They came to the foot of an ash that reached high into the sky.
‘Good God. Could be fifty feet,’ said Edward.
‘I’m a bit overwhelmed and I think I need to sit this out,’ said Wendy. She tore the scarf off her head, and the crimped hair beneath it sprang out as if an illustrator had created it with a sudden slash of fountain pen. She retreated to a fallen tree and put her head in her hands. He started walking over to her, desperate to say or do something that might make this less painful, but she spoke without looking up from the forest floor. ‘Please just examine the scene if you need to. Take your time. Anything you can find might help me. It’s not easy for me, being here, but I need your help, or this will always be the place that ended two lives. Jonathan’s and mine.’
Edward paused. A chill wind blew, and the leaves around them shivered. What if the real killer of Dr Wrigley was here, hidden in the trees, watching them? The killer had successfully stitched up the widow. Whoever did the crime would surely not allow him to prove her innocence.
‘May I ask a question? Was he insured, your husband?’
She was too far away to hear. He asked again, more loudly.
‘Oh yes. Not that I’ll ever see a payout.’
‘Why not?’
‘Long story,’ she called. ‘Small print.’
Of course. No policy would pay out if there was even the smallest suspicion she was the killer.
He stepped closer to her. ‘But you haven’t been convicted. How can they say that?’
‘They’ll say anything to avoid paying,’ she said. ‘I don’t think about it much. True, if we find out he was murdered by a passing crazy person, and they get done for it, then they might just pay.’
Edward asked: ‘And would they pay out for suicide?’
‘Yes. But he wouldn’t want to end his life. Why would he do that? And dispose of the crossbow after his death? Come on.’
She spoke bitterly. Almost too quietly for him to hear. They were fifty yards apart now. It was drizzling. Wendy was sitting on a huge fallen tree, innards opened like a patient in theatre, and he was staring up at the massive ash, thinking:It must have been here.
And then he saw it.
A hole in the trunk of the ash, cleanly drilled, not even a centimetre wide.
In the car, she was silent. Until, just as they approached the edge of Sidmouth, she said: ‘You took a lot of photos.’
‘I found something. But I don’t know what it means.’
‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘Do you mind if I keep it close to my chest just for a few days?’ he asked. ‘Because I don’t want you thinking I’ve solved something if I haven’t. I won’t know the meaning until I’ve checked.’
‘Checked what?’
‘The spot. I just need to be a hundred per cent that we were at the right location. I know how to find out.’
‘Okay, but …’ She tailed off. ‘I thought you were eating the tree bark at one point.’
‘I had to get close.’
‘Whatever comes of it, Edward, you’ve listened and you’ve given me a little hope.’ They were on Station Road, headingtowards the centre of Sidmouth, and she stopped by the Woodlands Hotel where the lane narrowed and a sign with a red arrow told drivers arriving in the town they must give way. ‘You do know I would pay you for this?’
‘I don’t want you to pay me anything,’ said Edward. ‘I just like finding out the truth of things, that’s all. I’m not a professional detective. I’m just a …’
‘Sleuth.’
‘Yes, maybe. Along with my friends Kim and Stevie. And I need to meet them before I say any more. They’ll have ideas.’
‘I’ll pay you five thousand pounds if you can solve it.’
