Wrongful Death by Lynda La Plante Page A

giving them little time to take in the large marble-floored hall with its T-shaped stairwell, emerald green carpet and oak banisters. Katrina asked if they would like a drink and they both said water would be fine.
    In contrast to the hall, the library was much brighter as natural light streamed through the multi-paned sash windows. Oriental rugs covered parts of the polished wooden floor and there were two red leather armchairs, a matching sofa and small coffee table in the middle of the room. The two end walls were covered by elegantly ornamented bookshelves that had been positioned to avoid the direct sunlight. The shelves nearly touched the high ceiling and contained hundreds of old and new books.
    ‘The rooms like something out of Sherlock Holmes,’ Anna remarked, taking a couple of steps up the library ladder to view the books.
    ‘Olde-worlde isn’t my kind of thing. Don’t mind a bit of art but those two paintings either side of the fireplace don’t go with the room,’ Dewar said.
    Anna turned to where the agent was pointing. One picture with a black background was of three sepia-coloured, very old and haggard-looking women. Two were in the foreground of the picture standing side by side, one leaning from behind on the shoulder of the other, their heads turned towards each other as if engaged in whispered conversation. Dressed in head-scarves and shawls they looked similar, as if sisters. The third woman was in the background with only her face showing, floating like an eerie shadow while watching the two women in front.
    The other painting was different: light, colourful and vibrant, it depicted a dreamlike scene with blue skies and wispy clouds. There were also three women in it but they were young, curvaceous and sensual. Two floated like angels above the third, who was lying on her side upon a stone table.
    ‘I think they are meant to contrast each other. You think they might be originals?’ Anna wondered.
    ‘Original crap more like,’ Dewar said.
    ‘Do you think the old women in that picture on the left are beggar women or witches?’ Anna asked.
    ‘I think one’s a psychopath and the other’s Spider-Woman. The one at the back with the duster is obviously the cleaner,’ Dewar said.
    ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Anna asked, looking closer at the picture. ‘Oh, I see what you mean.’ She laughed as she noticed that the woman in the background was holding a bundle of sheep’s wool on what appeared to be a cone-shaped spindle. One of the women in the foreground of the painting had in her hands a pair of shears while the other woman held two strands of fine thread. The strands did indeed look like silk from a spider’s web.
    Anna was about to examine the picture more closely when Katrina came into the room carrying a silver tray with litre plastic bottles of both still and sparkling mineral water, crystal glasses, a bucket of ice and lemon slices in a bowl.
    ‘Have you worked here long, Katrina?’ Dewar asked.
    ‘My husband Dawid and I been here a few months now.’
    ‘What’s he do?’
    ‘He Mrs Lynne’s driver and look after nice cars.’
    ‘Was that him outside washing the “nice cars”?’ Dewar asked.
    ‘Yes. He always wash them at end of day. Clean and ready for tomorrow.’
    ‘Will Mrs Lynne be with us shortly?’ Anna asked.
    ‘I no know, she busy in greenhouse.’
    ‘I noticed there are a lot of books on horticulture and botany,’ Anna said. ‘Plants,’ she added, noticing Katrina’s confused expression.
    ‘She love her plants and no like to be disturb when working in greenhouse.’
    Dewar suddenly stood up.
    ‘Well, we are here on official police business and have had a long day. If you’d show us to the greenhouse we’ll disturb her for you.’
    ‘I’m not sure if good thing . . .’
    ‘Well I am,’ Dewar said bluntly, and raised her hand in an ushering motion for Katrina to show them the way.
    The woman led them from the library, through a