a rake and, at a guess, in mental turmoil. When was the last time you saw him?”

“It was around eleven, I think. He said he was going to visit a patient in Mortlake.”

“Did he give a name?”

“No.”

“What time did he say he’d be back?”

“He didn’t.” Her cup of tea remained untouched. “I can’t believe I’ll never see him again. The thought of being alone for the rest of my life is terrifying. Are you married?”

“Not yet. As a matter of fact, I was going to go down on bended knee on Saturday.”

“You’re like my Freddie: always putting work first.”

“I didn’t have much choice. Please don’t take this as further impertinence, but you’re an attractive lady. I’m sure, in time, you’ll meet someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else! I want Freddie back.” She burst into tears. Johnny remained silent. Sometimes words were useless.

When she had calmed down again the widow got to her feet, her anger still simmering. “Thank you for being there for my husband. Please leave us alone to grieve. I’m not familiar with the Daily News but I have no wish to provide entertainment for its readers. Freddie took The Times . Goodbye.”

She walked out of the café leaving Johnny to pay. He didn’t mind though. Her parting shot was worth more than sixpence.

If her husband was a reader of The Times she would no doubt announce his funeral arrangements in the classified advertisements on the front page. He would go to the funeral and, one way or another, whether she liked it or not, make the acquaintance of young Daniel Callingham.

Chapter Eight Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Part Two - Dark House Lane Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Part Three - Sans Walk Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Bibliography About the Author By the same author Copyright About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.