Brothers ip-17
Page 23
At a nod from his senior officer, Clyde Northcott stood up and set his hand gently on the shoulder of Ros O’Connor. They half-expected her to interrupt the words of arrest, to respond to the notion that it might prejudice her defence in court if she withheld information which she might wish to use there. But she said nothing, listening carefully with her head still tilted a little, as if she comprehended her role as the silent, central figure in this police ritual.
It was only when Northcott had finished delivering the familiar rigmarole that she looked suddenly at the horrified face of John Alderson. Perhaps she had for a time forgotten his presence here as she acted out her own central role in this drama. ‘John had nothing to do with this. I wish to state that to you. He is not even an accessory after the fact.’
Peach wondered how much this strange, deadly, childlike woman understood of the law, how much she knew about the part played by an accessory after the fact. The lawyers would have to consider how much if anything Alderson had known about this crime and how far he had contrived to conceal it.
They took her out to the police car which Peach had instructed should follow them here and installed her carefully on the back seat of it. Ros O’Connor sat very upright beside the female officer in the rear of the car as they journeyed sedately back into Brunton. She turned once to check that her nemesis in the shape of Peach and Northcott was following in the car behind her. She looked sharply to her left for ten seconds as they passed the building where her husband had worked.
Otherwise, Ros O’Connor kept her head very still and gazed directly ahead, as if looking forward eagerly to the next interesting stage in her progress as an arrested murderer.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-71b6c7-d0a1-e541-c785-a91f-2787-a44471
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 08.08.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.42, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
J. M. Gregson
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