Dead in the Water

“Art isn’t my thing,” he said.

“What about photography?”

Fargo did his conjuror act again and placed three photographs on the table. “Do you recognise these?”

Mullen nodded. “Of course. I took them. When I was working for Janice Atkinson.”

“And who are the people in them?”

“Paul Atkinson and Becca Baines.”

“Good. That was easy wasn’t it? So you took these photos and gave them to Janice?”

“Yes.”

“Did you give her printed copies like these or did you give her digital copies?”

Mullen picked up each photo in turn, examining the back.

“These are some of the prints I gave her. There’s a number in pencil on the back. That was me. I kept the digital files myself.”

“A couple of nights ago, a woman died in a house fire. These photographs were found inside this book under her body.”

For the first time, Mullen felt a surge of panic. “Who was she?”

Dorkin didn’t reply.

The room was surprisingly cool, but Mullen could feel the sweat on his forehead. “Jesus, it wasn’t Becca, was it?” Dorkin was eyeing him steadily.

There was a hiss of anger from Mullen’s right. “Stop messing about, Inspector.” Althea Potter, hitherto silent, stabbed her pen onto her notepad. “My client has come here willingly. He has agreed to cooperate with your investigations. But if you persist, I will advise him to withdraw that cooperation.”

Dorkin’s face twitched. “The dead woman was a Doreen Rankin. She worked for Paul Atkinson.”

Mullen tried to think. So did that mean Janice had shown her husband the photographs? If so, how come Doreen had got them? Was she another lover?

He looked up. Dorkin was shifting in his seat and asking him another question.

“Why did you think that the dead woman might be Becca Baines?”

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nbsp; Mullen tried to think. “I don’t know. The photo I suppose. You said it was a woman . . .” He tailed off. When the hell had he last seen Becca? His brain was porridge.

“Are you and Becca lovers?”

“There’s no need to answer that,” Althea Potter intervened.

Mullen shrugged. “I’ll answer it if the Inspector will answer one of my questions. Was the fire an accident or was it arson?”

Dorkin returned his stare. Then he answered. “The circumstances which gave rise to the fire are uncertain.”

Mullen smiled back. “And the relationship between myself and Becca Baines is also uncertain.”

“Do you have any other questions for my client?” Althea Potter was clearly impatient to rescue what was left of her Sunday.

Dorkin turned to Fargo and nodded. Fargo removed the book and photographs from the table and delved again into his pile of paperwork. This time he produced a see-through evidence bag and placed it in front of Mullen.

“Do you recognise this?”