BooksBarbecue
Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

She put on a welcoming smile as she pulled open the door. ‘I was getting worried.’

It wasn’t Peter who stood on the doorstep.

But she knew it couldn’t have been.

20

Neither of the two men who stood on the doorstep were familiar to Allison. Backlit by the street light behind, they were intimidatingly large. Her hand tightened on the door, the smile she’d pasted on freezing in place, twisting into a grimace as one of the men held a card forward as he identified himself.

His words became a whoosh of sound, darkness creeping around the edges of her vision. She staggered backwards, flailing hands grabbing onto the wooden spindles of the banisters. That the oak was surprisingly rough under her fingers was her final bizarre thought.

It was sound that came back first. Male voices rumbling over her head. Words that made no sense. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Reality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be after all. Perhaps she’d have stayed there in the darkness if one of the men hadn’t gently shaken her arm.

She opened her eyes, shutting them immediately against the glare of the overhead light she and Peter rarely used. When she opened them again, it wasn’t the concerned face of the man leaning over her she noticed, but the fine, lacy cobweb hanging between the arms of the light fitting as it swayed gently in the draught from the door. Something so strangely mundane managed to calm her sufficiently to turn and meet the eyes of the frowning man who continued to loom over her.

‘Mrs Fellowes?’

‘I fainted.’

‘Yes.’ He straightened and moved away to take a seat opposite.

The other man came through the door with a glass of water in his hand. He stood uncertainly before placing it on the coffee table and crossing to sit in the leather bucket chair. Unfortunately, this wasn’t designed for people of his size. For a second, he balanced on the arms of the chair before standing again with an air of nonchalance that fooled nobody and moved across to take the vacant seat on the sofa.

Allison pushed herself into a sitting position and swung her legs to the floor. She reached a trembling hand for the glass of water and took a sip.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Stephen Doyle,’ the first man said before tilting his head to his colleague. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Long.’

They’d make good poker players; it was impossible to read their expressions. She gripped the glass tighter. ‘Something’s happened to Peter?’

‘There was an incident in King’s Cross station just after five.’ His voice was a flat monotone. ‘Your husband fell onto the track as a Tube was arriving. The driver, despite his best efforts, was unable to stop in time.’