Guns in the Gallery

‘Ned did his best to keep all the unpleasant details away from Sheena. He didn’t even show her the suicide note that Fennel had written.’

‘Ah,’ said Jude. ‘I didn’t know there had been a suicide note.’

TWENTY-SIX

As soon as she had finished the call to Sam Torino, Jude hurried round to High Tor to bring Carole up to date with the new development. But there was no reply. Of course, Gulliver was being taken to the vet’s about his inflamed foot.

Back at Woodside Cottage she didn’t hesitate, but straight away rang Ned Whittaker. The phone was answered by a girl whose laid-back manner did not disguise the fact that she was actually a secretary. As ever, the slightly hippyish atmosphere of Butterwyke House masked rigid efficiency.

Ned came on the line immediately on hearing who was asking for him. His ‘Hi, Jude’ was spoken with a degree of caution. Presumably Sheena had updated him on their encounter that morning.

As soon as Jude told him that she knew about the suicide note found in the Pimlico flat, he announced that he’d come over to Fethering immediately ‘to explain what happened.’

The Prius in which he arrived outside Woodside Cottage soon after was driven by Kier, who had clearly been told to wait in the car. In spite of his T-shirted dress code, the young man was as much a chauffeur as one in a uniform and a peaked cap.

Ned Whittaker looked more stressed than ever. Refusing offers of tea or coffee, he asked immediately, ‘How did you find out about the suicide note?’

‘Sam Torino.’

He sighed with annoyance. ‘I’d forgotten she knew. I should have warned her to keep quiet about it.’

‘Tell me what happened in the Pimlico flat after the first suicide attempt,’ said Jude calmly.

‘You know most of it. The flat’s a kind of family bolt-hole in London. There have been times when one or other of the girls were living there full-time . . . you know, when Fennel was at St Martin’s . . . or when Chervil was between jobs or houses. We all have keys. Thank God, because otherwise Chervil wouldn’t have found Fennel that afternoon and . . . Mind you, Fennel’s dead now, which means . . .’ Grief threatened to overwhelm him.

‘So Chervil just dropped into the flat that afternoon by chance?’ asked Jude.

‘Yes. And she found Fennel unconscious. She realized immediately what had happened. The pill bottles and the whisky left her in no doubt.’

‘Nor did the suicide note,’ Jude prompted.

‘No.’ Ned sighed again. There was despair in his manner, but also an element of relief. Holding in the information had taken its toll on him. ‘I have, incidentally, called Chervil. Told her that you knew about the note and that I was coming to see you. She may appear here at any moment.’

‘Fine. So go on. Chervil rang you after she’d found Fennel, you got Kier to drive you up to London . . .’

‘How do you know that?’

‘He told me.’

‘Ah.’ Wearily he said, ‘Very difficult when you try to keep things quiet, you know. You think you’ve warned off everyone you should . . . and then you discover there’s someone you’ve forgotten.’

‘So when you got to Pimlico, Chervil showed you the suicide note?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it straight away that you decided to keep quiet about it?’

‘Pretty much. I was terribly shocked, but it looked as if Fennel was going to pull through. The cuts on her wrists were only surface injuries, most of the painkillers had been flushed out of her system and I was starting to think: no one need actually ever know that this has happened. No one outside the family, that is . . . or close friends.’

‘Like Sam Torino?’

He nodded.

‘So did you take the suicide note with you?’

‘No, I left it with Chervil. Told her to destroy it before the people arrived to clean out the flat.’

‘And do you think she did destroy it?’

‘I assume so.’

‘No, you don’t, Ned,’ said Jude, with a new strength in her voice. ‘Because you’ve seen that suicide note since then, haven’t you?’ He made no attempt to deny the allegation. ‘It was the suicide note that was found near Fennel’s body in the yurt at Walden.’

Ned Whittaker looked totally drained. He couldn’t summon up the energy to provide any further defence. He just sat slumped in his armchair as Jude went on, ‘Which of course does put a whole new interpretation on the circumstances of her death, doesn’t it? There was no way Fennel herself left that note, was there?’

‘No,’ Ned agreed wretchedly.

‘Equally, there’s no way that Chervil destroyed it, as she said she had.’

Before Jude could pursue this argument to its logical conclusion, she was interrupted by a ring on the doorbell. With no great surprise, she found Chervil Whittaker standing outside.

Ned had followed her to the front door. ‘I’d better go,’ he said.

‘But, Daddy—’

‘I’d better go,’ he repeated, pushing past his daughter without making any eye contact. And as Ned Whittaker walked along Jude’s garden path towards the waiting Prius, his body language reflected deep pain and a sense of betrayal.

TWENTY-SEVEN