Chapter 13 – Reckoning

Ash almost felt sorry for Barry Browning when she saw his lined face peering at her as he opened the door. His face fell further.

"Oh, it's you," he grumbled.

She knew that Sullivan and one of the Victim Reps had given him the sad news about his wife but seeing her must make it even more painful. "Sorry to bother you… how are you feeling?"

His knuckles whitened on the door, but he told her, "Come in."

Ash followed him inside and he had her sit on the nice sofa, but he stood nearby looking down at her.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Not necessary but thank you."

"I was about to get some myself. Please? Join me." He waved to me. "Come on. Kitchen."

The house was as neat as pin but there were several florals displays on the counter.

"Those… are from… neighbors… and uhm, friends," he said gruffly. "Jenny's mostly."

Ash watched while he poured out two coffees into porcelain mugs. "Sugar?" he asked.

"No thank you."

He pushed the mug across the counter to her and then turned to open the fridge. It was stuffed with food, mostly casseroles. "Flowers and food as well. As if they think I've forgotten how to cook, after losing the wife." He took out a kitchen-foil wrapped package. "This cake is good." Unwrapping it, he cut off two thick slices then added them to two plates. "Eat up," he commanded.

Not wanting to refuse, she lifted the cake and took a bite. "Tasty." It was cinnamon crumb.

He stared at her across his mug as he drank. "So, what you want?"

"I…" quickly swallowing the mouthful of cake she put the remainder down and brushed her hands, "wanted to ask about… your late wife."

He sighed. "You seen the pictures. A beauty, lively, everyone's friend. Loves animals, but we can't have a cat or dog – my allergies. Have to see if we can do that." His voice faltered. "You may think I'm daft, but I can't get my head around it. She's gone, they said. Stuck with a knife."

She nodded slowly. "Appears so."

"Yeah."

"Mr. Browning, if this is a bad time, I can come back later."

He laughed bitterly. "Bad time? Keerist, my wife's been killed, and you think a few days will change anything? Make me feel bloody better?" He lowered the coffee mug to the counter, set it down gently then took a deep breath, as he turned to the kitchen window. "Jenny's planning a new bed for the garden out there. Ordered the seeds she has. Lovely flowers. Attract the bees, she says. I suppose I'll have to plant them for her." He seemed to shrink somehow as he looked into the garden.

She'd seen and heard this before; the victim's family speaking as if their lost loved one were still alive. "I'm sure she'd like that."

Then he turned to face her. "She will, I mean… would have. New flowers. Make it look nice."

Ash took a deep breath and then took the plunge. "Did anyone have a grudge against her?"

He laughed. "Grudge? No, she did not. Everyone liked her."

"You said before that she wanted a family."

He sighed. "She wanted a baby, yes."

"And you'd been trying to get pregnant." I found it best to stick to the technical terms.

He looked away. "She wanted, I… I think I told you I wasn't so keen, just now. I suppose… I'd have come around to the idea."

"Mr. Browning, Jenny was pregnant. The postmortem exam confirmed it."

His face went from disbelief to shock in an instant. "You mean that?" He backed up to a chair and slumped down on it. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

She found a bin and set it before him, crouching down as he got the dry heaves. His face went blank after a minute or so. "How…. how far? I mean how, um…" he gulped out.

"The doctor thought about eight weeks or so."

He stood up unsteadily and went to a wall hanging calendar and flipped back through it. A shaking finger counted the weeks. "So that would be about this day," he muttered. "No… this day." His finger moved a few days. "This day."

He was clearly trying to determine when she got pregnant. "What day, Mr. Browning?"

Mr. Browning closed his eyes. "Her birthday. She said it was a good time, erh, to try." Then he sighed. "Damn me for a fool." His now wet eyes turned to me. "I loved Jenny, but not enough, I suppose." He wiped his eyes. "She just turned thirty-one."

Convinced that his sorrow was genuine, Ash made her excuses, but he followed her to the door.

"Defective Inspector," he told her, "I was just looking at my investments. There's a lot of cash, or will be when I sell it, even after the taxes and fees."

"Selling up?"

"Right." He looked around the well-furnished front room. "I can't stay here. Maybe I'll move away. There's too many memories here."

"I am sorry," she said.

He smiled ruefully then said, "A little wanton money, which burned out the bottom of his purse."

"I'm sorry, what's that?"

He shook his head. "Thomas Moore wrote that. Too much money you see, and I'd give it all if I could just have her back."

Ash touched his arm briefly. "If you think of anything, please call me. You have my card."

He nodded.

"And might you have any idea where her car may be? It still hasn't turned up."

He shook his head no. "Does that matter?"

"It might. Goodbye then." Ash watched the door close in her face, then she sat in her car and got a glimpse of Browning inside the front window. "He didn't do it," Ash said aloud. "Couldn't have."