No Mark Upon Her

don’t you?” Freddie’s voice was a thread. “You know how she died. Why didn’t someone—” He shook his head, seemed to make an effort to collect himself. “Okay. I’m sorry. I know you probably can’t say.” He took a breath. “What can I do to help you?”
    “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Atterton. You can start by telling us where you were on Monday evening.”
    “Monday?”
    Kincaid had the distinct sense that some of Freddie’s surprise at the question was feigned. “The evening your wife died. You can’t have forgotten.”
    “No. No, of course not. It’s just—with everything that’s happened, I don’t—let me think . . .” He patted the front pocket of his shirt, seemed to realize it was empty, then dropped his hand back to his lap. The Benson & Hedges packet on the coffee table was crumpled and empty.
    “Let’s say between four and six,” Kincaid added helpfully.
    Freddie blinked once, twice, lifted his hand towards his pocket again. “I—I was here.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “Any verification? Neighbor that might have seen you, something like that?”
    “No. No, I can’t remember seeing anyone. I’d been to the club for lunch. That’s when Milo told me about Becca—I mean told me that she was training seriously. I knew she was rowing again, of course, but she’d said she was just trying to get back into shape, relieve some stress from work.”
    “But you knew she’d bought a boat, the Filippi,” Kincaid said.
    “Yes, well, you wouldn’t have expected Becca to row in a club boat.”
    “That’s an expensive boat,” put in Doug. “Top class.”
    “She could afford it.”
    Had there been just the slightest trace of bitterness in Freddie’s reply? wondered Kincaid. Well, he’d get back to that. “What exactly did Milo tell you that day?”
    “That she’d had some lads in the crew help her turn my—her—spare room in the cottage into a training room. She’d moved in weights and an erg. And Milo had clocked her. She was blazing.”
    “Timed her without her knowledge,” Doug interjected.
    “Well, yeah.” Freddie looked sheepish. “But she could be bloody secretive, and I can’t blame Milo for wanting to know.”
    “Because she was better than his own crew?” Kincaid asked.
    “No. Because if she’d been willing to row for him, he might have had a champion. And there’s nothing the media love more than a comeback story. It would have been good press for the whole team.”
    Kincaid thought about this. “When we first interviewed Milo, he said you were ‘furious’ when you found out about Becca’s training. And on the message you left on her home phone, you sounded angry with her. Why, if you thought she had a chance to be that good?”
    “I—” Freddie rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks with his palms. “I suppose I was worried about what would happen if she failed. The last time—she was never really the same afterwards. She never forgave herself.”
    “But she broke her arm, didn’t she?” Kincaid asked. “Surely that wasn’t her fault.”
    “Oh, but it was,” said Freddie. “And mine, too, because I let her talk me into it. It was the Christmas before the Olympics, and the team was in strict training. Milo didn’t want anyone taking the chance of an injury, but Becca wanted a skiing holiday in Switzerland. She thought she was invincible. But she wasn’t. She fell on the slopes and broke her wrist, badly.
    “Milo was the one who was furious. And afterwards, even though Becca worked really hard at rehab, hoping to get her position back, he didn’t believe the break had healed enough to take the strain of serious training.” Freddie sighed. “They were both stubborn, and they both felt justified in their grudges. Maybe they were, I don’t know. But it took them a long time to become friends again.”
    “I can see why she might have been a bit reluctant to let him know she was training,” said Doug. “She had something to prove, and she wanted to be sure of herself.”
    “Exactly.” Freddie gave Doug a grateful look.
    “So you were worried about her?” Kincaid asked. “That’s all?”
    Freddie must have heard the skepticism in his voice, because he colored. “What other reason would I have had?”
    “Maybe you were worried she would lose her job.” Kincaid stood and began to wander round the room, so that Freddie had to turn his head to follow him. “Or quit,” he went on. “Maybe you were worried she