Page 147 of Troubled Blood

“I’ve read you thought one of the necklaces in the basement might’ve been—”

“If you will get your information from sensationalist books, Anna—”

“Because you’ve always made it so easy for me to talk to you about my mother,” said Anna. “Haven’t you?”

“Anna,” whispered Cynthia again.

“The locket they found in Creed’s basement wasn’t Margot’s, and I should know, because I gave it to her,” said Roy. His lips trembled, and he pressed them together.

“Just a couple more questions, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Strike, before Anna could say anything else. He was determined to avert further conflict if he could. “Could we talk for a moment about Wilma, the cleaner who worked at the practice and did housework for you here, as well?”

“It was all Margot’s idea, hiring her, but she wasn’t very good,” said Roy. “The woman was having some personal difficulties and Margot thought the solution was more money. After Margot disappeared, she walked out. Never turned up again. No loss. I heard afterward she’d been sacked from the practice. Pilfering, I heard.”

“Wilma told police—”

“That there was blood on the carpet upstairs, the day Margot went missing,” interrupted Roy. From Anna and Kim’s startled expressions, Robin deduced that this was entirely new information to them.

“Yes,” said Strike.

“It was menstrual,” said Roy coldly. “Margot’s period had started overnight. There were sanitary wrappers in the bathroom, my mother told me. Wilma sponged the carpet clean. This was in the spare room, at the opposite end of the house to the marital bedroom. Margot and I were sleeping apart at that time, because of,” there was a slight hesitation, “my injury.”

“Wilma also said that she thought she’d seen you—”

“Walking across the garden,” said Roy. “It was a lie. If she saw anyone, it would have been one of the stonemasons. We were finishing the gazebo at that time,” he said, pointing toward the stone folly at the end of the fishpond.

Strike made a note and turned over a page in his notebook.

“Can either of you remember Margot talking about a man called Niccolo Ricci? He was a patient at the St. John’s practice.”

Both Roy and Cynthia shook their heads.

“What about a patient called Steven Douthwaite?”

“No,” said Roy. “But we heard about him afterward, from the press.”

“Someone at the barbecue mentioned that Margot had been sent chocolates by a patient,” said Cynthia. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

“We think so. She never talked about Douthwaite, then? Never mentioned him showing an inappropriate interest in her, or told you he was gay?”

“No,” said Roy again. “There’s such a thing as patient confidenti­ality, you know.”

“This might seem an odd question,” said Strike, “but did Margot have any scars? Specifically, on her ribcage?”

“No,” said Roy, unsettled. “Why are you asking that?”

“To exclude one possibility,” said Strike, and before they could ask for further details, he said,

“Did Margot ever tell you she’d received threatening notes?”

“Yes,” said Roy. “Well, not notes in the plural. She told me she’d got one.”

“She did?” said Strike, looking up.

“Yes. It accused her of encouraging young women into promiscuity and sin.”

“Did it threaten her?”

“I don’t know,” said Roy. “I never saw it.”

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