Murder Club - Mark Pearson [80]
‘Not too weak?’
‘No, it’s certainly not that.’
‘Do you think we could discuss your husband now, Mrs Johnson? We have driven a long way.’
‘Yes, and in such awful conditions. I can’t think what was so important. My husband has been dead for a year or so, you know.’
‘I am sorry if this is painful for you,’ replied DI Halliday without any hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘But there are some matters that have arisen.’
‘What kind of matters?’
DI Hamilton reached into his coat pocket and handed a card over to Mrs Johnson. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’ he asked.
‘It’s a tarot card.’
‘Yes.’
‘Major Arcana.’
‘You know about the tarot?’ asked DI Hamilton, surprised.
‘Oh yes, Inspector,’ Marjorie said, giving the words a seductive lilt. ‘I am very much in touch with my spiritual side. The Hanged Man, a significant symbol.’
‘What sort of significance?’ asked Emma Halliday.
‘It is all down to interpretation, of course. The cards are like notes or chords in a piece of music. You need to put them together for a proper reading.’
‘So what does this one mean?’ prompted Hamilton.
‘A good question.’ She gave him a look a schoolteacher might give a particularly bright pupil. ‘A very good question.’
‘Which is why I asked you what the significance is.’ Emma could do little to hide her growing irritation with the woman.
‘I am afraid I don’t know, my dear. I have a lady come in and give readings once a month in the pub. It’s quite an attraction. I like to have different special nights each week.’
‘And what has any of this to do with your husband?’ interrupted DI Halliday. ‘Did he organise the tarot nights?’
‘Goodness me no. Andrew never came up with any good ideas. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.’ She held the card up. ‘What has this got to do with Andrew?’
‘We were hoping you might be able to tell us.’
‘You have completely lost me.’
‘The card was found on your dead husband’s body when it was recovered, Mrs Johnson. It was in his pocket.’
‘This one?’
‘One like it. I bought another deck of cards,’ explained Tony Hamilton.
‘Did you not recover your husband’s things?’
‘They told me there was nothing of value on him. The clothes were obviously ruined. I just told them to dispose of them. His body was transported up here and it was cremated. I didn’t look at him. I’m a bit squeamish about that kind of thing.’
‘Did you love your husband, Mrs Johnson?’ asked Emma.
‘What on earth has that got to do with anything?’
‘It’s just you do seem, shall we say, a little dispassionate about all this.’
‘It was over a year ago. My husband decided to jump in front of a train for whatever reason. Am I to wear sackcloth and ashes for the rest of my life?’
‘Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to harm your husband?’ DI Hamilton interjected, trying to calm the waters.
Marjorie Johnson looked at him, her smile gone and any hint of flirtation a distant memory. ‘Okay, why don’t you tell me what exactly is going on here?’
‘We think your husband was murdered,’ said Emma Halliday bluntly.
56.
JACK DELANEY AND Sally Cartwright were standing in the registrar’s office, talking with her as she typed up some notes into her computer.
‘He’s okay to be interviewed now?’
The consultant stopped typing and swivelled her chair to face them. ‘Yes. But try not to agitate him too much.’
‘He still can’t remember who assaulted him?’ asked Sally Cartwright.
The petite woman shook her head. ‘It’s entirely possible he never will.’
‘But he does have a clear idea of the woman he claims to have murdered?’ asked Delaney.
‘Do you know who she is?’
‘Maybe.’ Delaney read from his notebook. ‘Early twenties, blonde hair, blue eyes, waif-like.’
Dr Lily Crabbe rose to her feet, picked her stethoscope up from her desk and swung it around her neck.
‘A bit like her,’ said DC Cartwright, holding out a photograph.
The registrar took it. ‘Who is this?’
‘A young homeless girl. She hasn’t been seen at the shelter she normally uses. And the last time