Chapter Forty-Nine

From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

Matthew 4:17

Friday 16th November: "Sorry to trouble you Mrs Hartnett but we need to talk."

Donna White was uncomfortable and Trish Hartnett could see that. Trish had answered the door with a glass of iced sherry in her hand. She raised it and tossed back a gulp in wry salute to the young officer, and Detective Muse who stood to the right behind her. "You'd better come in then hadn't you."

Muse couldn't help but smile. At 29 Trish Hartnett was not the same Trish as the 17 year old Springfield Classical High beauty queen. Now she was all woman, every ripe curve defined by a figure hugging red dress with a satin sheen good enough to gladden the eye of even the most jaded roue.

Muse caught himself being won over merely by the look of the woman and the realisation was the mental equivalent of being doused in cold water. Refreshing. He narrowed his eyes. This stunner could well be a merciless killer. The issue was not how good this witch looked, but rather where the hell did she keep the broomstick?

And Trish Hartnett noticed as she walked them to the living room. For one brief moment Detective Muse had Cloud Nine written on his face. And now it was gone. Like switching out a light. And it saddened her.

Which in turn angered her. She stopped herself clutching her glass in a white knuckled grip as she gestured to them to take a seat. She must calm herself, she thought. Too much passion in this heart of hers made her far more vulnerable than she dared admit. Her father used to tell her that a certain amount of order and discipline was necessary to allow the world to function. How she wished he was here now. But her father had died prematurely and her husband Sean was the last person she could turn to. No, she had to face this one alone.

"So officers, what can I do for you this time?"

Donna White had taken her cap off revealing her hair which was cut like a boy's, little wisps of hair feathering her forehead. She placed the cap primly on her knees and smiled at Trish, trying her best to put this woman, her mother's friend, at ease. But the hammer-blow answer was delivered, almost with relish, by Detective Muse.

"We have received another anonymous letter, Mrs Hartnett." He paused, watching for her response, giving her an opportunity to interrupt. Which she didn't. So he continued, "And this one implicates you in the murder of Maria Gonzalez." Then, in apparent afterthought, he added, "Have you anything to say?"