Dangerous Games by Sally Spencer Read Free Book Online

Get some rest. You need to
compose
yourself.’
    â€˜
Is
it the police?’
    Mrs Rogers sighed. ‘Yes, if you must know, it
is
the police,’ she admitted reluctantly.
    â€˜Then I want to see them.’
    Mrs Rogers shot Woodend and Paniatowski a look of pure venom, then said, ‘Well, now you’ve gone and disturbed the poor woman, I suppose the damage is already done and you’d better follow me.’
    Mrs Pugh was sitting on a deep blue velveteen sofa, around which the rest of the room seemed to have been designed. Woodend’s eyes quickly swept the lounge. The pictures on the walls were mainly of seascapes and horses, and in one corner of the room there was a veneered wood display cabinet which contained ornaments mainly bought as holiday souvenirs. He liked the whole feel of the room himself – it was
cosy
– though he was sure that Paniatowski was already finding it too low-brow and much too conventional for her taste.
    The widow looked up at them. Her eyes were red, and her face was puffy from crying, but she did her best to give them a welcoming smile.
    â€˜This is Chief Inspector Woodend, Mrs Pugh,’ Paniatowski said. ‘He’s my boss.’
    â€˜I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse the state of the place, Mr Woodend,’ Mrs Pugh said.
    â€˜I would, gladly enough – if I needed to,’ Woodend told her. ‘But there
is
no need, is there? You’ve got a lovely home.’
    Mrs Pugh looked grateful for the comment. ‘What was it you were wanting to ask me?’ she said.
    â€˜I was wonderin’ if you knew anythin’ about your husband’s movements last night,’ Woodend said.
    â€˜Why should that matter?’ Mrs Rogers demanded angrily. ‘Wherever he was, and whatever he was doing, he’s still dead, isn’t he?’
    â€˜In case you’ve forgotten, this is my house, our Elaine,’ Mrs Pugh said, in a surprisingly firm voice, ‘and when I’m having a conversation with a visitor, I’ll thank you not to interfere in it.’
    Mrs Rogers folded her arms across her chest. ‘Pardon me for breathing,’ she said.
    â€˜But since you seem to be so interested in knowing why it matters, I’ll tell you,’ Mrs Pugh continued, still talking to her sister. ‘It matters because whatever they’re saying on the wireless about my Terry killing himself, it’s not true. He was murdered.’
    â€˜That’s ridiculous,’ Elaine Rogers said.
    â€˜He was murdered,’ Mary Pugh repeated firmly. ‘Isn’t that right, Mr Woodend?’
    Woodend hesitated. On the one hand, he had his clear and direct orders from a chief constable who already felt himself backed into the corner, and – like a rat which found itself in a similar position – could turn very nasty if he didn’t get his own way. On the other hand, he was dealing here with a woman who desperately needed to know that the life she’d been living had been more than a lie – that she really had
known
the father of her unborn child.
    â€˜The official view at the moment is still that your husband
did
commit suicide,’ he said.
    â€˜Isn’t that just what I’ve been telling you all along!’ Elaine Rogers said.
    â€˜But I can see that you don’t accept that view yourself, Mrs Pugh,’ Woodend continued. ‘Well, I can’t stop you thinkin’ whatever you choose to think …’ he paused, ‘… an’, as a matter of fact, I’m not sure that I’d really want to.’
    Mrs Pugh turned to his sister again, with an expression on her face which was half-despair, half-triumph.
    â€˜I’m right,’ she said. ‘They know I’m right.’
    â€˜
Do
you know where your husband was last night?’ Paniatowski asked Mrs Pugh.
    â€˜He told me he was going to the Tanners’ Arms.’
    Which was not more than a quarter of