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DEATH OF A PRIME SUSPECT

by PAUL EDMUND NORMAN

Alex Hegan got up to let Toby out, and while he was up, decided he might as well make himself coffee. He had just sat down with it when Vanessa came downstairs.

'Couldn't sleep?' he asked.

She shook her head.

'I've been awake some of the time. It was nice knowing you were here. I heard you let Toby out.'

'Coffee?'

'Mmmm, thanks.'

He poured her a cup of her own coffee, and they found themselves laughing.

'Tell me about your sister-in-law.'

'Alison? Nothing much to tell. I didn't really get to know her, or her husband. I just happened to be around when she wanted to tell someone.'

'She must have said something to someone.'

'Yes, she must, but not to me. My guess is that she told Mike Thompson, and as you said, either he can't or won't tell you what she said.'

'Did you see the fire?'

'From a distance, yes. I was helping the Simpsons with their cattle. Some of them just wandered into the fire, as though someone was calling them or driving them. It was horrible.'

'It must have been. And the day before the fire was the last time you saw Alison?'

Alex nodded.

'Yes. She simply said that she thought there was something about to happen, her husband being a policeman and so on, and if she wasn't around, would I keep an eye on the house for her until someone turned up. It was all very vague.'

'Did she seem agitated?'

'No, not really. In fact, if I had to describe her mood, I would say she was calm. She knew what she was doing.'

'I wish I'd known her better. I don't know anything about her, I don't know what sort of person she was, or anything.'

'She was beautiful. Like you.'

The unexpected compliment hung in the air between them for several awkward seconds. Then he looked away from her, studying his coffee cup.

'You remind me of someone.'

'I'm not her sister.....'

'No, someone famous, a film star, someone off the telly.....'

She laughed merrily.

'I didn't think an intellectual like you would have time for the telly!'

'You'd be surprised. Anyway, I'm hardly an intellectual. I like my television, almost as much as I like music, and books. Mind you, it has to be good. No game shows, or rubbish like that. Only serious stuff.'

She gazed into his eyes.

'Mr Serious. Yes, that's what I always had you put down for,' she said, and he thought she was laughing at him.

'I thought you had me down as the village cad after I dumped you.'

'I knew you were no villain! No-one with a dog like Toby who obviously adores his master could be as bad as Mark tried to make out.'

'What do you think we should do about him?'

'I wouldn't hesitate. I'd call Mike Thompson, ask his advice,' Alex said.

'You don't like Mark, do you?'

'We haven't always seen eye to eye. There's a funny side to Mark that I sincerely do not like. He can't be all bad, I suppose.'

'But you do know Inspector Thompson?'

'Yes, we go back a long way together. He’s older than me, of course, but he likes his music, like I do. We often get together to play our stuff really loud, down in my cottage, where no one can complain about the noise. He's got three children, all at the High School, all needing lots of quiet while they do their homework. Sometimes he comes to my place just for a bit of noise.'

'I met his family yesterday, when I went to his house. He wasn't much help. He really doesn't appear to be able to remember anything about this Sharringford business. And I had to remind him that the three of us were there when Mary Bailry was killed. That’s why he thinks we may be in danger. He was quite concerned.'

'No, I'd say he was genuine enough. He wouldn't deliberately lie. He's not that sort of bloke.'

Vanessa smiled.

'More coffee? It is rather strange, isn't it, drinking coffee and talking at this unearthly hour of the morning.'

'Somehow I don't find it strange at all.'

'What's more, we spent the night together!' she whispered, and once again started to giggle. Being with Alex Hegan somehow made her feel good. It reminded her of how it had been, those few months they went about together. For the life of her, she could not remember why they had split up.

'Tell me all about yourself,' she said, and rested her chin on her hands.

'All? Are you really that interested?'

'Yes, I am. What did you do after I moved away?'

'Well, I'll do a deal with you. I'll tell you my life story if you tell me yours.'

'Done!'

'Right, then, where to start? I was eight when my father died, and my mother remarried - Mark's father. He's a year or two older than me, though he looks a lot older, if you ask me. He and his father lived on the land, for the land. I always had my nose buried in some book or other, which was frowned upon. My mother tried to stick up for me but she always got shouted down. It got so I would have to take my books out into the potting shed, or into the woods, anywhere to get away from the other two. Somehow I made it through High School – met you, of course, and we nearly got together, didn’t we! – well, we did for a time. And then went off to University. They were probably glad to get rid of me for a few years. I read history, wrote a couple of novels, of which I am heartily ashamed, but which earned me a little bit of money, and I moved into a cottage my mother bought for me shortly before she died. Mark continues to run the estate, has no time for me. His father is in a nursing home. What about you?'

'Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. I did a degree in art at a London polytechnic, do a bit of advertising copy and so on, inherited this place from Richard and Alison. Nothing else to tell, really.'

‘Are your parents still alive? Are you going to settle down here, or are you just here while you solve the mystery of your sister-in-law's death? I so much wanted to get to know you, but that episode with the police and the murder of Mary Bailey just knocked me back. I’m sorry.'

That was it! They had gone out together a few times, but always it had seemed that his mind was elsewhere. And Vanessa, aware of how attractive she was becoming, had wanted his full attention. When she couldn’t get it, they somehow drifted apart, and at athe ned of the autumn term, her parents had taken her with them to London, where her father had secured a much better position for himself. It had been a fairly obscure newspaper article about the Sharringford fire that had reminded her about Alison and Richard, and she had promised herself an extended holiday to find out the circumstances of their horrific deaths. And then, just a few weeks later, came the murder of Kim Catchpole. She had little choice, with both parents out of the country and unaware of the second tragedy, but to come back to Norfolk.

She was slightly taken aback by his romantic outburst, and with two previous broken relationships behind her, she was wary of involvement with anyone she had known for such a short time. She could hardly count the short time she had known him thirteen years ago, when were they just teenagers. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and she could not help but answer his questions.

'They are still alive, they live in Suffolk, in Reydon, near Southwold, on the coast......near Sizewell....... They’re in New Zealand at the moment.'

'I know it,' he said firmly. ‘Reydon, I mean.’

'I am going to settle down here......'

'I am pleased to hear it. The place will be the better for you.'

'And I wish you would stop flirting with me.'

She looked sadly at her empty cup, and for a moment there was another awkward silence between them.

'I don't flirt, Vanessa,' Alex said softly.

She looked up anxiously.

'I do not flirt. That is not in my nature. I pay you compliments because you are worthy of them. I offer you my friendship and my......'

For a fleeting second she was sure he was going to say 'love', but he backed off.

'..............intentions are honourable.'

'You're making fun of me.'

'I am not. I think you are beautiful. I think you are the most beautiful thing to happen here in many years. I always did think you were beautiful. Now even more so. You are even more beautiful than your sister-in-law. You’re exactly as I remember you. If it hadn’t been for Mary Bailey, who knows what might have happened?’

'Were you in love with her? Alison?0'

'No. I was not.'

The smile had left his eyes. He was in danger of becoming moody, and introverted, as she now knew he could be.

'I am going to have a bath, then I am going to cook you some breakfast,' she said with a smile, and stood up.

'I have to get back,' he said, shaking his head.

'Why? You said yourself you don't have anything to do! You told me you had enough to live on, and didn't need to work. Why do you have to get back?'

'Because....'

'You can't think of a reason, can you?'

They both stood up. He opened the back door suddenly and gave a high whistle. Toby trotted back in and sat at his master's feet, wagging his tail and panting.

'We've taken up enough of your time.'

'I've enjoyed having you here.'

'We must go.'

'You're frightened,' she said accusingly.

He stared at the floor, and she thought she saw his head nod briefly.

'You don't have to be frightened of me.'

She touched his lean, muscular arm, and was absurdly put in mind of Mellors, Lady Chatterley's lover. He was nothing like him, of course, several inches taller, heavily built, far more handsome than she had remembered him, and real.

'I'm not frightened of you, Van,' he muttered, 'I'm frightened of myself.' She had told him to call her ‘Van’ back then, on that first day. She remembered it now. He had evidently never forgotten her.

'Why?'

'I'm not the nicest person in the world.'

'Why? What have you done?'

'Nothing you would understand. I would never hurt you.'

'I know that. What is it you're frightened of? Not yourself. There's nothing wrong with you, nothing bad about you. I can tell, I am a pretty good judge of character.....'

'Van,' he said again, not knowing or caring if she minded being called by the diminutive, 'if I walk out of here now it's because I love you, I always did love you, and I can't stand to be with you for another second if you can't return my love.'

The sudden admission of his feelings for her took her so much by surprise that she fell backwards onto the kitchen chair.

'You see, I have to go. Come on, Toby.'

'No, wait. Alex!'

He turned in the doorway and walked back to her.

'I don't know what to say, Alex, I don't know how I feel about you yet.....'

'That's good enough for me,' he said curtly, and turned away again.

'No, wait, let me finish! I haven't had time to take it all in!’ This time he turned and walked toward her.

He silenced her by kissing her. It was an inexperienced, rough kiss, but it made her heart beat faster, and she knew, at that precise moment, that come what may, she was going to have a relationship with him. One way or another. If she got hurt this time, then that was the way it was meant to be.

He pulled away from her, waiting for her to say something. When she said nothing, he pulled her gently against him again and kissed the side of her neck.

She was everything he had ever dreamed of, yet she sensed within him a tension that was holding him back, even though the strength of his caresses was overwhelming, gentle, not stifling, but his body strained against hers with an intensity she found just a little disquieting.

She disengaged herself from him, not pushing him away, still holding his arms, but at arms' length.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, 'I've come on too strong....'

'No, shoosh,' she said, silencing him. 'I need to have my bath and get dressed.'

'Time to think?'

'If you like.'

'I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.'

'Of course you should. How else would I know how you feel about me? People should show their affection. We're far too repressed in this country.'

'Now you're making fun of me,' he accused.

'Alex, I'm not, I swear it. I'm going upstairs to have my bath. I want you to wait for me down here, and I want you to do some serious thinking, as I'm going to. Just remember that this is as much about you as it is about me. We neither of us know hardly anything about each other.....we've known each other as adults only a couple of days. Right now I feel as though I could dance on air, I'm excited, I'm happy......but I want to be sure, and you must be, too.'

'It's not as if I've asked you to m........'

'Ssh,' she said again, and kissed him on the lips. 'I shall be fifteen minutes, at the most. When I come down you’ll see me at my best, made up, hair combed, washed and smelling nice. Maybe you'll change your mind. Just wait and see.'

'The make-up won't make any difference. It does nothing for me. You're perfectly beautiful enough without all that muck,' he said. But she went to the door and started up the stairs, ignoring his last remark.

Her mind was in a turmoil. How could she feel like this so soon, so suddenly, about a man she hardly knew, a man she had met only two days ago after thirteen years? It was utter madness, and yet there had been something about the way he had grabbed hold of her and kissed her.....

Swept off her feet.

Yes, that was it.

For a moment, no, several moments, when he had held her to him, she had felt lighter than air.

It was the real thing, she had no doubt.

She had never felt this way about anyone, not John, not Timmy. They had never got to her like this.

Alex Hegan was an unconventional man with a mysterious past. A recluse, kicked out by his family because he was too artistic, too intellectual. Why had he never married? Maybe he had. Maybe he had a series of failed marriages behind him. Lots of people had, these days. He hadn’t spoken about failed marriages or relationships of any sort. No mention.

She stepped out of her nightdress and into the hot bath, allowing the soft, foamed water to immerse her young body. She closed her eyes, trying to see into the future, to imagine what it would be like in a year's time, ten years' time, with Alex Hegan. Maybe she was the one who would bring him out of his shell, back to the normality of family life. She would encourage him to take up writing again. She had contacts in the publishing world, she could help him, nurse his reluctant talent back to health.

She wondered if part of his elusiveness, his moodiness was due to those failed relationships, for there had to have been someone, maybe more than one. It seemed too obvious, but it was an attractive theory. Mean, moody, obsessed with his own privacy, it fitted perfectly. It sounded like the only person who had ever got through to him was Inspector Thompson. They were evidently firm friends, despite the fact that the policeman was several years older, and brought together by their love of music.

She climbed out of the bath and dried herself, put on her clean underwear, then a blouse and skirt. She went into the bedroom and sat at the dressing table, and started to put on her make-up.

She heard rather than saw him as he came into the room and stood behind her. Again she was reminded of a literary figure, this time it was Heathcliff, come to claim his Cathy.

She turned round and stood up, and again he crushed her to him, kissing her, this time expertly. She pulled away from him and smiled tearfully, reaching for a tissue, but he got one first.

'Don't cry. I'm not worth it.'

If you only knew.....

'Come on, you don't need any of that!' He pulled her to the door and started off down the stairs. For a second she hung back.

'Where are we going?'

'I thought you were going to cook breakfast for me!'

'And after that?'

'To the cop shop. Report Mark, see what Thompson has to say.'

'After that?'

He spread his arms wide.

'I don't know. Something. We'll think of something.'

She followed him down the stairs, made a fuss of Toby, and pushed Alex into the kitchen.

'You're sure about this?'

'Why? Can't you cook?'

'Of course I can cook! I mean, are you sure about.....us?'

'As sure as I'm ever going to be.'

One day she might tell him about her previous relationships. One day he might tell her about his, and she was sure he must have had some. For the time being it was sufficient that they were in each other's company, getting to know each other. She wondered why he had stopped her putting on her make up, shrugged it off as another quirk in his nature, and started frying bacon and eggs. It was almost light.

'I shall be five minutes,' he said, and ran quickly upstairs. She heard the water running, and when he came down he had shaved, borrowing a razor which must have belonged to Richard, and which she had not known was there.

'I shall have to call in at my place to change,' he explained.

'Richard's clothes are up there somewhere. I think he was about the same size as you.'

'I'd be surprised if he was, anyway, I have to take Toby home.'

'Is it far to walk?'

'Twenty minutes.'

'Then what?'

'Take my car into town. See Thompson, then whatever you like.'

'Will you show me your novels?'

For a moment he frowned.

'Why would you want to see them?'

'I'm interested.'

'All right. But in return you must tell me what it was that Mark was looking for last night.'

'I told you, I have no idea.'

'Vanessa!'

'Well............'

'Come on, I'm not stupid. We both know you have something that you brought with you. I think you ought to show it to me. It might be important.'

'All right, but after breakfast!'

'Right.'

They sat down to eat, and the dog sat by the table with his chin resting on the edge, peering from one mouthful of food to another.

'I didn't teach him to do that.'

'I should hope not!'

'Does it annoy you?'

'No, of course not!'

'I'll put him outside if you don't want him at the table.'

'He's all right.'

After they had cleared away she fetched her handbag from beside the bed and took out the note from Alison. It said:

“Dear Vanessa, I think I may be in some kind of trouble. Richard has found out something about the people who live in this village and I think one of them might be out to get him. So I guess I might be in danger too. If anything should happen to us, will you come back to Sharringford and talk to Inspector Thompson? Love, Alison.”

Alex read it and scratched his head.

'Not much, is it?'

'Exactly what I thought. But when you start putting two and two together..........'

'Such as?'

'Well, Richard being a sort of undercover policeman, then dying suddenly for no apparent reason, and a little while after that, Alison dies too, in mysterious circumstances which are poorly documented by a policeman who can't really remember what happened.....she obviously knew what was going on, this was to warn me that something odd was going on in Sharringford.'

'Still not much to go on, is it? And why did Mark want it?'

'We don't know that this is what he was looking for.'

'I'm willing to bet it was.'

'What would it tell him?'

'It might not tell him anything.'

'What d'you mean?'

'He might want it simply to keep it out of someone else's hands.'

'Like the law?'

'Like the law. As far as I know he wasn't in Sharringford at the time of the great fire. I believe he was away somewhere, on business. My guess is that he's working for someone else, and they know that this note exists. What they don't know is how vague it is, and doesn't actually incriminate anyone.'

'You could be right.'

'The more you think about it............'

'I'll get my coat. Is it cold out?'

'Absolutely freezing.'

They set off for Alex's cottage, with Toby trotting happily a few yards ahead of them.

Gateway is published by Paul Edmund Norman on the first day of each month, and there is at least one Books supplement mid-month every month, see issues for details. Hosting is by Flying Porcupine at www.flyingporcupine.com - and web design by Gateway. Submitting to Gateway: Basically, all you need do is e-mail it along and I'll consider it - it can be any length, if it's very long I'll serialise it, if it's medium-length I'll put it in as a novella, if it's a short story or a feature article it will go in as it comes. Payment is zero, I'm afraid, as I don't make any money from Gateway, I do it all for fun! Should you be kind enough to want to send me books to review, please contact me by e-mail and I will gladly forward you my home address. Meanwhile, here's how to contact me: paulenorman@yahoo.co.uk

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