All Passion Spent - Bergotte (pdf e book reader .txt) 📗

The made their choice and gave their order. Anna broke the silence by asking Gerrard if he thought there was anything like a criminal personality.
“That’s a bit of a philosophical question isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“There has been a lot of research by criminologists and sociologists and some by psychologists. I’ll tell you what I have learned, if you’re interested.”
“Oh, very much so, sir,” she replied.

While Gerrard and Anna debated the niceties of criminal personality Paul Fellingham was back in London, still not able to confront Bella with his suspicions. Miss Katerina Ostrovsky, an attractive young lady, in her late teens, was entertaining him to dinner and she made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed his company. She turned to smile at him as he stood behind her to ease her coat from her shoulders. They both sat together on a bench seat against the wall of the dimly lit room. A candle flickered on the table in front of them and Paul’s companion nodded her head gently in time to the slow music playing unobtrusively in the background. She noticed that a few couples in a corner of the room were dancing.

“What would you like to drink, Katerina?” Paul asked her. “I’d like some white wine,” she replied warmly, “and please call me Kate everybody else does. Paul ordered a bottle of wine and the waiter promptly brought it for him to taste before pouring some into two glasses. Paul ordered their meals and continued the conversation.

“Whereabouts are you from?” asked Paul. “I was born here, in London, but my mother is Greek and my father Russian. They are divorced now. My father returned to Russia when the soviets fell from power and my mother went back to live once again in Greece. “Do you see them at all?” “My father, no. My mother lives in Kiffissia. It’s near Athens. She runs some holiday homes there. I have been on holiday there sometimes.” “Do you speak Russian or Greek?” “Not Russian, no, but I do speak some Greek, but I don’t use it much now. I’ve no need of it.”

They both ordered something to eat. “Will you dance with me?” said Kate, taking hold of Paul’s hand and rising from her seat. “Well I …” he faltered. She slipped off her jacket and hung it on a chair on the other side of their table. “Come on,” she said, with an encouraging smile, taking his other hand and pulling him towards the tiny dance floor. He went with her. They stopped still for a brief moment and then she pulled him towards her. He could feel the warmth of her slender body against him. As they moved round slowly in a circle she rested her head on his shoulder. He became conscious of her sweet perfume, which seemed to envelop him in her loveliness. At that moment his mobile phone rang. He answered it on the dance floor, making no attempt to stop dancing. “Hello,” Bella’s voice said in his ear, “what are you doing?” “I’m relaxing after a hard day’s work.” “I can hear voices, where are you relaxing?” “In a little eating house not far from the firm’s headquarters.” “Who are you with?” “Some people from the office,” said Paul, stretching the truth, for there were some people from the office in the same eating house. “You need to come home Paul. The police want to talk to you. It would be best if you came home tonight and went to see them tomorrow morning.” “I’ll get a train from Paddington at 10.30 or 10.45, so I won’t be home until the early hours of the morning. Don’t wait up for me, will you?” “No, but why so late in leaving London?” “I’ll explain everything later. See you soon,” he answered and rang off. He then switched off the mobile, so she could not ring him back.
Paul caught sight of the waiter taking a tray of food to their table. He led Katerina by the hand and sat down once again next to her. When they had finished eating she said, “Will you see me home?” “Yes, of course,” replied Paul. They took a taxi to Little Venice, where Katerina had an apartment not far from the railway station. “I’ll put some coffee on,” said Katerina as she opened the front door. “I can’t stay long,” replied Paul. She went towards the kitchen taking off her coat and jacket and throwing them over the nearest armchair. “Take a seat,” she said, “ make yourself at home.”

She returned with two cups of coffee and placed them on a small table next to her visitor’s armchair. She sat on the floor next to him with her back against his legs and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. In an instant she turned round to face him in a kneeling position, smiling up at him. Her smile was captivating, her personality warm and engaging. She took hold of his hands and held them to her breasts, which were full and firm.

“Will you sleep with me?” she asked, in a matter of fact voice. “I have to get back to the West Country. That was my wife on the phone.” Kate put her hands behind his head and pulled him towards her. Their mouths met and she kissed him hard on the lips, her tongue making contact with his. He did not pull away but let her do what she was intent on doing. She removed her other clothes and sat on his knee, naked. “Phone her with some excuse,” she said, “and sleep with me.” “I really can’t,” he said. “Well, make love to me before you go.” “I haven’t time,” said Paul, “and I would be thinking about what I have to do in the morning. I have to make a statement to the police.”
“What about?”
“The circumstances surrounding my mother-in-law’s death,” he replied. She was shaken by this news. “She died in strange circumstances on Saturday night,” he went on, “and the police need to eliminate me from their inquiries.” He drank his coffee, picked up his coat and left the apartment quickly, saying goodbye over his shoulder.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Wednesday, October 25: morning

Anna and Gerrard met together once again to review the flimsy evidence they had so far. They read through the various statements given by the ground staff at Sydney Gardens and some eyewitness accounts, which said they had seen a car driving at high speed near Sydney Gardens, possibly corroborating the evidence given by Vera Phelps. At 9.40 a.m. a police constable knocked and entered the room. “Someone on a phone-in programme late last night called a local radio station, saying they knew the driver of a yellow sports car,” he announced. “The chap’s name is Dickinson, Phillip Dickinson. He lives at Claverton Down. Uniform have checked this out and it seems that he is a likely contender for your driver, sir.” Gerrard got up and made towards the door.

“Right, thank you,” he said to the young constable. Turning to Anna, he said, “Let’s get on to that right away.” She left the room with him.
“There’s a Mr Paul Fellingham to see you sir,” said the desk sergeant, as Gerrard was on his way out, “he’s in the first interview room.”
“Okay,” replied Gerrard “I’ll be there in a moment. Anna, get round to the path lab and find out what is happening with the report and the forensic, please. We’ll leave Mr Dickinson for the time being. I want us both to be there to interview him.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna prepared to leave whilst Gerrard turned on his heel and retraced his steps to interview Laura Fellingham’s son-in-law.
“Good morning, inspector,” said Paul standing up as Gerrard entered the room.
“You know who I am?” asked Gerrard, surprised.
“Yes, I saw you on TV last night when you were asking for any information concerning my mother-in-law.”
“I thought you were in London.”
“I was, but I got a phone call from Bella and came home last night. I switched on the TV when I was getting ready for bed. So, your face is fresh in my mind.”
“It’s taken you a long time to come forward,” said Gerrard.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that.” There was a knock on the door and Anna reappeared. “I’ve tried to contact Phillip Dickinson by phone at his home address but there was no reply. He’s probably at work. I’ll try again after I’ve been to the lab.”
“Do keep trying. And find out where he works. We’ll go there, to his workplace, this afternoon if we have to.” Anna withdrew, leaving her boss with Mr Fellingham.
“Now, your wife has told us that on the Saturday in question, October 21st, you came home from London in the afternoon. Later, you met Isabella, in Bath, and you went for a meal together.”

“No, that’s not what happened.”
“The restaurateur has confirmed your wife’s account. We showed him a photo.”
“It only confirms my own suspicions. The restaurateur wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between me and my twin brother Michael.”
“So, you think it was Michael who met your wife?”
“Undoubtedly. That’s why I came home early. I have suspected this for some time.”
“Now, your wife says that you both went home, made inquiries to hospitals and police for your mother-in-law but were told that a person missing a meeting is not a missing person.”
“No, that’s not true either.”
“Well what is the truth?”
“Bella came home and then we started making inquiries.”
“Did you know she had been with Michael?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her where she had been?”
“Yes, she said that she had been to see her mother and her mother did not turn up.”
“But she came home quite late. Did you not ask her where she had been in the meantime?”
“I didn’t need to. I knew when I arrived home from London that Isabella had a meeting at 8.00 p.m. I saw it on her computer diary. This I now know was the meeting with Michael. She had arranged to meet her mother at an earlier time.”
“So, you stayed at home overnight?”

“Yes. We did not get much joy when we continued to phone all the local hospitals and police on Sunday morning. Isabella kept on during the day. Meanwhile I went back to London. By this time my brother was also making inquiries.”
“You were in touch with him?”
“Yes. We are quite a close family really. That’s why I was not unduly worried at first when I found out that Bella was seeing Michael. They have always been good friends.”
“But now you think that they are more than good friends, lovers in fact?”
“I have suspected it but I have no hard evidence for it.”
“Does your sister-in-law think the same as you?”
“I don’t know. When I said that we are quite a close family I didn’t mean Rita, so much. She is the exception.”
“In what way?”
“She is a bit of a law unto herself. She has always seemed to remain slightly aloof from the rest of us. She has always been a bit of a loner. I don’t mean that she cut herself off from us. I feel that she never confides in any of us. Michael, I know, feels the same way. I’ve talked to him about Rita, from time to time but he cannot come up with a satisfactory explanation, apart from going into his psychological gobbledegook, none of which I understand. Rita is an enigma. None of us know what she is thinking, or what she is going to do next.”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“Yes, you ought