‘If you’re asking me if Tom killed Giles Kenworthy, that’s ridiculous. Of course not. Tom’s not like that. He saves lives, and you have no idea the pressure he’s under, Mr Hawthorne – like everyone in the NHS. In fact, if you really want to know, that was what the argument was about two weeks ago. A man died. It was Giles Kenworthy’s fault.’
‘How did that happen?’
Gemma Beresford was still angry. She had one eye on the clock. She had to pick up her children. But she wasn’t going to leave without telling Hawthorne the truth about what had occurred.
‘Tom was leaving for work. It was just another day, but he had to get in on time because the surgery was short-staffed. Also, he had a patient coming in at nine o’clock, a man he’d been treating for several months. His name was Raymond Shaw. He wasn’t particularly old – in his forties, I think – but he was overweight, with high cholesterol, high blood pressure . . . a heart attack waiting to happen. And it did happen that morning. Tom got held up because the driveway was blocked and Mr Shaw was waiting for him in the surgery. He waited twenty minutes and he kept asking the receptionist when Tom was going to arrive and he got more and more angry and then it happened. He had what’s called an SCA. A sudden cardiac arrest. By the time Tom arrived, he was already dead. Of course, the surgery had done everything they could to revive him. Nobody blamed Tom, and as I said, Mr Shaw could have had the heart attack at any time. Anyone can be held up in traffic or whatever, and twenty minutes late is hardly negligence.
‘But Tom blamed himself. That’s the sort of man he is. And that’s why he lost his temper and may have said some stupid things to Giles Kenworthy. We all say stupid things from time to time, things we don’t mean. The idea that he crept out, stole a crossbow and put a bolt into him is out of the question. You don’t know Tom! Anyway, it’s impossible. He was here all night in bed, next to me, so if you’ve got him on your list of suspects, you’ll have to add me to it too.’
She took another look at her watch.
‘And now I really have to go.’
‘Just one last thing,’ Hawthorne said. ‘If your husband didn’t kill Giles Kenworthy, who do you think did?’
‘How can I possibly answer that?’
‘The police seem to think that it may have been one of the residents living in Riverview Close,’ Dudley chipped in. ‘You probably know them as well as anyone.’
‘I know them well enough to know that none of them would be capable of such a thing.’
‘You’d be surprised who’s capable of murder, Mrs Beresford,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Is there someone you’re trying to protect?’
Her eyes flared. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘You live with these people. Maybe you’ve seen something. I understand! You want to play nice neighbours. But you all hated Giles Kenworthy.’
‘I didn’t hate him.’
‘There was something about a dog . . .’
Gemma looked scornful. ‘That was dreadful. Poor May and Phyllis! Their dog fell into the well and they blamed him. But they’re both in their eighties. They’re completely harmless! I certainly can’t see them creeping around with a crossbow in the middle of the night.’
‘Did you ever hear anyone else talking about killing Giles Kenworthy, Mrs Beresford?’ Dudley asked.
For just a brief moment, Gemma was unsure of herself. ‘No. Of course not. When would anyone ever say something like that? I never heard anything!’ She stopped herself. ‘You won’t turn me against my neighbours,’ she went on. ‘Just as you’ll never turn them against Tom and me.’
‘Is that what you’ve all agreed?’
‘It’s how we are.’
She stood up, signalling that she wanted Hawthorne and Dudley to leave.
‘I like the jewellery,’ Dudley said. ‘Is that a snake around your neck?’
‘As a matter of fact, I designed it. I have a jewellery business. And it’s part of my Rare Poison collection.’
‘Sounds unusual.’
‘The necklace is shaped like the butterfly viper that lives in Central Africa. The creature is really quite wonderful with its brilliant blue-green markings and bright red triangles. It’s also venomous. The earrings are inspired by the webs of the orb-weaver spider from Madagascar, which turn gold in sunlight. I’m exploring the correlation between beauty and death in nature.’
‘They look lovely but they kill you,’ Hawthorne said.
Gemma Beresford smiled for the first time. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well, she was nice,’ Dudley said as they watched Gemma Beresford drive out of the close, on her way to her children’s playgroup.
‘Interesting woman,’ Hawthorne agreed. ‘What’s she hiding?’
Dudley raised his eyebrows. ‘The truth? She’d certainly heard someone talking about the death of Mr Kenworthy. Before it happened.’
