A Narrow Return by Faith Martin Read Free Book Online

suspect so far.
    ‘Debbie Gregg, now aged sixty-two, and divorced,’ Jimmy recited from memory, although her dossier was locked up in the boot of his car, and could be consulted before they started the interview if need be. ‘Her husband, Shane Gregg died in an RTA three years after the divorce – no suspicious circs – and she’s remained unmarried since. She moved from the former family home to a place in Brackley. Nothing known against her since.’
    In other words, Hillary mused, she had no criminal record, and hadn’t done anything to bring herself to the attention of the police since her sister’s murder.
    ‘She have a sheet before the killing?’ she asked curiously.
    ‘No, guv.’
    They reached the car and Jimmy retrieved the dossier and gave it to her before getting behind the wheel. As he’d half-expected, she spent the travel time to the Northamptonshire market town where Debbie Gregg now lived reading everything that Squire’s team had been able to get on her.
    When they finally pulled up outside a small semi-detached council house on a large estate, Hillary repressed a small sigh of satisfaction. So, the hunt was on. There was no denying it – she’d missed all of this: The comradeship she was beginning to build up with Jimmy; the sense of purpose to be gained in bringing some kind of closure, if not justice, to that most feared of all human sins – homicide, talking to witnesses, ferreting out the truth, putting the pieces together, and seeing if she could get a clear picture of what had actually happened the day that Anne McRae had lost her life.
    It felt damned good to be back!
    She climbed out and glanced around. The estate was neat and tidy, with a few middle-range cars parked in the driveways, and most of the gardens were colourful and well tended. It wasn’t exactly luxury living, but it was hardly a high-rise in a slum either.
    ‘She didn’t do too badly for herself, considering,’ Hillary said thoughtfully. She knew only too well how a close brush with murder could tarnish and destroy lives for years afterwards. The family of murder victims never got over it, and even those who were suspected of being the instigator of a crime could feel the effects rippling down through the years. Jobs that were never offered when their past came to light; offended neighbours who made their feelings all too clear. A lot of people so tainted took to drink, or became bitter and antisocial. And a good proportion of them ended up addicted to drugs, or out on the street. Or walking them, looking for punters.
    It would be interesting to see how Debbie Gregg had fared.
    ‘Somebody’s in at any rate, guv,’ Jimmy said, motioning towards the house. ‘I just saw the curtains move.’
    Hillary nodded, and they walked up to the gate. Jimmy lifted the latch and let her go through first. The courtesy was automatic for him, and Hillary accepted it as automatically. She rang the doorbell and waited. A moment later, it was opened cautiously a bare inch or so and a woman looked out at them from around the door chain.
    ‘Yes?’
    Hillary held up her ID card. Once it would have been a full police badge, with the words Detective Inspector on it. Now it was a white laminated card, with her picture and some sort of red-motif that identified her as a civilian consultant with the Thames Valley Police Service.
    ‘Hello, Mrs Gregg is it? I’m Hillary Greene. I’m working with the Thames Valley Police. We’re looking again into your sister’s case, and I wondered if we could have a word? This is my colleague, James Jessop.’
    The door closed in their faces, and for a moment, Hillary wondered if it was going to open again. And if it didn’t, she’d have no other recourse but to turn around and go somewhere else. She now had no authority to demand entrance, nor did she have the authority to take someone in for questioning. Or even arrest them. For that, she’d need Steven Crayle.
    Then came the slither of the chain