The Black Widow (8 page)

She glanced briefly into the spare bedroom, her face instantly reflecting the pain she felt.

Mike's throat tightened.

Spotting Mike watching her, she smiled and walked towards him, her face pale and her eyes still swollen from all the crying she'd done the day before.

They embraced without saying a word, Mandy resting her head against Mike's chest. “I woke up in the night and you weren't here,” she said softly.

Mike nodded. “Called out,” he said simply, his mind turning over. Standing here with her in his arms, he was horrified to realise that he didn't want to be here with her.

He wanted away from her. He didn't feel any resentment or hatred, not that he was aware of, but he didn't want to be near her. Awkward and uncomfortable, Mike eased her away. The stunned look on her face tore into his heart, yet he couldn't bring himself to hold her again.

“I need to have a shower.”

Mike headed into the bathroom, aware of Mandy's hurt gaze ripping shreds into his back.

***

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, Mike went downstairs and found Mandy sat at the kitchen table drinking from her favourite mug and staring into space. Unsure of what to say to her after their encounter on the landing, he poured himself a cup of coffee from the peculator.

How can I support her through this when I'm going through the same pain?
He worried about his feelings of resentment towards Mandy and hoped it was a phase.

“So, what happened last night?” Mandy asked without looking at him.

“A house fire. One fatality, a male.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Mike shook his head and shrugged. “I'm okay.”

“So it isn't that that's bothering you.”

Mike lowered his head and said nothing. Though he felt terrible for causing her more pain, he just couldn't bring himself to go to her.

“We always talk about everything,” Mandy said. “Why is this morning any different?”

“Do you
want
to talk about a man dying in a house fire?”

Mandy flinched at his tone. “Not especially, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you.”

Mike told her a rough version of the events from last night. He left out the gory details but told her enough. He didn't tell her of his suspicions of murder.

“You think the woman did it, the guy's wife.”

“Why do you say that?”

Mandy turned and looked at him. “I can tell. I know you too well.”

For the next couple of minutes, neither spoke. Mike's mind felt like an out of control cart rolling downhill. Thought's of the fertility test and last night's case became tangled and twisted as the lack of sleep formed a heavy mind fog over the two incidents.

Wondering what he should do, and where to start, he startled when Mandy stood and approached him. He stiffened and lowered his head. She poured herself another coffee from the peculator beside him and sat back down.

Watching her from behind as she once again began staring into space, Mike felt a rush of grief. She needed him right now, needed him to lean on, to talk to and draw strength from. But he just couldn't do it.

He knew he should just go to her and take her in his arms, hold her close and comfort her. But his own grief lay just beneath the surface, a surface as easily cracked as thin ice. He was afraid that if the thin ice broke, he wouldn't be able to control everything that may come pouring out.

Without saying a word, Mike placed his still full coffee cup down and slowly walked out of the kitchen.

***

“You need to talk to her,” Carl told him 45 minutes later. “You need to help each other if you're going to get through this.”

Mike remembered the hurt look Mandy had given him as he left for work. She hadn't said a word, just watched him from the kitchen doorway as he'd shrugged on his coat and walked out of the door. He had seen her pain clearly, yet he'd left her alone, focusing his energy on work rather than dwell on the too painful details that severely affected his marriage.

He knew that Carl was right, but, damn it, it wasn't fair. Why was he expected to provide Mandy with all this support―what about him?

Who was going to be there for him when he completely drained his already limited emotional resources after supporting his wife through a trauma that was just as much his own. He knew if he voiced these opinions that he'd appear cold and selfish.

He couldn't help it, that's just how he felt.

“You can get through this,” Carl assured him. “With time and communication, you'll come through stronger together. But you have to go through it together and come out on the other side together.”

The two men were sat outside the Harrison's house. Mike wanted to confront the wife with the interesting information that he'd learnt just twenty minutes earlier. Coupled with what he'd learnt last night, he was anxious to talk to the grieving widow. Unwilling to discuss his marital problems, though he knew that Carl was only trying to help, Mike opened the passenger door and got out of the car.

Carl followed and both men stepped up to Mrs Harrison's front door. Expecting a very hostile Mrs Harrison, Mike was relieved when a rather overweight middle-aged man opened the door. “Mr Harrison?”

The man nodded. “I'm detective Mike Jamison and this is detective Carl Worthington. May we speak with Mrs Turner?”

The man frowned at them. “Are you here to accuse her of anything? Because if you are, I'd like to call my solicitor to accompany her.” His wife had obviously told him about Mike's behaviour the night before.

“We're not accusing anyone, Mr Harrison. But a man did die here last night, and in order to conduct a thorough investigation we need to gather all the facts. We only need a few minutes of Mrs Turner's time.”

Mr Harrison frowned then stood aside to let the men in. Leaning in close so only Mike could hear, Carl whispered “take it easy, Mike”

Mike gritted his teeth, bristling at the warning. “Cheryl's in there,” Mr Harrison said. He gestured to the closed door of the living room. “I'd like to remind you that she lost her husband last night and woke this morning a young widow. As you should be able to imagine, she's rather heartbroken.”

“We'll be brief,” Mike assured him.

Mr Harrison opened the door and walked in, his determined stride giving Mike the impression that he was going to be sure they did just that. Indeed, he immediately stood by Mrs Turner's side and gave Mike a look that clearly said he'd better be careful.

“How are you feeling, Mrs Turner?” Mike asked.

She certainly looked the part of the grieving widow this morning. Her dyed blond hair was stringy and greasy, hanging in oily coils around her pale face. Her raw red eyes seemed to have shrunk an inch into her skull and she visibly shook. She stared vacantly at the coffee table in front of her. She wore a large beige shirt, probably her husband's.

Observing her, Mike felt a sudden flicker of doubt. What if he was wrong? He remembered the grotesque corpse, curled on its side with the arms covering the head. He thought of the look this woman had been directing at his back and the facts he'd gathered so far.

His doubt disappeared as quickly as it came. This woman had plenty of reasons to hate her husband enough to kill him.

It turns out that the late Dave Turner had been a lover of the ladies and had been having not one, but two affairs.

A Miss Sheila Carlson had contacted the department earlier, asking if she could speak to an officer regarding the Dave Turner accident. Mike had spoken to the woman' who was Dave's secretary.

In a broken and distressed voice, the woman told Mike that she and Dave had been having an affair for the past month or so. She was engaged to be married and didn't want her fiancée to find out. Mike explained that the investigation was ongoing and he couldn't control what her fiancée or Dave's widow were to find out when Miss Carlson dropped a bomb.

Dave Turner's wife had known of the affair.

When asked how she could be so sure as Mike's skin prickled with excitement at the possible strong motive, Miss Carlson had said simply "the email".

She hadn't known whether Turner's wife had suspected the affair between the two, but she claimed that the wife had found out for sure around a week before Dave's death. Miss Carlson had sent Dave an email picture of the two having sex on Turner's desk during their lunch break.

She hadn't known that Dave would remain out of the office for the remainder of that day.

Miss Carlson had worked until 5pm and gone home.

It was the next morning after she spoke with Mr Turner that she learnt he hadn't seen her email. Turner had hastily checked his email account and found the email in the deleted folder.

There was only his wife, Miss Carlson told Mike, that could have done that.

She said that Dave had been distracted and anxious all day, disturbed that his wife hadn't said anything to him about the incident and distraught at the thought of her leaving him.

Mike managed to keep quiet regarding Dave's so-called concern that his young wife may leave him when he happened to know that the man had been having an affair with his ex-wife and had promised her a divorce from Cheryl in order to reconcile their relationship.

It sounded to Mike as if the bloke hadn't a clue as to what, or who, he wanted.

He asked Sheila what happened next and she said it'd been bizarre. The day after Dave learnt his wife had opened the email, he'd come into work happy and claiming he and his beautiful young wife were starting a family. Sheila had managed to speak privately with Dave and he'd said after years of asking, Cheryl had suddenly told him she wanted to start a family.

She had not mentioned the email.

Asking Sheila how she'd felt about that, keeping in mind that her answer could mark her as a person of interest if he were able to prove Turner's death as murder, he was relieved at her cold answer.

She hadn't cared. The affair had been purely about the sex for her and there were, she told Mike bluntly, many perks to screwing your boss. That the woman could be so cold and self-absorbed, that she couldn't care less about the death of a man that she'd been sleeping with a week ago stunned Mike.

Dave Turner may have had a thing for the ladies, but he sure didn't have any luck with them.

Mike asked Sheila about Mr Turner's drinking habits, and to his dismay she confirmed that not only had he been a rather heavy drinker, but he also had the habit of drinking vodka from a bottle that he kept by his bed to help him sleep, followed by a cigarette.

Dave Turner's ex-wife had also confirmed this habit.

Ending the conversation as politely as he could, Mike sat looking through his notes for a couple of minutes and realised he'd found the motive he'd been looking for. He pondered life insurance and inheritance, but at this point he felt this was merely a perk.

He ran his questions through his mind as he watched Cheryl Turner, the warning to take it easy from Carl echoing in his mind.

"Mrs Turner, do you know a Miss Sheila Carlson?"

She kept her head in her hands and didn't respond to his question.

"Did Mr Turner ever mention this woman to you? Does the name sound at all familiar?"

She shook her head and sobbed loudly.

Mike was aware of Mr Harrison's gaze upon him and Mike purposely avoided his eyes. Aware that he was being intentionally ignored, Mr Harrison spoke up. "Who is this woman and what does she have to do with Dave's accident?"

Mike leaned forward, his eyes on Mrs Turner. "Think, Mrs Turner. Did your husband ever mention her or speak with her over the phone in your company? Did you ever meet her?"

Mrs Turner shook her head roughly, her face still covered by her hands. Mr Harrison, his face now flushed an angry red spoke again. "I'll ask again since you chose to ignore me the first time: Who is this woman and what does she have to do with Dave's accident?"

"The question is for Mrs Turner," Mike answered, still watching Mrs Turner closely. She was crying loudly now, her cries muffled and pressed her hands over her face.

"This poor young woman lost her husband last night in a horrific accident. You insinuate not one hour later Cheryl is involved, then turn up today throwing women's names at her. Dave died in a fire, what on earth would this woman, whoever she is, or Cheryl, have to do with that?

"It's one name, Mr Harrison," Mike said calmly, "and it's a name I'm surprised Cheryl doesn't know."

"Just what are you trying to achieve here, detective? Pushing to see how much this young woman can take before she has a breakdown? Do you have no heart, no compassion? Is that part of police training; to stamp out all decency and empathy? If so detective may I say, you're definitely one of the best."

"Mike," Carl said softly.

Although slightly stung by Mr Harrison's outburst and the warning tone in Carl's voice, Mike began to explain calmly that Cheryl should answer the question in order to aid the investigation into her husband's accident, but Mr Harrison spoke over, continuing on with his speech about 'supporting the poor girl' when all three men suddenly startled as Mrs Turner roared and slammed her fist loudly on the coffee table.

"You bastard," she hissed at Mike. "What the hell does his secretary have to do with this?"

Though his heart was thumping at the sudden violent outburst, Mike leaned forward and looked her in the eye. "So you
do
know her then?"

Her face reflected surprise and panic for a brief second as she realised her temper had gotten the better of her and she lowered her head. "What do you know about her, Mrs Turner?"

"Cheryl?" Mr Harrison said softly as she sobbed loudly. Turning her head to look at him she said tearfully "She's his secretary. Dave was having an affair with her. He broke down and told me everything, said he was sorry and that he loved me. We agreed to get through it together. That's why we started trying for a baby; to make us stronger."

She was lying.

Mike stared at her, his skin crawling in goose bumps. According to the details taken from Sheila, Cheryl hadn't mentioned the email Dave, even though he knew that she'd seen it. It'd been Cheryl's idea to have a baby, not Dave's. Although she was a self-absorbed and apparently cold woman, Mike was more inclined to believe the secretary right now.