Take Two (A psychological thriller)

The woman nodded.  Marriott sat down on the sofa next to Mrs McKenzie while Biddulph dropped down into an armchair.  It was a small room with a gas fire that flickered and hissed and, above it, was a framed portrait of Jesus with eyes that seemed to be looking into Biddulph’s soul.  There was a large wooden clock on the mantelpiece that ticked loudly, counting off the seconds. Either side of it were framed photographs. One of them was a much younger Mrs McKenzie on her wedding day, standing next to her proud husband.  Biddulph realised with a jolt what a stunningly pretty woman she had been in her twenties – bright eyes, sensuous lips, high cheekbones and long curly blonde hair. She had the legs of a catwalk model and the breasts of a lingerie model and it was clear from the look in her husband’s eyes how much he adored her. It was hard to reconcile the beautiful girl in the picture with the grey-haired, plump lady with the tear-stained face and gnarled hands sitting on the sofa next to Marriott.

‘Mrs McKenzie, do you know if Reg was worried about anything?’ asked Marriott. ‘Was he having problems with anyone?’

Mrs McKenzie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your husband?’

Her frown deepened. ‘Why would anyone want to hurt Reg?’

Marriott looked across at Biddulph and he could see from the helpless look in her eyes that she was struggling.

‘We think your husband was killed during a robbery,’ said Biddulph. ‘We’re fairly sure it was a random thing, that your husband was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But just in case, we have to check to see if there were any reasons why someone might want to kill him.’

‘He was shot,’ said Mrs McKenzie.  She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Why would anyone shoot my Reg?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Biddulph. ‘Did he owe anyone money?’

‘Just the bank. For the mortgage.’

‘And no one threatened him? Or was arguing with him?’

Mrs McKenzie shook her head and sniffed.  ‘Everyone loved Reg,’ she said. ‘He didn’t have a bad bone in his body.’ She began to cry.

Marriott reached over and held the woman’s hand. ‘Mrs McKenzie, do you have any relatives who can come and sit with you?’

‘My daughter was here this morning.’ She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘She’ll be back in half an hour.’

Marriott looked over at the mantelpiece and pointed at one of the photographs. ‘That’s Carolyn Castle, isn’t it?’ she asked.

Mrs McKenzie looked across at the photograph. It was in a garish red frame. ‘Yes, Reg got it for me.’

‘What, he bought it, you mean?’

Mrs McKenzie shook her head. ‘No, he got her to sign it for me.’ She pushed herself out of her armchair and waddled over to the framed photograph. She smiled at it. ‘To Debs, with love,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that nice, calling me Debs like that. It’s like she’s a real friend.’  She handed the framed photograph to Marriott.

‘We met her, last week,’ said Marriott, looking at the signature. ‘I never thought of it but I should have asked her for her autograph then.’

‘Are you a fan?’ asked Mrs McKenzie, waddling back to her chair and sitting down.

‘Very much so,’ said Marriott. ‘I watch Rags To Riches whenever I can, but I’m on shifts so it’s not easy.’ She held up the picture. ‘So how did Reg get this for you? Was he at the studio?’

‘No, she posted it a couple of days after he met her. She said she’d send me a signed picture and she was as good as her word.’

‘And how did he meet her?’ asked Marriott. She looked over at Biddulph. The inspector gave her an almost imperceptible nod, letting her know he was happy with her questioning.

‘It was the strangest thing,’ said Mrs McKenzie. ‘He gave her a lift. She was in the middle of nowhere. With no shoes. Can you believe that?’

‘That does sound strange. Where did he pick her up?’

‘Somewhere in Surrey. It was Friday night and he was on his way back to London. He ended up taking her right to her door. Notting Hill, I think. One of those posh mansions, she has.’

Marriot stood up and put the picture back on the shelf. ‘It’s a lovely thing to have.’

‘It was so nice of Reg to do it for me.’ She sighed deeply. ‘He was always doing little things like that for me. Flowers.  Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Little presents.’  Tears welled up in her eyes again and she reached for her box of tissues. ‘Why would anyone kill my Reg? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, would Reg. You couldn’t meet a lovelier man.’  She burst into tears as Marriott and Biddulph looked on helplessly.

CHAPTER 86