he so inured to the job that he could be so insensitive? He cleared his throat. ‘Why do you think Neil’s death wasn’t an accident?’
‘Until a post-mortem is carried out, we can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but we have reason to believe it was suicide because of what we found in the car: an empty bottle of sleeping pills, a half-consumed bottle of whisky and a note.’ Rawlings paused. ‘So you can see why we’ve reached the conclusion we have.’
Pen began to cry. ‘It can’t be true. I don’t believe it. Not Neil.’
Stirling desperately wanted to hang on to the hope that it wasn’t Neil’s car that had been found, that it was some other poor devil’s body waiting to be identified. But he knew in his bones it was false hope. Call it a sixth sense but he knew his brother was dead.
He swallowed. Dead . For the love of God, what the hell had been going on in Neil’s head lately? And why hadn’t any of them noticed the change in him? How could everything have been going on right under their noses without them realizing?
The woman police officer spoke for the first time. ‘Mr Nightingale, can you think of any reason why—’
‘No more questions,’ Stirling said decisively. ‘I think you should go now. I’ll be happy to speak to you tomorrow morning, but for now I think you should show us the respect we deserve and leave us to deal with the shock of . . .’ His voice faltered and he blinked hard. ‘Of my brother’s death,’ he managed to say. ‘If indeed it is my brother’s body you’ve found.’
The two police officers had the decency to know a dismissal when they heard one and got to their feet. ‘As I said before,’ Rawlings said, when he was at the door and Stirling had opened it for him, ‘we’ll need someone to identify the body. I’ll ring you in the morning to make an appointment for you to attend the mortuary.’
‘I was right! There has been a murder!’ If she’d been excited earlier, now Dee was practically beside herself.
They all stopped what they were doing and stared at her. ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Merrill said, smoothing down her apron. ‘Of course there hasn’t been a murder.’
‘So why was Mr Nightingale told he’d be needed to identify the body? I heard them talking. They were in the hall. Mrs Nightingale was there as well, and she’d been crying. It wasn’t like I was eavesdropping; I just happened to be passing.’
Sue and Merrill exchanged looks. ‘Which Mrs Nightingale?’ asked Sue.
‘Penelope.’
Katie kept quiet. Penelope Nightingale, the woman from The Meadows. She felt a pang of sadness for her. Katie knew all about losing someone she loved. She knew how it felt to receive the kind of news nothing ever prepared you for.
Sue said, ‘You don’t suppose it’s her husband who’s died, do you, Neil Nightingale?’
Merrill pulled a face. ‘If it’s not him, I hope it isn’t the son. That would be too awful.’
They both looked at Dee again. ‘Did you actually hear the word murder used?’ asked Sue.
Dee frowned as if trying to remember exactly what she’d overheard. ‘No,’ she said shortly, ‘but if it isn’t murder, why would the police be involved?’
‘It could be an accident,’ Sue suggested.
‘Whatever’s happened,’ Merrill said, ‘it’s not for us to worry about. Our priority is, if there’s been a sudden death in the family, where does that leave us? Is there still a party to cater for or is it over?’
Stirling Nightingale’s wife suddenly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. If she had heard what they’d been saying, her expression gave nothing away. ‘We’re ready for the champagne and birthday cake now,’ she said crisply. ‘We’ll have it on the terrace.’
An ice-cool customer that one, thought Katie; a family tragedy and not a flicker. But then it was a cool family altogether if they were going ahead with the birthday celebrations as if nothing had happened.
Cecily was eager for the
‘Until a post-mortem is carried out, we can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but we have reason to believe it was suicide because of what we found in the car: an empty bottle of sleeping pills, a half-consumed bottle of whisky and a note.’ Rawlings paused. ‘So you can see why we’ve reached the conclusion we have.’
Pen began to cry. ‘It can’t be true. I don’t believe it. Not Neil.’
Stirling desperately wanted to hang on to the hope that it wasn’t Neil’s car that had been found, that it was some other poor devil’s body waiting to be identified. But he knew in his bones it was false hope. Call it a sixth sense but he knew his brother was dead.
He swallowed. Dead . For the love of God, what the hell had been going on in Neil’s head lately? And why hadn’t any of them noticed the change in him? How could everything have been going on right under their noses without them realizing?
The woman police officer spoke for the first time. ‘Mr Nightingale, can you think of any reason why—’
‘No more questions,’ Stirling said decisively. ‘I think you should go now. I’ll be happy to speak to you tomorrow morning, but for now I think you should show us the respect we deserve and leave us to deal with the shock of . . .’ His voice faltered and he blinked hard. ‘Of my brother’s death,’ he managed to say. ‘If indeed it is my brother’s body you’ve found.’
The two police officers had the decency to know a dismissal when they heard one and got to their feet. ‘As I said before,’ Rawlings said, when he was at the door and Stirling had opened it for him, ‘we’ll need someone to identify the body. I’ll ring you in the morning to make an appointment for you to attend the mortuary.’
‘I was right! There has been a murder!’ If she’d been excited earlier, now Dee was practically beside herself.
They all stopped what they were doing and stared at her. ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Merrill said, smoothing down her apron. ‘Of course there hasn’t been a murder.’
‘So why was Mr Nightingale told he’d be needed to identify the body? I heard them talking. They were in the hall. Mrs Nightingale was there as well, and she’d been crying. It wasn’t like I was eavesdropping; I just happened to be passing.’
Sue and Merrill exchanged looks. ‘Which Mrs Nightingale?’ asked Sue.
‘Penelope.’
Katie kept quiet. Penelope Nightingale, the woman from The Meadows. She felt a pang of sadness for her. Katie knew all about losing someone she loved. She knew how it felt to receive the kind of news nothing ever prepared you for.
Sue said, ‘You don’t suppose it’s her husband who’s died, do you, Neil Nightingale?’
Merrill pulled a face. ‘If it’s not him, I hope it isn’t the son. That would be too awful.’
They both looked at Dee again. ‘Did you actually hear the word murder used?’ asked Sue.
Dee frowned as if trying to remember exactly what she’d overheard. ‘No,’ she said shortly, ‘but if it isn’t murder, why would the police be involved?’
‘It could be an accident,’ Sue suggested.
‘Whatever’s happened,’ Merrill said, ‘it’s not for us to worry about. Our priority is, if there’s been a sudden death in the family, where does that leave us? Is there still a party to cater for or is it over?’
Stirling Nightingale’s wife suddenly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. If she had heard what they’d been saying, her expression gave nothing away. ‘We’re ready for the champagne and birthday cake now,’ she said crisply. ‘We’ll have it on the terrace.’
An ice-cool customer that one, thought Katie; a family tragedy and not a flicker. But then it was a cool family altogether if they were going ahead with the birthday celebrations as if nothing had happened.
Cecily was eager for the
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