Devil in the Detail by A.J. Cross (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

happens in large investigations: two professionals go head-to-head, each with his own perspective.’

She watched as he stood, the words out of her mouth almost before she heard them. ‘How about some coffee? Or juice? … Sorry, there isn’t any juice … Coffee?’

‘I’d love some, but Brophy is expecting me. He’s going to instruct me on any role I might have here over the next few days’ – he grinned – ‘to which I shall listen with close attention while thinking about when I can next take you up on that offer of coffee.’ He raised his hand. ‘See you soon, Chloe.’

Fixing her attention on the file, hearing the door close, she cursed herself, unable to recall anyone, any man, with Julian Devenish’s ability to turn her into a stuttering idiot.

On his journey to the Lawrence house, following a brief telephone conversation with Mrs Monroe, Traynor’s thoughts were on the next hour. Watts was right from his police perspective: they needed all the information Molly Lawrence had to offer. Traynor’s job was to assist her to do that but without causing her further emotional damage.

Parking his car, he approached the house, acknowledging the chilled-looking police officer standing next to the front door. It was opened by Mrs Monroe. She led him to a sitting room with offers of tea or coffee. ‘I’m making one for the officer outside.’

‘Thank you, no. We’re very grateful to Molly for her willingness to talk again.’

‘I wanted her to stay in the hospital. They were so good to her there, but she insisted on being allowed home and they gave into her. From the little she’s said to me, I think she trusts you, Dr Traynor.’

‘Since I saw her, has she spoken to you at all about what happened?’

‘Not a word. I’m hoping that now she’s home she’ll feel more relaxed.’ She looked around the pleasant, well-furnished room. ‘The problem I see is that this was their home, hers and Mike’s. How she feels being back here, I don’t know. She hasn’t said.’ She pointed to a photograph on a nearby table. ‘That’s them on their wedding day. I want to put it away but I know I can’t do that.’

Traynor went to it. ‘May I?’

She nodded.

He reached for it, absorbing Mike Lawrence’s dark good looks, Molly in her white, low-cut dress, a mist of fine veiling around her shoulders, her face open, smiling.

‘Hello, Dr Traynor.’

Carefully setting down the photograph, he looked up at her. She was dressed in a soft pink sweater and jeans, looking somewhat thinner than when he last saw her.

‘Hello, Mrs Lawrence. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me again.’

‘Please, it’s Molly. Have a seat.’ To her mother, she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

Mrs Monroe left the room. Traynor’s optimism rose slightly. She looked frail, yet the few words and her general demeanour suggested an assurance he hadn’t observed in the distressed woman he’d met at the hospital. Her next words confirmed his thinking.

‘I’m glad you’re here. Glad for another opportunity to talk.’ Her deep blue eyes regarded him. ‘I have to face up to what’s happened. Talk about it. Help the police. I won’t allow whoever did this to us to cause me to sink into …’ She looked away. ‘I have to get a grip, move on with my life. I owe it to Mike.’ She looked down at her clasped hands. ‘Ask me whatever questions you like. I’ll do my best to answer them.’

‘How about you tell me whatever you recall?’

She stared at him for several seconds. ‘I don’t know what to say. I mean … I don’t know where to start.’ She looked away to the window. ‘I told you that Mike and I went to the hospital … and from there we visited his parents … left there, drove into the city, had dinner …’ Her gaze was fixed straight ahead. ‘The traffic was really heavy. Lots of road closures. We got lost. Mike was getting angry. Not angry. He was concerned for me. I was tired and he wanted to get me home as soon as he could and …’ She stopped, drew breath. ‘Everything changed. Everything got … difficult.’ She pressed her hand to her mouth.

‘There’s no rush, Molly,’ said Traynor quietly. ‘Tell me how things got difficult.’

She squeezed closed her eyes. ‘We didn’t know where we were and suddenly there was a sign, an arrow. Mike followed it. To get away from the traffic, get us home … And then, we were in this horrible place. A street.’ Her eyes moved to Traynor. ‘We must have taken a wrong turn. It was so dark. No lights. I said to Mike to drive, get us away. He didn’t.’

Traynor asked quietly, ‘Why didn’t he drive away, Molly?’

‘There was something not right with the car. When we got into it after leaving the restaurant, I noticed that the interior light wasn’t working. As we drove, the engine sounded … odd. I asked Mike what was wrong. I’d driven it the day before without any problem.’ She looked up at Traynor. ‘Have you seen that place? The place where it happened?’

‘Yes.’

She gripped her upper arms. ‘We were halfway along it when Mike pulled over and stopped the car.’ She hung her head. There was another lengthy pause. ‘Mike started revving the engine. It sounded OK, but then …’ The knuckles of her hands showed white. ‘There was a movement outside the car. A shadow. At Mike’s window. Before we had a chance to think, to do anything, it moved to my side. One of the rear doors opened.’ Her eyes were stark now in her pale face.

‘You’re in control here, Molly. You can stop whenever you wish.’

‘He had a gun,’ she whispered. ‘I’d never seen a real gun. He pointed it at Mike.’ She stared ahead, transfixed.

‘Why did he point the gun at Mike?’

She turned to him. ‘Mike put his hands up.’ She slowly raised both her hands. ‘Like this.’

‘What happened next?’

There was a brief silence, then: ‘He