Guns in the Gallery

Carole was thoughtful as she had another sip of coffee. Then she said slowly, ‘You don’t think it’s herself that Sheena’s trying to protect?’

‘What, you mean that she killed Fennel and she thinks the mobile might contain some evidence against her? Like the text with which she set up their meeting?’

‘Perhaps. What do you reckon?’

Jude pursed her full lips. ‘I find it hard to cast Sheena in the role of murderer. I find it hard to cast any mother in the role of the murderer of her own child.’

‘It has happened. Read your classical myths.’

‘I know, but . . .’

Carole pressed home her advantage. ‘And Sheena Whittaker’s making no secret of her relief that Fennel’s no longer around.’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Jude moved her head abruptly, as though there were a troublesome thought she wanted to shake out of it. ‘For some reason my mind keeps coming back to the first suicide attempt.’

‘In the flat in Pimlico . . .’

‘Yes. Sheena wasn’t involved in that. Well, obviously she was in the sense that it was her daughter who’d made the attempt. But it was Chervil who found Fennel and it was Ned who rushed up to London to sort things out. Why didn’t Sheena go?’

Carole shrugged. ‘There could be any number of reasons. And Sheena talked about the close relationship Ned always had with Fennel.’

‘Yes . . . I almost get this picture of a house divided. Sheena and Chervil on one side, Ned and Fennel on the other. Which is why he’s so desolated by Fennel’s death, and his wife seems relatively unaffected.’

‘And I wonder where Chervil fits into this emotional scale . . .?’ Carole mused.

‘Well, outwardly, as we saw at the Walden launch, it doesn’t seem to have got to her. Mind you, Sheena hinted that there might be strong feelings under the surface, which were being controlled because Chervil was there in her professional capacity.’

There was a silence, broken only by the grunting of Gulliver, pursuing some dream rabbit.

‘Thinking back to the Walden launch,’ said Carole eventually, ‘I was intrigued by what you said about Sam Torino.’

‘Oh?’

‘The feeling you got that Ned Whittaker might have set her up to sound you out.’

‘Well, I haven’t got any proof that he did.’

‘No, it’s an interesting idea. Pity you can’t make contact with Sam Torino to follow up on it.’

‘Ah,’ said Jude perkily. ‘But I can.’

In spite of her apparent confidence, Jude had not expected her call to be answered immediately. And it wasn’t. The answering message was not in the distinctive Canadian tone of Sam Torino, just an anonymous mechanical voice. Jude left her name and number, by now doubtful that she would ever hear back.

Carole, she could tell, was disappointed. Both of them worried that their investigation was drowning in inertia. Their suspicions about the circumstances of Fennel Whittaker’s death seemed increasingly tenuous. They needed some kind of breakthrough, but there was no hint that any might be imminent.

A subdued Jude returned to Woodside Cottage. She had a couple of clients due on that Thursday afternoon, but she didn’t feel in the right mood for them. Her mind was too full to find the focus and clarity she needed for healing.

She was contemplating calling them to put off their sessions when her mobile rang.

‘Hi, this is Sam Torino.’

‘Thank you for calling back.’

‘No problem.’ But there still seemed to be a slight tension in the voice, almost a wariness.

‘How’s the back?’

‘Fine and dandy at the moment. Can’t thank you enough for that, Jude.’

‘And are you taking the prescription I gave you?’

‘For solitude?’ She let out a throaty laugh. ‘Hell, I’m trying, but it’s hard with a schedule like mine. Why couldn’t you have prescribed something easy – like running a marathon every day?’

‘Because if you ran a marathon every day, you’d run it surrounded by paparazzi. Besides, that prescription wouldn’t make you better.’

Sam Torino chuckled again. But it wasn’t a completely relaxed chuckle. She was still circling round, waiting to hear the real reason why Jude had contacted her.

Time to own up. ‘I wanted to talk to you more about Fennel Whittaker.’

‘Uh-huh.’ No surprise. Sam had been expecting it. Jude wondered how recently Ned had been in touch with his glamorous friend.

‘I was thinking back to what we talked about in the treatment yurt . . .’ No response, just an expectant silence. ‘You said Ned had been worried there might be local gossip about Fennel having been murdered.’

‘I remember.’

‘Then maybe you also remember that I asked you at the time whether you’d set up our therapy session specifically to talk about her death.’

‘And I said no. Hell, are you suggesting the pain in my back wasn’t genuine?’

‘No, I’m not suggesting that at all. I could feel that pain. But maybe getting me to do the healing session was convenient because it did give you an opportunity to find out what I was thinking about Fennel’s death.’

‘I don’t think I’m following you here. What are you trying to get me to say?’

‘I’m not trying to get you to say anything. I promise there’s nothing sinister in my getting in touch with you.’