Dogs never forget a person, I said, and nothing more was needed; they were already on the scent.
They decided to come to the house as a group, with Meg, on Friday and catch me by surprise. They would ask if I could spare a bit of change for the church bell fund, seeing that the final target was nearly in sight. I added chicken to the shopping list and stitched some extra pockets into a patchwork dress.
Sure enough, Meg was all over me when I answered the door that Friday, pieces of chicken stuffed into every pocket. The squad were so astonished by the sight, they almost forgot their cover story and we were there for quite some time before they babbled it out. While I was out of view, fetching my purse, I took a piece of the chicken from a pocket; it seemed mean not to let Meg have some when she’d done such a good job for me.
“Alright if I give her this?” I asked, emptying what cash I had into their collection bucket and handing the chicken to Meg. There was a collective gasp and recoil. “What?” I asked. They continued to stare at me. I realized why. “Wait there,” I said.
The chicken was chargrilled and packaged ready to eat. I fetched the packet and showed it to them. “I had no part in the preparation,” I said, and they walked away, shaking their heads and muttering about an innocent animal.
As they went, I noticed that these days Meg was walking with her head held high, a spring in her step, and a wag in her tail. It looked like Meg was making her way through the bereavement process and was recovering from the loss of Mr. Newman.
***
Is Meg well?Mrs. Chambers posted on the forum a few hours later.No stomach upsets?
She’s fine, but she loves Daisy more than she loves me!Jo Newman moaned.
And so did Doug, Mary Bishop said, but most people said that was uncalled for and I was just his bit on the side.
The verdict, however, was unanimous: Meg knew me very well indeed, Mr. Newman and I were having an affair, and the finger for his death was pointing more and more firmly at James. I looked at the list down the side to see if AllEars was listening in, but she was busy stirring trouble elsewhere. Never mind, she could pick it all up later. NoseyParker was there.
Do you think she still called him “Mr. Newman” when they were in flagrante?Samantha asked, but no one cared to speculate on that.
I could’ve done with some crisps, but of course, the priest hole was mine no more. I decided to keep the Jaffa Cakes he’d missed for another day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I spent the weekend buoyed up with hope that the Meg-test was going to move things in my favor. When on Monday morning there was a knock at the door, I answered, my mind still on Meg and how easily they had fallen for it. The sight that met me wiped the smile off my face.
“Daisy Dixon,” DS Khan said, not bothering with pleasantries. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of death by dangerous driving.”
“Arresting?” I felt myself preparing for fight or flight. “Why?”
“We’ll get to that down at the station. Please come this way.”
I thought about resisting. Or about making a run for it. I looked around for the best way to escape, I should have rehearsed for this, but as DC Parker unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt, I just said, “Can I phone my solicitor?”
On a brighter note, I didn’t have to wait long for Tarquin. He already seemed to have been primed and arrived at the police stationnot long after me. In no time at all we were back in that little room, ready to talk all things Lennie.
For the occasion, Tarquin was wearing a tie that had been chopped off a couple of inches below the knot. Another riotous success by his offspring.
“There’re all like this,” he said. “This was the longest one. No more pocket money for a while.” But I was starting to think he should really get a grip. I would’ve done by now, if they were mine. In fact, it never would have got this far if they were mine.
DS Khan opened a folder. In front of her was some kind of report. She turned straight to a page with a diagram of a human body on it, parts shaded over, with lines linking the shading to notes around the edges.
“Do you know what this is, Daisy?” DS Khan asked and yes, actually, I did. I’d seen it on documentaries. It was a diagram used to show the injuries sustained by a victim. I answered her question. She asked another one. “This report relates to Lennie Green. Do you know what might have caused any of these injuries?”
Yes, of course. “No,” I said.
She started to point to various bits of shading. “Every rib on his left-hand side was fractured, and the sixth rib pierced the lung.”
That probably explained why his breathing had seemed labored.
She continued. “Mr. Green had extensive bruising across much of his torso, a broken radius and thumb—”
“Which one’s the radius?” I asked.
She pointed to the lower arm and continued. “He had a contusion on his forehead”—I’d seen it done, on the dashcam video—“which may or may not have led to concussion or loss of consciousness.” No, it didn’t lead to loss of consciousness, I could have confirmed that forthem. “All of these are injuries consistent with a collision with a road vehicle. A collision at quite a speed.”
