Chapter 31
So far they’d found no plausible motive for the murder of Sue Potter. If it was a case of mistaken identity, that would explain a lot. And it would also mean that Sue Potter had been remarkably unlucky.
Suzy Porter’s home was a hugely extended modern bungalow situated at the far end of the village, on the other side of the church from Sue Potter’s cottage. It dominated the small enclave, with the neighbouring houses seemingly clustered around it.
The front door was opened by a slender woman in her late fifties or early sixties, not far off Sue Potter’s age.
Her blonde hair was so immaculately bobbed that she looked as though she’d just emerged from the hairdresser’s.
She was wearing a beige top and a pair of well-cut trousers.
The thought that she had a small, mean mouth flashed though Wesley’s head.
But he dismissed this as uncharitable. It was wrong to make a judgement about the woman before they’d even spoken to her.
‘You’ll be the police, I suppose,’ she said, looking them up and down with disapproval. ‘You took your time.’
‘May we come in?’ said Wesley at his most polite. If he’d left it to Gerry, one of his blunt responses might have brought on a complaint to the chief superintendent.
She instructed them to wipe their feet before leading them into a living room filled with expensive-looking pale-wood furniture, a cream sofa and off-white carpet – the sort of room guaranteed to give anyone visiting with a chocolate-fingered toddler a nervous breakdown.
A pair of small pedigree dogs, white to match the decor, lay placidly on two of the armchairs, showing no curiosity about the visitors.
Wesley couldn’t help thinking how Sherlock would have greeted the newcomers with a wagging tail and a welcoming bark.
Suzy Porter sat down in an armchair that resembled an oversized marshmallow and signalled them with a wave of a beautifully manicured hand to take a seat on the sofa.
‘You’ve been receiving threats, I believe?’ Wesley began.
‘That’s right. Death threats. I want to know what you’re going to do about it.’
‘What form did these threats take? Letters? Phone calls?’
‘Emails. I’ll show you.’
She rose from the armchair’s squishy embrace and walked over to a large Louis XV-style bureau in the corner of the room; an over-fussy piece of furniture that Pam wouldn’t have given house room. She opened the desk section and took out a state-of-the art laptop, which she handed to Wesley.
‘Nasty,’ he said once he’d read the email on the screen.
Gerry took the laptop and read it out loud. ‘ “You’re a thief and everyone deserves to know it. Lawrence is mine and you stole him. You’re going to die a horrible death. Punishment comes to everyone eventually. Get ready for hell.” ’
‘That’s only the latest. There were more, but I deleted them.’
Wesley noted the date. The day before Sue Potter was murdered.
‘Have you any idea who sent them?’
‘The only person I can think of is Claire Mountjoy, my second ex-husband’s sister. She’s always resented me. I think she’s jealous of my success,’ she added smugly.
‘Have you an address for her?’
‘Yes. She lives in Tradmouth, so she’s not far away.’
‘Why would she start threatening you now?’
She gave a dramatic shrug. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Who’s Lawrence?’ Gerry asked. ‘One of your ex-husbands?’
The woman looked affronted. ‘Of course not. Lawrence is my lion.’
Wesley and Gerry looked at each other. ‘Your lion?’
She gestured toward a large bookcase at the far end of the room. It held a number of thin volumes, whose bright covers looked out of place in the otherwise monochrome room. But something about them jogged a memory.
‘Do those belong to your children?’ Wesley asked tentatively. ‘Grandchildren?’
‘I have no children. Never wanted any. I wrote them.’
He suddenly realised why the books looked so familiar. ‘You’re Daisy Cootes. The Lawrence the Lion stories. My kids used to love them when they were small.’
Suzy Porter gave a gracious nod of acknowledgement. ‘They sell well. Although I get pestered by children all the time.’ She wrinkled her nose as though she’d smelled something distasteful. ‘I’m not a great fan of children, to tell you the truth.’
All Wesley’s illusions about kindly Daisy Cootes crafting her charming tales of a cowardly lion were shattered at that moment.
‘Look, do you think that woman was killed by mistake? Was I the real target? Am I in danger?’
Wesley didn’t answer her question. ‘Have you ever heard of a lanzani?’ he asked instead.
‘It’s a legendary beast; vicious, I believe. I came across it while I was researching fantastic creatures for a new series my agent wants me to write. Why do you ask?’
‘Nobody’s ever compared you to one?’
She seemed torn between anger and amusement. ‘Of course not. That’s ridiculous.’
‘If we can take the laptop, our tech people should be able to trace the sender of those emails.’
Suzy looked at Wesley as though he’d just made an indecent suggestion. ‘I need it for my work. I have a deadline.’
‘We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible,’ he said smoothly. If we could have Ms Mountjoy’s address.’
She returned to the bureau and scribbled something on a sheet of violet deckle-edged notepaper.
‘What about your ex-husbands?’
‘I don’t have their contact details handy,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘But I’m sure none of them were responsible. Not their style at all.’
Wesley had another question. ‘Have you ever had any dealings with a man called Jim Baker? He’s an artist and used to live opposite the woman who was murdered.’
‘He played very loud music,’ Gerry chipped in. ‘Didn’t make himself popular with his neighbours.’
Suzy pressed her lips together in disapproval.
‘I’m glad to say I’ve never met him, and I’m far enough away for his music not to cause me a problem.
This house is pleasingly quiet. Apart from a few weeks ago, when I had to keep my windows closed because of work going on nearby.
Some people are so thoughtless. I need peace and quiet when I’m working. ’
‘I can appreciate that,’ said Wesley.
‘What about police protection?’ she said as she handed him the address. ‘If the killer finds out they got the wrong woman . . .’
‘I’ll see what I can do, love,’ said Gerry. ‘In the meantime, be careful about your security and make sure all your doors are kept locked.’
As she showed them out, she didn’t look at all happy.
‘Do you think she’s right, Wes?’ Gerry asked as they walked to the car. ‘Do you think the killer got the wrong woman?’
Wesley didn’t answer.