Sadie’s legs felt unsteady as if her knees might give way, but she pushed on, tramping through the thin layer of snow. ‘She couldn’t,’ she muttered, ‘she wouldn’t.’ And Mona hadn’t even known where to find Eddie. But then she recalled looking out of the window at Oaklands and seeing the dark-haired girl going into the station, only the back of her head but familiar enough to give her a jolt. Not to mention that sensation she’d had in Kellston market, the feeling that someone’s eyes were on her. Was it possible that Mona had followed her there?

Sadie could feel a sense of panic rising in her chest. If it was true, if Mona really had done it, then she had to go to the police. No matter how crazy it sounded, she had to tell them. With her stomach churning she set off for the station, determined not to bottle it this time. She would ask for Inspector Frayne and tell him everything.

With her clenched hands deep in her pockets, Sadie walked with her shoulders hunched and her head down. She could imagine Frayne’s face when she told him what had happened – incredulity and disbelief. And the inevitable question: Why hadn’t she mentioned it before? She tried to figure out what she’d say: that she hadn’t thought anything of it, that she’d thought Mona was just sounding off. But then she’d received the book through the post and… and what? That she now thought Mona Farrell must be the killer?

The longer Sadie walked, the less convinced she became that Mona could have done it. The girl was half the weight of Eddie and why would he even let her into the flat? And to kill someone in cold blood like that, to take a knife and plunge it into a stranger’s chest – it beggared belief. And what if she was wrong? The police would turn up in Hampstead and there would be all sorts of trouble.

When she reached Queen Elizabeth Road, Sadie slowed her pace. It would be the second time today she’d been to the police station. She stared at the low, grey brick building, wondering if Frayne was inside. Already she could feel his eyes boring into her. As she grew closer, her nerve began to fail and she wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if it turned out that someone else had killed Eddie? Maybe it had been Kelly or a dubious business associate. It could even have been a robbery that went wrong. If she hung on for a day or two, she might know more.

What to do? She couldn’t decide. If she wasn’t careful, she could end up being accused of wasting police time. Mona’s words, It’s a done deal, came back to haunt her, but she pushed them away, not wanting to hear. ‘I’ll wait,’ she muttered. ‘Shall I wait?’ She wasn’t sure if her indecision was based on rational thought or pure cowardice, although she suspected the latter.

Sadie stopped as she drew level with the police station. She gazed across the road at the building, its edges made blurry by the mist. She stamped her feet on the ground, trying to keep warm. Yes or no? Once she walked through those doors and asked for Inspector Frayne there would be no turning back. She would start a ball rolling over which she’d have no control.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to wait a while. Only fools rush in. The arrival of the book had thrown her into panic. She hadn’t thought things through properly. She should give it forty-eight hours and see if there were any developments. Maybe by then Eddie’s killer would have been caught. Or maybe not.

Sadie worried on her lower lip. Whatever decision she made she could come to regret it. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She knew what Joel would say: Tell the truth, be honest, get it all out in the open. But she wasn’t Joel. She never saw things in the same black and white way that he did. Her life was filled with tones of grey.

The door to the police station opened and a couple of uniformed officers strolled out. Their appearance gave her a start as if they might be about to arrest her. She turned and quickly walked away. ‘You’re innocent,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘You’ve got nothing to fear.’

But she was afraid. The fear seeped through her, infecting her bones, her nerves, her reason. She was terrified of speaking the words out loud – Mona Farrell might have killed Eddie – in case they turned out to be true.

17

Gerald Frayne sat at his desk, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of him. He had woken full of cold with a runny nose, aching sinuses and a throbbing head. There was even a dull ache running the length of his spine. He’d been tempted to stay in bed, to call in sick, but he was curious about the Eddie Wise case and wanted to know if there were any developments.

A number of faxed sheets had come through from Ian McCloud at Cowan Road, including the autopsy report on the victim. No big surprises there. Killed instantly by a single stab wound to the heart. Rigor mortis had already set in by the time the body was found and the estimated time of death was between ten and twelve on Sunday morning.

The report from forensics didn’t shed any fresh light on the situation either. No prints on the weapon – the assailant had probably been wearing gloves – and Kelly Gissing claimed that she had never seen the knife before and was certain that it didn’t belong to Eddie. It was a brand new run-of-the-mill kitchen knife available in lots of stores all over the country.

Multiple sets of fingerprints had been found in the flat – most of them unidentified – and they probably went back weeks, even months. The flat, apparently, was often full of people and Eddie clearly hadn’t been the most domesticated man in the world. The prints from Sadie Wise had been forwarded to Cowan Road and Gerald would have to wait to see if they turned up in the kitchen or anywhere else they shouldn’t be.

PC John Turner, who was sitting on the other side of the desk, stared at his boss with concern. ‘You don’t look well, guv.’

‘It’s only a cold,’ Gerald said, blowing his nose again. His head felt hot and he thought he might be running a temperature. It would be just his luck to go down with a dose of flu in the middle of what could turn out to be the most interesting investigation that had come his way in a while. Mind over matter, he told himself, trying to staying focused. ‘Anything more on Eddie Wise?’

Turner shuffled the papers on his knee. ‘He worked part-time in a pub in Kellston, the Speckled Hen. He was into music, bands, that kind of thing. Nothing much from the neighbours. They knew him by sight but that was about it.’

This didn’t surprise Gerald. Whether Eddie had been the angel Gabriel or the Devil incarnate, the residents of the Mansfield estate would keep shtum about it. Talking to the law – whatever the subject – was liable to get you branded a grass. ‘And what about Sadie Wise? None of them saw her arrive or leave?’

‘No, guv.’ Turner frowned as he flicked through another of McCloud’s reports. ‘Eddie’s parents weren’t a big fan, though. They claim she wouldn’t leave them alone, that she was always calling them up, hassling them for his address. They reckoned it was more than a divorce she was after, that she wanted her money back too.’

‘How much are we talking about?’

Turner shook his head. ‘Doesn’t say.’ He paused and then asked, ‘Do you really think she had something to do with it?’

Gerald gave a shrug, causing a thin ache to run across his shoulders. ‘Can’t rule it out.’

‘Only the guesthouse woman, Mrs Olive Cuthbert, has verified that she left at the time she said she did. They’ve found the ticket collector, too, and he thinks he remembers her. Not a hundred per cent but he’s pretty sure.’

Which blew Gerald’s theory about her going back to the Mansfield out of the water. He felt a faint rush of disappointment. Still, just because she hadn’t wielded the knife herself didn’t mean that she was innocent. He was still pondering on this when Turner pushed a faxed copy of a newspaper report across the desk.