Guns in the Gallery

The Detective Inspector consulted one of the printouts on her lap before echoing, ‘“Together”? From what I’ve heard about how Fennel Whittaker behaved at the Cornelian Gallery Private View, “together” would not be the first word that came to mind.’

‘No, I agree. She was drunk and she did make a big scene. But the scene she made did have a therapeutic effect on her. She got a lot of stuff off her chest.’

‘Stuff like having a go at her former boyfriend Denzil Willoughby?’

‘Yes. Have you spoken to him yet?’

For the first time the glaze of police officialdom came over Carmen Hodgkinson’s face. ‘I’m sure he will be interviewed at the appropriate time,’ she replied, in automaton mode. Then, reverting to her more relaxed manner, she continued, ‘You also used the word “positive”, Jude. You said that Fennel Whittaker seemed “positive”.’

‘Yes. She said for her to die “would be a terrible waste”. She actually said that she wanted to go on living.’

‘You mean she was making plans for the future?’ Jude nodded. ‘Moving into a more manic than depressive phase on her bipolar scale?’

‘That’s how it felt, yes. Though “manic” is not really the right word. Fennel seemed very in control.’

‘In spite of having consumed at least two bottles of wine?’

‘In spite of that.’

‘Hm.’ The Detective Inspector was silent for a moment. ‘Presumably, having had dealings with a lot of bipolar patients, you are aware that the period of emergence from a depressive period can be a very dangerous one.’

‘I know that.’

‘At the really low point the sufferers may have suicidal intentions, but they are too lethargic to be capable of taking any action about anything. As the mood lifts, however, the thought is formed: I’m not going to put myself at risk of that kind of misery again. Now, while I’m actually capable of action, I’m going to do what I’ve been wanting to do for the past weeks. I’m going to top myself, and I’m going to plan it in such a way that there is no possibility of failure.’

‘I am aware that that can happen.’

‘And wouldn’t you say that Fennel Whittaker fitted that archetype rather well? She had made suicide attempts before . . . As you say, she was emerging from a bad bout of depression. Might not that be the moment for her to put into practice a sequence of carefully-planned actions?’

‘“Carefully-planned”? I don’t quite get that.’

‘We haven’t got all the information yet, but the way things look . . . the kitchen at Butterwyke House had been locked by Ned Whittaker on Friday evening, so—’

‘Why?’

‘Why did he lock the kitchen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Apparently there was something wrong with the back door lock. He wanted to ensure that anyone who broke in would get no further into the house than the kitchen.’

‘Was he expecting someone to break in?’

‘They have had problems with burglaries before. The Whittakers have quite a lot of stuff.’

‘That’s certainly true.’

‘Anyway, with the kitchen being locked, it means that Fennel couldn’t get in there when she came back after the Private View. Which means that, if the Sabatier knife that was used came from the Butterwyke House kitchen, she must have planted it there for use when required.’

‘Do you know that the knife did come from the Butterwyke House kitchen?’

‘That’s being investigated.’

‘But—’

‘What’s more,’ Carmen Hodgkinson continued implacably, ‘though we haven’t had the results of the lab tests back yet, we are pretty certain that the contents of one of the wine bottles left at the scene of her death had been laced with liquid paracetamol. Sounds like some pretty detailed planning had gone into Fennel’s death.’

‘But was it she herself who had done that planning?’

The Detective Inspector pursed her lips. ‘I see. Conspiracy theories? “The murder that was made to look like a suicide”.’

‘It has happened.’ Jude knew as she said the words how feeble they sounded.

‘Yes, it has happened, but not very often. And more often in the world of crime fiction than in the real world.’

‘Hm.’ Jude tapped her plump chin thoughtfully. ‘Inspector Hodgkinson, do you mind if I ask you how you got into this kind of work?’

‘Why? Do you want me to show you my ID? Are you suggesting I’m impersonating a police officer?’

‘No. Far from it. It’s just that you’re not the kind of person I would have imagined in this role.’

There was a silence, then a slow smile broke across the policewoman’s features. ‘I think I’ll take that as a compliment. Are you suggesting that you expected a police officer to come clumping in in hobnail boots?’

‘Well, maybe a bit.’

‘All right. I did my first degree in Psychology and Social Anthropology at St Andrews. I then went to Edinburgh to do an MSc in Criminology and Criminal Justice. That led to seven years in HM Prisons. Then into the police force, where I’ve worked as a psychologist for eleven years. Enough information?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Jude, feeling uncharacteristically cowed.