I mean, she had a point. The Brain of Britain, Trevor was not.
But he did act now and again. He grabbed his wife’s hand and twisted her arm until she yelped. “Drop the knife, Dhapinder,” he growled.
Her face twisted in anger. “Weak!” she hissed and slashed at him with the knife. It sunk into his arm, and a crimson streak instantly seeped through his shirt. But it was only superficial. Trevor grabbed her other wrist with his injured arm and crushed her hand until she dropped the knife. “It’s over,” he said. He took the knife and opened the door to his father.
Mr Bliss took in the scene, and his jaw dropped. Dhapinder collapsed onto the floor and put her head in her hands. Trevor approached his father.
Sonia was lying prostrate on the floor, her hair over her face. She was sobbing. Still, Kennedy howled.
“Dad, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his sobs starting again. Mr Bliss pushed him away as he approached us. “Trevor, what have you done?”
Adebayo and Lauren arrived two minutes later, along with Mrs Bliss, who took Sonia in her arms and sobbed.
Mr Bliss handed the knife he’d taken from Trevor to the police. Adebayo tried his best to act professionally, but his eyes were only for Sonia, and eventually, he stopped pretending he could do his job at this moment and flew to her side. Desperately checking her arms and face for any wounds. “Are you really okay?” he asked her for the millionth time.
Ade kissed her head and held her as tightly as he could, rocking her back and forth in his arms. “It’s alright, baby, it’s alright.”
More police arrived. Dhapinder and Trevor were cuffed and led away. A surprisingly strong Sonia had a blanket put over her and was led outside. I was allowed to grab Kennedy, who was delirious with joy at being let out. “Oh, my good boy, I am so glad she didn’t hurt you,” I said as I kneeled on the floor and let him lick me. At least no one could say my face was wet because I’d been crying now.
We made our way onto the street where the entire village had seemingly congregated to find out why several police cars had arrived, and the respectable estate agents (pah!) were being led out by the cops.
An SUV pulled up, and a person I hadn’t expected to see came running towards us as we were led to the cop cars. Nigella’s black hair shone in the sun as she bundled Sonia up in a hug, and then me. “This is all my fault!” she whispered in my ear. “I really am a stupid old gossipy woman like Matteo said.”
“What? No, what nonsense,” I said. “How is this your fault?”
She cringed. “The night Sonia stayed over. She seemed so wretched. I told her, well, I told her to confront Dhapinder and Trevor if she couldn’t take it in any longer.”
My face fell. Oh, okay. So, a little bit her fault. “Arden, please don’t be mad. Please! I’m so sorry!”
The police took us to Sittingston station. As usual, all I could see was how ugly it was. And as usual, it took hours. However, Kennedy was a hit with the officers, so at least the goodwill from that got me a cup of tea and biscuits. Also, the station had blessed air conditioning. By mid-afternoon, when my phone told me that the temperature outside was in the high thirties, I was surprisingly comfortable on my leather chair in the waiting room.
Eventually, Lauren brought me through, and I gave my statement. After I’d finished, she sighed. “Thank God,” she said. “Dhapinder and Trevor have admitted everything. They’ve stolen nearly £50,000 over the past year. Their plan was to announce they were leaving soon for Spain to set up a new agency, essentially bankrupt the business, let Sonia take the blame as an incompetent owner, and then buy it outright at a fraction of its original value.”
I shook my head. “But Trevor’s wandering eye put paid to that.”
“Yup,” she said. “I can’t believe it. I go to Zumba with Dhapinder’s mum.” She sighed. “You’re free to go, Mr Forrest. DS Maslin said he’ll drive you back to your car in Compney.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, confused.
I looked over and saw Jack Maslin waiting for me at the door. I nervously came towards him. He bent down and gave Kennedy a scratch behind the ears. “What is he?” he asked in thick cockney.
“Black Alsatian/Dobermann cross,” I answered. “Supposedly fearsome, but he’s scared of his own shadow.”
Maslin – Jack – scoffed. “Come on, the car’s out back.” He led the way, and we piled in. It was hotter than hell, and he turned up the AC.
He began his questions before we’d even left the car park. Kennedy, in the back, poked his head through the space between the seats and panted happily in our ears.
“You and Anson have been digging, I hear?”
I froze.
“Don’t worry, I couldn’t care less,” he said. “Frankly, you might have got further than us. Whoever killed Riz knew what they were doing and buried every piece of paper trail behind a wall of shell corporations and overseas bank accounts.”
“Though,” he added. “Errol Mottley coming to us last night and saying it was Suzy Rabbit who killed Riz was an interesting development.”
“What?” I squawked.
“Yeah, I don’t think he’s right.”
