Murder Comes Calling by C. S. Challinor Page A

what state he’s in now. In fact, I can’t believe this is happening at all!”
    “Nothing’s happened yet,” Rex said. “It might not look good for your employer, but from here to court is a long way off.”
    “My lawyer friend should know,” Malcolm put in with a grave nod. “It must be a shock for you. Do you believe he’s innocent?”
    Lea gazed at him vacantly. “I do, deep down. But I’ll admit there are moments I have my doubts. I mean, you never want to believe it of someone close, do you?”
    Rex sighed in sympathy. “Aye, well, all the best to you.” He held out his hand and squeezed hers warmly. He and Malcolm left in silence and regained the car parked out front.
    “Didn’t get much,” Malcolm said, standing on the damp street decorated with Christmas lights and tinsel stars and stockings that did nothing to cheer the gloomy aspect of the aging buildings and leaden grey sky. “Except that now we know Walker has a history of violence.”
    Rex agreed as he got in his car, but mostly with Malcolm’s first statement—that they had not learnt much. Lots of people got drunk and disorderly in college and even went on to abuse their spouse, but few ended up going on killing sprees. “It might be worth looking into any unsolved local murders,” he suggested. “If Walker is our man, he may have escalated from the charges on record before graduating to serial murder.”
    “Good point,” Malcolm said, settling in the passenger seat. “And interesting about the foreign couple’s name change, don’t you think?”
    “Aye, but we’re no closer to discovering who they are.” Rex turned the ignition and prepared to manoeuvre out of the small space.
    “And no tie-in with the letters on the victims, except for Mary or Maria. But names beginning with ‘M’ are common. Not Malcolm so much, but Mark or Michael.”
    Rex glanced over at his friend, who sounded agitated. “Relax,” he said.
    “Easy for you to say. It’s not your initials that were written on the bodies. What is your middle name, anyway?”
    “Clarence.”
    “Really? I never knew that.”
    “I don’t make it public knowledge.”
    “Quite.” Malcolm gave a discreet cough. “Interesting, as well, that the couple were acting on their own and didn’t go through Chris Walker’s office,” he said, tactfully changing topic. “Since he never spoke with them, the only eyewitnesses we know of are Charlotte and Ernest, who’s dead.”
    Rex let his friend’s comment loom in the air as they drove down the street. Was Charlotte Spelling, the other known witness, at risk?

ten
    “So, what now, Sherlock?” Malcolm asked Rex from the passenger seat.
    “I’d like to try the Ballantines again, for starters.”
    “I think their house went up for sale after the murders,” Malcolm reminded him. “You think the foreign couple went back to Notting Hamlet after that?”
    “You never know.”
    “We should probably pick up something for dinner while we’re here, unless you want frozen again. There’s a Sainsbury’s on the outskirts of Godminton.” Malcolm gave Rex directions. After a moment, he spoke again. “I remember there was a murder here almost four years ago that never got solved. A single mother of two who’d just moved to town. I did the autopsy. She’d been strangled, most likely by a neck tie or similar item, judging from the indentation mark on her flesh.” He sighed wistfully. “Lovely bone structure. Such a shame.”
    “She’d just moved here?” Rex asked, taking the turn Malcolm indicated.
    “Yes. There was no sign of a break-in, nothing stolen. The police tried to pin her murder on her ex, a foreign national, as I recall, but they never made it stick. Yvonne Callister.” Malcolm drew out the name as though it had just come back to him. “I think he might have been a Cypriot or a Spaniard. He ultimately got the children. They attended the local primary school over there.”
    “You seem to remember a lot,” Rex