The Dead Wife. Sue Fortin

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       Chapter Four

       Brighton, Monday, 6 May, 8.30 p.m.

      Frustratingly, Steph’s call to her mother went to answerphone. She left a brief message, asking her mother to ring her in connection with the death of Elizabeth at Conmere. Steph had decided to keep it brief; she didn’t feel the need to elaborate, as her mother would, no doubt, recall the case.

      She picked up the tub of ice cream, which had defrosted to the point that calling it ice cream was almost criminal, but nevertheless she managed to secure a spoonful of the cookie-dough mixture on the spoon. It struck Steph as strange that Wendy had never mentioned the Elizabeth Sinclair case. A death of a member of the Sinclair family was a little out of the ordinary and, although she knew Wendy wouldn’t have gone into any detail, the fact that her father had worked for the Sinclairs made it more personal and worthy of a mention at least.

      Steph sighed as she savoured the ice cream in her mouth.

      Steph knew it had been passed down through several Sinclair generations.

      She wondered again why her mum had never mentioned Elizabeth’s death, and as she tracked back over Sonia Lomas’s timeline her idle curiosity morphed into something more insistent. She hoped her mum would talk about it, but Steph had long since learned that Wendy Lynch was a tough negotiator and not easy to move once she had made her mind up about something. In fact, Steph struggled to think of a time when Wendy had ever conceded.

       Brighton, Tuesday, 7 May, 8.45 a.m.

      Steph had to admit, twelve hours wasn’t exactly a long time to wait for her mother to reply, but she had been barely able to sleep last night as she had repeatedly gone over the whole Sonia Lomas message and everything connected with it. Her imagination had certainly been fired up and her desire to find out what her mother could tell her was in overdrive.

      ‘Ah, you’re there,’ she said when her mother answered the phone. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Hello. I’m fine. A little busy. Is everything OK, only I’m about to go out?’

      Steph was used to her mum’s brusqueness. Wendy Lynch had never quite been able to leave the formalities of the workplace behind. Even as a child Steph remembered their days being like a military operation. In fact, her mother would have been as suited to a military career as she had to a police one.

      ‘Did you get my message last night?’ asked Steph as she stirred her coffee and settled herself at the breakfast bar in her little apartment in Brighton. She didn’t miss the slight pause her mother gave before replying.

      ‘On the answerphone? It was a bit garbled, to be honest. I didn’t really know what you were talking about.’

      ‘Elizabeth Sinclair,’ said Steph, trying to keep her patience. ‘You know, the Sinclair family who Dad worked for and the wife who drowned in the lake on their estate.’

      ‘Well, yes, I do remember her but it wasn’t really much of a case. It was one of my last ones. She was out walking. The dog jumped in the water and she tried to save it. Got into difficulties and tragically drowned. That’s all there is to it. Why do you want to know?’

      ‘You didn’t listen to my message at all, did you?’

      ‘As I said, it didn’t come out very clear and I am rather busy.’

      Steph reined in her sigh and attempted to inject an affable tone into her voice. ‘Work want me to go up to the Lakes and cover the new opening of Conmere Resort Centre. I’m going to be up there for the weekend and I tweeted about it. Then I got this weird direct message from Elizabeth Sinclair’s mother. She said her daughter’s death was not an accident. I’ve looked into it and I was amazed to see your name at the bottom of an article.’

      Wendy gave an audible sigh. ‘You really mustn’t listen to Sonia Lomas. She’s got mental-health issues. I mean, it’s tragic, but the fact of the matter is, Elizabeth Sinclair drowned and it was an accident. The woman has been hounding Cumbria Police for the past two years about it. I can’t really tell you much else, not because I don’t want to, but there simply isn’t anything else to say.’

      Steph couldn’t help thinking her mother probably knew more about it than she was letting on. It wouldn’t surprise Steph if her mother was purposely being light on detail. ‘Do you think there’s anything at all in the accusations? Is there even the slightest possibility it might have been anything other than an accident?’

      ‘Now listen to me, Stephanie,’ said Wendy. ‘There is nothing at all in Sonia Lomas’s accusations. What I suggest you do is concentrate on the task you’ve been given, i.e. report about the reopening of the resort and don’t go poking your journalistic nose into matters that are purely fiction or don’t concern you.’

      ‘My journalistic СКАЧАТЬ