Border Angels by Anthony Quinn Read Free Book Online

thought he detected a hungry loss in her eyes, as though she had just fled a war or massacre, her body forcibly resettled to that sofa, seeking refuge in the shapeless jacket that sagged so fetchingly for the camera.
    “My sister phoned at the weekend,” said Cassidy. “She wanted me to take her to the priest for advice. She’d just discovered what Jack was up to.”
    “Wouldn’t a decent solicitor have been more useful?”
    “My sister wanted to save her marriage, not end it. Besides, Jack was not the sort of man to have his personal life dragged through the courts.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “He didn’t have much time for the law of the land. Everything had to be done his way.”
    Daly nodded. His interest in Fowler’s personal life had been piqued, but it was too early in the investigation to pry into the dead man’s past. There were set routines that had to be adhered to, procedures that had to be completed before the investigation went any deeper.
    “That’s all for now, Mr. Cassidy,” he said, putting the photo of the mistress in his wallet. “In the meantime, keep an eye on your sister. We want to talk to her later this afternoon.”
    “What do you mean? Is her life in danger, too?”
    “Just don’t leave her alone with her sleeping pills.”
    “Thanks for the concern.”
    “I just want her fit for questioning, that’s all.”
    “Come on. You’re not suggesting she did this to Jack?”
    “A scorned wife is just about the worst thing for an errant husband to run into.”
    Cassidy turned and stared at Irwin, who introduced himself as a Special Branch detective.
    “Why is Special Branch interested in Jack’s death?” asked Cassidy cautiously.
    “A few days ago, the Fraud Squad was due to question Mr. Fowler over his financial dealings,” explained Irwin. “Unfortunately, he didn’t show up at the arranged time. Technically, when he walked out here this morning in his silk dressing gown, he was a fugitive from the law. That’s why we have a professional interest in finding out how he died.”
    Cassidy shook his head. “So he cheated on more than his wife?”
    “That’s what we’re here to find out,” replied Irwin.
    The wind leaked out a whimper, the sound of a dog yelping in distress. Cassidy remembered the task he had been assigned by his sister and made off briskly. A front of cold rain pushed Daly and Irwin away from the comfortless poolside toward the shelter of the house.
    “The possibility that someone murdered Fowler doesn’t make sense to me,” said Irwin. “He finds out that his financial affairs are under police scrutiny and his wife discovers his affair. Then he walks out to the pool in his dressing gown on a cold morning, leaving behind a photograph of his mistress. That suggests suicide to me. Not murder.”
    Daly did not answer. It was certainly the plot, the set, and the location for a suicide, and the photograph suggested the events leading up to Fowler’s death had been high on emotional drama.
    “We need to find out if there’s anything else that might suggest he took his own life,” said Daly. “A suicide note, a history of depression, previous attempts, but for now, we’ll keep an open mind.”
    “If he was murdered, what was the photograph doing at the scene?”
    Daly pondered the question. “Maybe his killer wanted to announce Fowler’s infidelity to the world. Or throw us off the scent.”
    They retraced their steps around the house and then back down the steps to the car. Irwin surveyed the bleak landscape. “Pity there’s no neighbors to call upon.”
    “We’ll have to rely on the autopsy report and his wife’s statement,” said Daly.
    “You’re forgetting the woman in the photograph. A man will tell his mistress things he would never tell his wife.”
    They ran into an officer who had been searching Fowler’s house.
    “It looks like Mr. Fowler was planning a romantic break,” the officer said, holding up a large brown