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

down the phone. From what she had just been told, they had all of the clothes Molly Lawrence was wearing on the evening she and her husband were shot.

12.10 p.m.

Mrs Monroe was looking agitated. ‘I had to ring you, Dr Traynor. I’m so worried. She’ll probably tell you she’s feeling much better. She isn’t. She sits upstairs or in here, staring straight ahead. No television. No books. She refuses to talk to her work colleagues when they ring, including this really nice woman who’s her assistant. She doesn’t go out. To be honest, I’m glad about that because if she did, I’d be worried sick about where she was and what she was doing or might do.’ She looked across at Traynor. ‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’

‘Has Molly seen her GP?’

‘She refused to go.’

‘Then, I’m sorry to say, I don’t think there’s much you can do, Mrs Monroe.’ He guessed that she was not yet aware of what Molly had told him about the sexual assault.

‘Can you do anything, Dr Traynor?’

‘My work with her is very specific to the police investigation.’

‘I understand the police need answers and it must be very frustrating that she’s so reluctant to talk, but …’ She shook her head. ‘There’s just no end to this nightmare.’

The door drifted open. Traynor stood as Molly came into the room, with a glance for her mother.

‘Are you telling Dr Traynor what a lost cause I am?’

‘Molly, please—’

‘I wasn’t expecting you, Will, but it’s not a problem.’

Mrs Monroe left the room. He watched Molly move slowly to the sofa and sit. To Traynor, she looked deathly pale. ‘How are you?’

‘Getting there. Shall we start?’

He kept his voice and tone low-key. ‘The last time I saw you, you told me about something else that happened to you that night.’

‘I remember.’

‘Have you thought about speaking about it to one of my police colleagues, the young woman I mentioned whom you’ve met before?’

She looked up at him, a trace of a smile on her face. ‘The young officer with the spikey blonde hair who came to the hospital? She was nice, really supportive, but …’ She shook her head. ‘I just can’t talk about it.’

Traynor carefully framed his response. ‘Given the nature of what the man did, if you reconsider, would you ring Detective Inspector Watts?’

‘I don’t want more people, police, in my life. I want everything just … normal.’ She glanced in the direction of the front door. ‘How could I be so stupid?’ she whispered. ‘Those two officers who stand outside. I didn’t question why. They’re here to protect me and my mother, aren’t they?’

Traynor’s response was non-specific. ‘It’s routine in a lot of situations. By the way, your watch.’ She looked up at him, her face expressionless. ‘It’s safe. My police colleagues have it. They’re examining it and it will be released to you as soon as possible.’

She rubbed her arms as though cold. ‘I’m not sure I want it back.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘I remember afterwards … when he’d gone … I felt for it in my pocket and … it got sticky. From my hand.’

He made a quick note. ‘Is there anything else you want to say about what happened that night?’

He wrote the now-familiar words she had used before when describing the progression of events that night. He could not recall anyone he had worked with who had had such rigidly fixed recall. Focused on his note-taking, he allowed no hint of frustration on to his face. Reaching the point where their belongings had been taken, her voice slowed, then stopped. She added none of the detail she had divulged previously. He looked up at her. She looked away, towards the window.

‘I’m sorry, Will, but I just can’t go there again. We need to finish this. I’m wasting your time.’

Traynor was now certain that he would not gain any additional information from her within a timescale useful to his colleagues, yet he had a professional responsibility towards her.

‘How do you feel about talking to someone who has nothing to do with the police investigation? Someone to help you make sense of what’s happened.’

She looked at him. ‘Who?’

‘The person I have in mind specializes in working with people who have experienced trauma, to help them adjust, to face the future.’

‘Who?’ she repeated.

‘She’s a forensic psychiatrist—’

‘No!’

Her vehemence was unexpected. ‘That’s OK, Molly. It’s your choice. If you change your mind, let me know—’

‘I won’t.’

He looked at her, wondering what might be behind her refusal to cause such a stark response. She turned away from him. ‘I don’t want to do that. I had a friend, years ago. She saw a psychiatrist. She told me it was horrendous. I can’t do it, Will. I’ve been through enough.’ She stood. ‘I’m tired.’

He walked with her to the hall, watched as she slowly climbed the stairs. Mrs Monroe appeared from the kitchen. He had no reassuring words for this woman.

‘I’ll phone you in a couple of days, just to see how she is.’

He drove away from the house, preoccupied with the whole case.

5 p.m.

Inside the incident room all eyes were on Kumar writing up the details Jones was relating. ‘We’ve talked to some of the close relatives, friends and associates of Mr and Mrs Lawrence, specifically to Mike Lawrence’s parents, his brother and his two sisters to try and establish if it’s possible that whoever attacked them knew them. They were really upset by the idea. None of them said anything which suggested to us that Mike Lawrence and his wife were shot by someone they knew.’ He waited for Kumar to catch up.

‘Where did you see Brendan Lawrence?’ asked Watts.

‘His business premises. He said you’d been there, Sarge. We know he’s a person of interest but he didn’t say anything to us that sounded useful. He didn’t look well and he mentioned he was planning to take a few days off. Do you want us to see him again? Maybe at his home?’

‘No.’