Gallows Lane (Inspector Devlin Mystery 2) by Brian McGilloway

me and shrugged her shoulders; I could only reciprocate the motion.
    ‘Mrs Webb, did your husband do anything unusual over the past twenty-four hours? Any indication he was planning this? You know, calling family or friends; buying gifts, spending time with loved ones?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘We’ve been told someone was asking about your husband in the local shop. An Englishman, wearing a suit. Does that mean anything to you?’
    Initially she shook her head, then stopped and blew her nose, her face intent with concentration. ‘Actually, now you mention it, that sounds like a man Peter met up with yesterday – an old friend. Someone he was at university with apparently, landed here out of the blue, Peter wasn’t expecting him. The two of them went for a few drinks. Peter came home about eight; said they’d been catching up on old times. We went to bed, then. When I woke up this morning he wasn’t in bed. Then you arrived.’
    ‘Did you know this friend?’ I asked. ‘Do you remember his name?’
    ‘No. They went to university in Bristol together. He was in a suit, just like you say. A businessman, I think. Peter didn’t say much about him when he came back.’
    Before leaving, I invited Mrs Webb, when she felt up to it, to formally identify the body, although we had no doubt that it was her husband. As we were leaving, she walked us to the door. ‘You don’t think that prowler had anything to do with this, do you?’ she asked.
    ‘Probably not,’ I said with more conviction than I felt, then shook her hand and offered my sympathies one last time.
    Williams and I sat in the car along the roadway while I had a smoke and we compared notes.
    ‘We know the guns and stuff didn’t belong to Webb, so why would he feel guilty – unless he was lying to his wife for some reason? Maybe he felt guilty about something else and was using this as cover. An affair?’
    ‘She’s the one having the affair. Maybe Webb found out about it and couldn’t take it.’
    ‘Surely he’d confront her about it. Or at least leave a note. Tell her he knows so when he dies she has to carry the guilt,’ Williams reasoned.
    ‘Maybe he did. What if she’s the one lying about him being guilty over the drugs and that? What if she’s covering for herself? She’s not aware that we know the drugs weren’t his.’
    ‘Jesus – what a cold bitch!’ Williams said in disgust.
    ‘These are all just maybes, Caroline. Maybe his old English friend is connected in some way. An Englishman wearing a suit fits the description Christy gave of the man in his shop – the one he believes is a Special Branch agent. Why would Special Branch want to speak to Peter Webb?’
    ‘Maybe he was an old friend who joined the Police. Maybe it’s perfectly innocent.’
    ‘Why not tell Christy that in the shop? Why make up a story about being a journalist?’ I said. ‘Too many maybes.’
    ‘We don’t even know that he is Special Branch. All we’ve got is Christy Ward’s suspicion. He might be mistaken.’
    ‘I’d be surprised if he’s wrong.’ I flicked my cigarette butt out of the window and started the engine. ‘On top of all of this, we have to ask what the hell James Kerr is doing stuck in the middle of it all. Don’t forget – he’s the prowler the Merry Widow asked us about when we were leaving.’
    ‘Maybe it’s a straightforward suicide – no mystery attached.’ Williams said hopefully.
    ‘Maybe.’
    We drove in silence for a few minutes, Williams gazing out of the passenger window. When she finally spoke, she did so without looking at me.
    ‘The other day,’ she began. ‘With Patterson. He mentioned the promotions panel.’
    ‘That’s right,’ I said.
    ‘Are you going for it?’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve my letter in.’
    ‘That means you are, then.’
    ‘I’m just throwing my hat in the ring, Caroline. I’m not even sure I’d want to be a Super. Or to leave here.’
    She nodded, but didn’t