Rachel places her mug on the counter and I scoop another dud egg out of the frying-pan. I can’t concentrate. Adrian, who notices, gently removes the spatula from my hand and takes over. He’s come into his own since Selena’s death. He’s like he was before his breakdown.
‘We need to talk to all the guests,’ she says. ‘When would be a good time? The sooner the better, obviously.’
I have to tell her about Dean. ‘They’ll all be down for breakfast soon,’ I say, sitting at the island next to her.
‘Right. Good. I’ll wait until they come down, then. For more extensive interviews I’ll need to call DS Middleton. But for preliminary questions …’ She lets her words hang in the air while she drinks more of her coffee. She can’t fool me. I know she’s trying to lull us into a false sense of security by trying to make out she’s on our side, that she’s the good cop to Middleton’s bad. But she’s not our friend. I must remember that.
‘So, Kirsty,’ she turns to me, ‘I know your movements that morning but, Mr Whitehouse …’ She turns to my husband. He’s taken the frying-pan off the heat. The eggs are cooked to perfection.
‘Please,’ he says, ‘call me Adrian.’
‘Of course. Adrian, where were you when your wife found Selena?’
He stands with his back to the sink, his legs crossed at the ankles. I know he’s trying to give the impression of nonchalance but it doesn’t fool me. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand picks at a non-existent spot on his upper arm that he’s feeling uncomfortable. ‘I was out running.’ It comes out in a rush.
‘And what time was that?’
‘I think it was about five when I set off.’
‘And do you normally make a habit of going running at that time?’
He’s never gone out runningthatearly before, I want to say. But I don’t. I can’t.
His eyes flicker to me and then back to Rachel. ‘Um. No. Not every day. Sometimes I’ll go about six thirty, or in the afternoon. Or late morning. It depends how I feel. But I’d woken early and couldn’t get back to sleep.’
‘And did you see or hear anything when you left?’
His fingers dig deeper into his skin. I can see the impressions of his nails. I can tell Rachel is watching this too. What is she thinking?
He shakes his head. ‘No. Everything was quiet.’
‘And Selena wasn’t lying on the floor when you left?’
His face burns. ‘You think I’d just leave a woman to die and go off for a run? Of course she wasn’t there when I left!’
I try to communicate to him through my eyes to calm down. Why does he sound so defensive?
Rachel’s silent for a moment as she scribbles everything down. I glare at him and shake my head.
When she’s finished writing she looks up at Adrian and adds, in a gentler tone, ‘It’s okay. I need to ask these questions and I know some are difficult.’ Adrian nods. ‘We’re still trying to get hold of Ruby’s father, Nigel Perry,’ she continues.
Now is the time to tell her about Dean. Rachel’s face is serious as I recount everything. ‘I saw them arguing the day before. He was screaming at her,’ I finish.
Adrian raises his eyebrows in surprise. Another thing I hadn’t told him. After I’ve finished describing what happened, Rachel’s eyes narrow and she leans forwards. ‘Okay. And you never saw him at all after Selena was found?’
‘That’s right.’
She takes out her notebook and begins writing down what I’ve just told her. ‘But Selena thought the dead flowers were from her estranged husband? Not Dean?’
I nod.
It must have been Dean who killed Selena. Maybe she refused to go away with him and in anger he pushed her, then did a runner. I always knew he was bad news. If I’d refused him a room this would never have happened. Selena would still be alive. Why didn’t I go with my instincts and turn him away? I close my eyes.Oh, Selena, I’m so sorry.
Rachel sits quietly at a table in a corner of the dining room. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was just another customer waiting for breakfast. I suddenly feel sorry for the guests about to walk in unaware. I wonder how she’ll do it. I hope she’s tactful. I don’t want to offend any guests, particularly Peter Greyson. He appears prickly at the best of times, with his unsmiling face and his upright posture. I’ve heard him barking orders at his wife and kids as though they’re in his regiment, not members of his family.
Julia comes down first with Amelia and Evie. There is no sign of my brother. They sit morosely at the table by the window, ignoring Rachel. They’re dressed and look particularly sombre in dark colours, although Evie still manages to clash in a navy-and-red-striped top and purple flowered leggings.
I go over to them. ‘Thank you,’ I say to Julia, ‘for sorting out the girls.’
