The Breakdown(95)

‘What did your husband do next?’

‘He made a show of looking round the kitchen for the knife but I knew he was just humouring me. And when he didn’t find it, he said I must have been mistaken.’

‘And did you think you were mistaken?’

I shake my head vigorously. ‘No.’

‘So what did you think had happened?’

‘I thought that the big knife was there but that someone had come in through the back door while I was telling Matthew about it and swapped it for a kitchen knife.

I know it sounds stupid but that’s what I believed and that’s what I still believe.’

PC Lawson nods. ‘Can you tell us where you and your husband were on the night of July 17th?’

‘Yes, it was the last day of term – I’m a teacher at Castle Wells High – and I went to a wine bar with some of my colleagues from the school where I worked. There was a storm that night.’

‘And your husband?’

‘He was here, at home.’

‘By himself?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time did you get back?’

‘It must have been about eleven forty-five.’

‘And your husband was here?’





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‘He was asleep in the spare bedroom. He phoned

me as I was leaving Castle Wells to tell me he had a migraine and was going to sleep in the spare room so that I wouldn’t disturb in when I came in.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Just that I wasn’t to come home by Blackwater Lane.

He said there was a storm coming and I should stick to the main road.’

She exchanges a glance with PC Thomas. ‘So when

you got home, your husband was asleep in the spare room.’

‘Yes. I didn’t go and check on him because the door was closed and I didn’t want to disturb him but he must have been there.’ I put a puzzled look on my face. ‘I mean, where else would he have been?’

‘How was your husband the next day, Mrs Anderson?’

PC Thomas takes over.

‘Just his normal self. I went shopping and when I came back he was in the garden. He’d had a bonfire.’

‘A bonfire?’

‘Yes, he’d been burning something. He said it was

branches, which I thought was a bit strange as with the storm and everything they would have been too wet to burn. But he said they’d been under tarpaulin. He doesn’t usually burn braches on the bonfire though, we usually keep them for the chimney. But he said they were the wrong sort.’

‘The wrong sort?’

The Breakdown





385


‘Yes, too smoky or something.’ I pause. ‘I thought


maybe that was why the air smelt a bit funny.’

‘In what way?’

‘I don’t know. It just wasn’t the normal bonfire smell, you know, when you burn wood. But maybe it was the rain.’

‘Did he talk about the Jane Walters murder at all?’

‘All the time,’ I say, hugging myself tighter. ‘It really upset me, especially as I felt I’d known Jane.’ PC Thomas frowns and PC Lawson shakes her head imperceptibly, a warning not to interrupt me. ‘He seemed obsessed by it. I had to ask him to turn off the television on more than one occasion.’

‘Did your husband know Jane Walters?’ PC Lawson

asks, studying my face. She looks over at PC Thomas.

‘Mrs Anderson had lunch with Jane Walters two weeks before she died,’ she explains.

‘No, he only knew of her, from what I’d told him

about her. The day Jane and I had lunch, he came to pick me up but they didn’t meet. Jane saw him through the window though. I remember how surprised she looked,’ I say, smiling at the memory.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that she looked sort of shocked. A lot of

people have that reaction because he’s… well, quite good-looking.’

‘So your husband didn’t know Jane Walters?’ PC

Thomas says, looking disappointed.





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‘No, but my friend Rachel Baretto did. That’s how I met Jane. Rachel took me to a leaving party for someone who worked at Finchlakers and Jane was there.’ I pause.

‘Rachel felt really bad when she heard about Jane because she had a row with her on the day she died.’

‘A row?’ PC Thomas perks up. ‘Did she say what it

was about?’

‘She said it was over a parking space.’

‘A parking space?’

‘Yes.’

‘If she worked with Jane Walters, she must have been interviewed,’ interrupts PC Lawson.

‘She was,’ I nod. ‘I remember because she told me she felt bad that she didn’t tell you about the row. She was worried you might think she was guilty.’

‘Guilty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of what?’

I look at her nervously. ‘I presume she meant the

murder. So I told her that nobody would murder