Guns in the Gallery

The first question was not one she would have predicted in a hundred years. ‘Do you ever watch rugby, Jude?’

She admitted that she did. ‘I’m not a diehard fan, but come the Six Nations, I’m sometimes found to be glued to my television screen.’

‘Me too. I used to play, for my school and at uni.’

Jude let out another cautious ‘Ah’, not quite sure in which direction the conversation was leading.

‘Well, if you’ve watched a game recently, you’ll know that they now have a “TMO” – television match official, video referee, and it frequently happens that the match referee will consult him when a try appears to have been scored, but there’s a slight doubt about whether the ball was touched down properly. And the match referee will ask the TMO: “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t award this try?” Well, that’s really why I’m here today. I’m asking you: “Is there any reason why we should not feel that the death of Fennel Whittaker is as straightforward as it appears to be?” Do you get my drift?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘It’s the old “if it looks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.” This looks like a suicide.’

Jude was silent for a moment, as the realization sank in that, for all her folksy roundabout manner, Carmen Hodgkinson was a highly intelligent woman.

‘So,’ the Inspector nudged, ‘do you have any reason to believe that Fennel Whittaker didn’t kill herself?’

‘Well . . .’

Hodgkinson picked up on the hesitation. ‘Right, so you do have some doubts. Can we establish a few background facts first of all? You spent the night in the yurt with Fennel Whittaker. Was that because you were in a relationship with her?’

‘“In a relationship”? Are you asking if we were lovers?’

‘It seems a reasonable question to me. What you have to remember, Jude, is that you have a lot more information than I do. I heard this morning that I was being assigned to this case. I’ve read the existing paperwork which, given the fact that the death only occurred yesterday, is pretty minimal. I’m starting really with a tabula rasa.’

‘A blank slate?’

‘Yes. I know nothing about you or the Whittakers. All I do know is that you and Fennel spent last night in a yurt in the grounds of Butterwyke House, a house where she had her own bedroom. So I ask myself why you did that. And I come up with a possible explanation.’

‘That I’m lesbian?’ said Jude with a smile, imagining how Carole would have reacted to the suggestion if it had been aimed at her.

‘Yes. A lot of us are,’ said Detective Inspector Hodgkinson calmly.

‘Well, no, not in my case. My main relationship with Fennel was a professional one.’

‘Of what kind?’

‘I’m a healer, alternative therapist, whatever you want to call it.’

Jude anticipated the reaction that statement quite frequently elicited from more conventional members of the public, but it didn’t come. Instead Carmen Hodgkinson asked. ‘And you were treating Fennel Whittaker?’

‘That’s right.’

‘For depression, bipolar tendencies?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you knew that she had a history of self-harming and suicide attempts?’

‘Of course.’

‘Hm.’ Detective Inspector Hodgkinson wrote something down. Though she couldn’t read the words, Jude noticed that the handwriting was very neat, almost calligraphic in its precision. ‘What kind of treatments do you use, Jude? Acupuncture?’

‘No. I’m not qualified to do that.’

‘I’ve found acupuncture very effective . . . for quite a lot of complaints . . . both physical and mental.’

Jude had not been expecting this kind of openness from a police officer. She said, ‘I have no doubts about its efficacy. I keep telling myself I should get trained in it, but never get round to it.’

‘So what kind of therapies are you trained for?’

It was a shrewd question, posed without heavy intonation, but still a probing one. Anyone could call themselves an alternative therapist, and the Inspector was assessing where Jude fitted in on the scale between serious professional and complete charlatan.

‘I did a massage therapy training, so I do use massage a lot. But the healing is really a matter of channelling energy.’

Carmen Hodgkinson nodded and asked, still without scepticism, ‘Like reiki?’

‘I suppose it does have some elements in common, but it’s not reiki. Anyway, I’m not trained in reiki, nor have I ever claimed to be.’

‘I see. So the healing power comes from within you?’

Jude found herself uncharacteristically embarrassed by the question. ‘I suppose it does, yes.’

‘I used to be a complete cynic about that kind of thing, but I have seen healing work. On humans and animals. I think it was the animals that convinced me. I mean, you can fool a human being with a load of blarney and mumbo-jumbo, but you’re never going to get away with that with a police Alsatian, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Right,’ said Carmen Hodgkinson, suddenly businesslike. ‘Let’s put you back in your TMO role. Is there any reason why you think that Fennel Whittaker did not commit suicide?’

‘My main reason is that she seemed so together on Friday evening, so positive.’