Guns in the Gallery

‘That you’re nosey, like most people down there.’

Jude spread her hands wide in a gesture of mock-innocence. ‘So little happens in a place like Fethering. The only growth industry in a village is gossip.’

Denzil Willoughby smiled, acknowledging her humour, but it was an uneasy smile. Both Carole and Jude sensed that he was at least as keen to find out things from them as they were from him. Or maybe he just wanted to find out how much they knew. Either way, from the point of view of their investigation his behaviour was very encouraging. It suggested that Denzil Willoughby had something to hide.

They were interrupted by the appearance of the girl with the tray of coffee. This too was produced with unexpected elegance, green, gold-rimmed bistro-style cups and saucers beside the cafetière. It was another detail at odds with the shabbiness of the adjacent workshop.

Denzil said no word of thanks to the girl, and she was silent too. He waited till she had gone before politely asking his guests how they would like their coffee and pouring it. Then he sat back and looked at the two women. ‘Giles heard from his mother that your particular style of nosiness takes the form of imagining murders and attempting to investigate them.’

Instinctively they both remained silent, waiting to see where his questioning would lead next. Appearing even more uncomfortable, Denzil took an iPhone out of the back pocket of his jeans and checked its display. Whatever he was expecting to see wasn’t there. For the rest of their conversation he continued fiddling with the phone.

‘According to Bonita – via Giles – there’s been talk in Fethering that Fennel’s death wasn’t the suicide that it appeared to be. That in fact it was murder.’

Still they let him squirm.

‘And apparently gossiping tongues have even suggested that because Fennel bawled me out at the Private View down there, my name’s in the frame as her murderer.’

‘Well, it’s a thought, isn’t it?’ said Jude with what her neighbour considered to be inappropriate levity.

‘It may be a thought, but it’s not true,’ protested Denzil Willoughby.

‘I’m sure it’s not,’ said Jude with a reassuring smile. ‘So maybe you could tell us why it’s not true?

‘For starters I don’t think Fennel was murdered. If you knew her history of depression, you’d—’

‘I do know her history of depression,’ Jude interposed. ‘I had been treating her for it.’

‘Oh? Are you a doctor?’

‘No, I’m a healer.’

The expression on Denzil Willoughby’s face suggested to Carole that, unlikely though it might seem, there could be at least one subject on which she and the artist might agree.

‘So,’ Denzil went on, ‘you’ll know that Fennel had made a previous suicide attempt. She was all messed up in her head. She talked a lot about topping herself. It was only a matter of time before it happened.’

‘And if it was suicide, would you feel any guilt?’ asked Carole, at her most magisterial.

‘Guilt? Why should I feel guilt?’ He genuinely did not seem to understand.

‘From all accounts, during your relationship you didn’t treat her that well.’

‘Look, hell, I can’t do anything about it if women fall in love with me,’ said Denzil Willoughby. ‘I try to reciprocate, but I admit it isn’t the highest priority in my life. I’m an artist.’

At that point both Carole and Jude would quite happily have knocked the young man’s block off, but they both realized it wasn’t the moment and restrained themselves.

‘At the Private View,’ said Carole beadily, ‘Fennel accused you of only being interested in her money.’

‘That wasn’t true.’

‘But you didn’t mind accepting money from her?’

‘Look, her parents are loaded. If she wanted to give some of it to me, surely that was her decision.’

‘So long as it was her decision,’ said Carole, still in inquisitorial mode. ‘So long as you didn’t pressure her.’

‘Look, I’m an artist,’ said Denzil Willoughby, again prompting block-knocking-off urges in both his listeners. ‘My art’s the most important thing in my life. That has to be funded; that’s the main priority. Where the money comes from to fund it isn’t important.’

‘Are you saying you’d do anything to get money?’ asked Carole.

‘Pretty much, yes.’

‘I thought your father was also loaded,’ said Jude, causing her friend to look at her in some surprise. The secrets of Jude’s healing sessions remained sacrosanct. Except for mentioning to Carole the rumour of Denzil Willoughby’s violence to women, she hadn’t reported any other details of her conversation with Sam Torino in the treatment yurt at Walden. ‘He’s a big shot in advertising, isn’t he?’