02 Blue Murder by Emma Jameson Page A

come
off like a prickly, grudge-bearing bitch to him, too?
    “ I mean, if it comes to it,”
Kate continued, watching Bhar’s face, “maybe you should question
Ms. Chilcott in regards to this case. If only to show you survived
a knife in the back. That your career’s still thriving, despite her
best efforts?”
    “ No need,” Bhar continued,
taking another sip of his drink. “Tessa’s renewed friendship with
Sir Duncan didn’t last long. Then she stabbed a stranger to death
and was committed soon after to a psychiatric hospital. There she
remains. Probably for life, unless she’s improved in the last year
or so.”
    Appalled, Kate glanced at
Hetheridge for assistance. His expression was completely
inscrutable. Yet something in those ice blue eyes seemed to
say, I did try and warn you. Dig your own
self out.
    “ I see. Well. Right. Which
psych hospital?” Kate asked Bhar.
    She expected him to demand how that could
possibly be any of her concern, but he didn’t. Perhaps something in
her crisp, businesslike tone lent the question legitimacy.
    “ Parkwood.”
    “ I knew it had to be that,
or St. Joseph’s. My older sister’s at Parkwood.”
    “ Is that so?” Bhar feigned
interest rather poorly. “Is your sister a doctor or a ward
sister?”
    “ Neither. She’s a resident.”
Kate gave Bhar a moment to absorb her meaning. She’d never told
anyone this outside her own meager family, or beyond those who
absolutely had to know, like paid carers and social workers.
“Maura’s a paranoid schizophrenic.”
    “ I’m sorry,” Bhar
murmured.
    Kate risked a quick glance at Hetheridge. He
said nothing.
    “ Well.
Yes. Thanks.” Kate forced out the words from long habit. “Maura
self-medicated her early symptoms with drugs — street drugs, mostly
heroin — but eventually no one could cope with her and she had to
be committed. It’s dreadful, seeing someone you care about
disappear into a place like that. Even a decent place, a place
where they try to do right by the residents, is still what it is —
one of those places, if you get me. I’m sure you despised Tessa for what
she did to you, Paul. But I know you wouldn’t have wished a fate
like that on her. Not even if you wanted her
dead.”
    Bhar looked at the floor.
    Kate, exhausted by her impromptu speech, had
no idea where to go next. She also felt reluctant to turn back and
meet Hetheridge’s gaze, now that she’d impulsively revealed why she
had custody of her eight-year-old nephew, Henry. She didn’t want
Hetheridge’s pity. In fact, she couldn’t bear it.
    “ Well. Thank you both,”
Hetheridge said in his coolest tones. “Not that all this family
background isn’t fascinating, but we seem to have wandered far
afield. DS Bhar, before you arrived, DS Wakefield and I had
gravitated, unbidden, to the notion of a killer who was also an
invited guest to Ms. Wardle’s party. Someone who saw the event as
an opportunity to commit double murder and arrived prepared to do
so. But we have yet to seriously discuss the other possibility.
That an intruder entered the Wardle property by way of the garden,
killed Clive French, slipped into the house, killed Trevor Parsons,
then legged it amidst the resulting chaos.”
    “ You mean an intruder other
than Sir Duncan?” Kate asked.
    “ Yes. No. Either,”
Hetheridge smiled. “The PCs on-scene claimed they caught each and
every escapee and dragged them back. Suppose they didn’t? Are we
remiss in failing to discuss the possibility of an intruder?
Especially in a confused scene filled with drugs and alcohol? A
setting in which a simple disguise — perhaps just a rubber
Halloween mask — might allow a total stranger to pass
through?”
     

 
    Chapter Nine

    T he
possibility of an intruder in the French-Parsons case meant New
Scotland Yard would muster a more extensive team effort than DS
Wakefield had yet participated in. If the inquiry went on long
enough, or kept expanding, it was entirely possible she