Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Be about eleven thirtyish.”

“Was her front door open?”

“Yes, and I could hear that music playing.”

“Did you go in straight away?”

“No, I came home first. I went into the kitchen and let my little dog out the back door so she could do her business.”

Gardener glanced around, but couldn’t see the animal.

“And then?”

“I let her back in ten minutes later and I could still hear the same song, which I thought was a long time for one song to be playing. I noticed her kitchen light was on, but the curtains were drawn.”

“Go on,” encouraged Gardener.

“Well, I went back out front, see? The song stopped and then started again. I was none too happy about it, so I thought I’d go and have a word. Decent people don’t want to be listening to that all hours of the morning.”

“Did you see anyone else out front?”

“No. Anyway, I went down her path and knocked on the door and called out her name. I never heard her say anything back, so I knocked again, listened more closely. She still didn’t answer. I thought about going home. I mean, you don’t want to walk in on anyone doing

that sort of thing, do you? Could be rather embarrassing.”

Gardener could well imagine, especially for a straight-laced widow of five years. “What made you go inside?”

“Well, the fact that she might not have been… entertaining, so to speak. She could have been hurt. It suddenly crossed my mind that she might have had a fall and lay injured somewhere.”

Gardener nodded for her to continue.

“Well, that’s when it happened. I decided to go in and see if she needed any help. There’s something odd about walking through the house of a dead person, especially when they’re in there dead. I can’t explain, but I knew the minute I’d walked in that something was wrong… something serious. It’s like you’re walking through a tunnel. Funny, because I don’t actually remember hearing the song after that. All I remember is walking through a room where the walls were closing in, and then I was in the kitchen and it was like looking at her through a telescope. I couldn’t see anything else, only her body. She had no clothes on. She wasn’t moving. Well, she couldn’t, could she? She was pinned to the floor. It was awful, the most awful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” said Gardener, “but was she actually dead at that point? You didn’t notice if she was still breathing, or twitching a little?”

“Oh, no, she was definitely dead. Isn’t it stupid, because I can actually remember calling out her name? I even asked her if she was all right. Don’t know why I expected an answer. I mean, how could she? Poor girl had a bloody great knife sticking out of her chest. How could she speak to me?”

“It was shock, Mrs Potts. You can’t answer for, or make sense of, your actions when you’re in shock. What did you do then?”

Beryl Potts remained silent, and Gardener was about to ask her again when she finally answered.

“I remember saying to her ‘I’ll get some help, dear. You wait there.’ I mean, where else was she going to go?”

“So you came straight out, didn’t touch anything?”

“Oh no, didn’t touch anything. Couldn’t. I just wanted to leave the room.”

“And you phoned the police?”

“Yes, straight away. Came back here.”

“What did you do then?”

“I don’t remember too much after that. I think I went back round and waited outside the door. When your young men came, I was leaning against the wall… crying.” She stared at Gardener. “I don’t know why. I mean, I didn’t know the girl all that well. Why was I crying?”

“Shock,” repeated Gardener.

Beryl Potts didn’t answer.