Declared Dead Page 6

  'Do you have a photograph of your husband we can borrow, please?'

  I went upstairs and picked one up from our dressing room table. It had been taken about two years before, at Newbury Races. I handed it to the Inspector who, in my absence, had picked up the bronze from the coffee table and was admiring it. To my horror, I could still see traces of blood on the horse's head. I'd had no time to clean it after Freddie had hit Edward, and Mrs Parsons, true to form, must have overlooked it the following Monday.

  'Is this you?' he asked, holding it up in front of me.

  'No, that's Arkle, you know, the great Irish horse, with Pat Taffe up.'

  'Of course, I should have seen the jockey was a man.'

  'This is Edward?' he asked, carefully putting the bronze back and taking the framed photograph from me.

  'That's him. It was taken a couple of years back. He hasn't changed much; he's just a little bit fatter round the face and has a few streaks of grey in his hair now.'

  'A fine looking man. He wasn't wearing this tweed suit, was he by any chance, when you last saw him?'

  I thought back to that Friday and of Edward lying on top of me, his hands round my throat. Sartorial observations weren't at that time my major concern.

  'I think so, but I can soon find out by checking his wardrobe upstairs.'

  'Would you mind taking a quick look?'

  'If it will help. Do you want to come with me?'

  He followed me up to the spare room. The wardrobe was still unlocked and there was no sign of Edward's favourite tweed suit.

  'It looks like he was,' I said. 'It doesn't surprise me. There were times I thought he slept in it.'

  The Inspector smiled. 'We all get attached to certain clothing. It's an unusual weave so the fibre might show up under the microscope, that is if any has survived the fire. Did he wear any rings or anything else that might help for identification purposes?'

  'Not Edward. He hated what he called poof's paraphernalia and only wore a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand. He had inherited it from his grandfather.'

  'What about his teeth? Do you know the name of his dentist?'

  'He never went, not as far as I was aware anyway.'

  'No gold fillings or anything?'

  'None. He was very proud of his teeth, even though they were yellow from those cigars he smoked.'

  'That's a nuisance. If you've only got charred bones to work on, teeth and jewellery can be very helpful when it comes to identification. I'm sure we'll find something.'

  'Do you mean that otherwise you won't be able to tell for certain if it's Edward's body or not?'

  He looked at me as if surprised by my question, and I felt myself going red in response. He took up the initiative. 'Do you have any reason to think that it might not be?'

  'None at all. I just don't understand why he would want to kill himself and in such a horrible way.'

  'You think it must be suicide then?'

  'What else? You're surely not suggesting he's been murdered?' I said, in disbelief.

  'At this stage, Mrs Pryde, I'm keeping an open mind. I'm just sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'd better be going.'

  We went downstairs where the constable was reading through his notes.

  'Right then,' the Inspector continued, 'I'll leave Garnier here to wait for the fingerprint boys. We'll need some of yours as well, of course, and Freddie's and your daily's, Mrs Parsons. Would you mind giving Gamier her address? Is there anything in particular your husband has recently had his hands on?' I instinctively thought of my neck.

  There're his binoculars in the hall. Will they do?'

  'Perfect. We should get some very good dabs off them.' He turned to leave. 'I'll need to take a more detailed statement from you later. Let me say again how sorry I am that this has happened. I would prefer it if you didn't talk to the press and you might find it sensible to lie low for the next couple of weeks. You can give Garnier the address where you're going to be staying.'

  I didn't feel any need to reply. He reached the front door then looked round as if to survey the room. 'Oh yes, one final thing, Garnier. Make sure the fingerprint boys take the marks on that bronze and then bring it back to the station for forensic to have a look at. I'll be in touch, Mrs Pryde.'

  Chapter 5

  An hour and a half later, two fingerprint experts had grunted and crawled over the cottage. Edward's binoculars were greeted with whoops of satisfaction as they yielded apparently perfect specimens of the fingers of both his hands. My prints were taken and then they left to visit Mrs Parsons. I warned her by telephone that they were on their way to see her. Her involvement at this stage made any call to the press unnecessary. By midnight the whole of Lambourn would know that something serious was up in the Pryde household. I had already telephoned Ralph Elgar and told him the barest details of what was happening. He was shocked, and reassured me that Freddie was quite all right with him until I could get back. He insisted that we continued staying there until everything was cleared up. After the fingerprint men and Garnier had left, I telephoned Amy Frost in London. I was relieved when she answered the phone, as I thought she might be away for the weekend. I recounted everything that had happened.

  'Where are you now?' she asked.

  'At the cottage. Why?'

  'I'm coming down, if you don't mind waiting there for an hour or so for me.'

  I looked round the room. It suddenly seemed extremely eerie. 'I think I'll be okay, but hurry up all the same.'

  By the time Amy arrived, I had drunk a quarter of a bottle of whisky, and heard footsteps in every part of the house, except the downstairs lavatory. She was dressed in a leather cat suit. Amy wasn't classically good looking, but she made the most of herself and I think men were attracted to her because of her bubbly personality. She was almost three inches taller than I was and quite well built with dark hair and hazel eyes, her face liberally covered with freckles.

  'Amy, I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?' I asked, grinning at her.

  'Well, I was just warming up with some champagne when you called!'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Don't apologise. I was beginning to have second thoughts anyway. Those barristers do know how to bang on about themselves! If I have to hear once more about what he told the judge…'

  'At the rate I'm going, I'll be appearing in front of one myself, soon. What am I to do if those are Edward's remains in the boot of the car?'

  'Co-operate and tell them everything you know.'

  'Everything? Even about the fight and Freddie and the blackmailing?'

  'All of it. They probably won't believe the blackmail bit and even if they do, there's no way they're going to drag old man Pryde into this.'

  'Do you think they'll want to see me again?'

  'They're bound to, and next time it won't be in the cosy warmth of your sitting room. Who saw you today, by the way?'

  'An Inspector Wilkinson and a young constable. Wilkinson was a bit too smooth for my liking, but he's plainly on the ball.'

  'I'll have him checked out. This is the kind of case that a policeman can make his name on. Identify the body, quick arrest, speedy trial and unanimous conviction. Result: instant promotion and gratitude of nation.'

  'They've got to identify the body first. From what I could gather, they've only the charred bones to work on. And, oh yes, the Inspector mentioned a pool of dried blood near the car, too.'

  'I don't know about the bones, but the blood will be enough to provide a positive identification provided they have something else to match it with.'

  'Positive identification? I thought that all you could tell from blood was the individual's group, which could be the same as millions of other people's.'

  'Haven't you heard of DNA?'

  'Well, vaguely.'

  'It's this new process that is revolutionising everything from the detection of rape to the determination of paternity. It works like this, or at least I think i
t does. Every one of us has our own individual blueprint. Once you have a piece of an individual's skin or some semen or blood for example, you can detect from that the chromosomal ingredients unique to that person, his or her blueprint, as it were. They can then be matched up to another sample of blood or semen or skin or hair root, it doesn't even matter which, and hey presto, you have positive identification.'

  'So if I told you that there was still some of Edward's blood on that bronze they took away…'

  'It would be a major breakthrough for them. If that pool of blood they found is human, they will now be able to tell you for certain whether it's Edward's or not. In other words, they'll have both halves of the jigsaw.'

  I frowned.

  'Do you think it might not be Edward's then?'

  'No, not really. I'm just worried that if it is, suspicion's going to fall on someone I know.'

  'May I ask who, and perhaps even more importantly, why?'

  She looked extremely concerned when I gave her the answers.

  * * *

  I returned to spend the night at Ralph Elgar's. Freddie was fast asleep, still blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding around him. Not surprisingly, I couldn't sleep. I looked back on my life with Edward and tried to pinpoint a time when things had started to go wrong. There was no doubt that some of the blame for the failure of our marriage lay on my shoulders. I had become consumed by my ambition to make it as a jockey and expected him to understand that ambition too, as well as giving it his whole-hearted support. It never occurred to me that he might have different goals for himself; indeed he never gave any indication of having any goals. I suppose on reflection that we married because at the time we enjoyed going to bed together and liked having fun. Unfortunately, marriage requires a commitment of a different nature. And now Edward was dead.

  I wondered what was going to happen, just how much was going to come out. I thought about what Inspector Wilkinson had said about lying low for a couple of weeks and rejected the idea. There would no doubt be a lot of gossip on the racecourse and no shortage of pointing fingers. On the other hand, if I gave up riding, even for a short while, it would seriously damage my prospects. After all, someone still had to pay the bills and the mortgage and buy Freddie's clothes. I compromised by deciding not to ride for a week and to do my best to shelter Freddie from the turbulence that lay directly ahead. If Edward was dead, I wouldn't be able to go back to riding six days a week as I had been. I would have to spend a lot more time at home with my son.

  * * *

  The police arrived to collect me just before lunchtime. I can't say I was surprised. I had tried to phone Tom earlier that morning, only to be told by Mrs Drummond that he had been taken away for questioning shortly after breakfast. She sounded perplexed and upset and said that the police had been extremely brusque in their manner.

  It was a curious sensation sitting in the back of a police car with an officer on either side. Like ambulances, police cars may be part of our everyday life but somehow they always seem reserved for somebody else, never you.

  After arriving at the station I was shown into a bleak and depressing interview room, which contributed even more to my sense of foreboding. The walls needed a good coat of paint and I could not help wondering what sordid details they had heard over the years. Waiting to greet me was Inspector Wilkinson and he in turn introduced me to an overweight, morose gentleman, a Superintendent Pale down from Scotland Yard. It appeared that Wilkinson was to conduct the interview under Pale's watchful glare.

  'Firstly, Mrs Pryde, I must warn you that this interview is being recorded on video camera

  I looked over and spotted the camera in the ceiling.

  '… and that everything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Is that clear? You are, of course, entitled to say nothing and if you wish, you may contact a solicitor.'

  Neither course appealed to me. The last thing I wanted to do was to appear in any way embarrassed or as if I had something to hide.

  'No, thank you,' I answered. 'I'm perfectly happy to answer your questions.'

  'Good. You told me yesterday that the last time you saw your husband alive was three weeks ago on Friday, that would be the nineteenth.'

  'Yes, that's right.'

  'You had a row, following which you walked out on him taking your son with you.'

  I nodded.

  'And since that time, you have had no contact with him?'

  'Correct. That's just what I told you yesterday.'

  'You know, of course, that Mr Radcliffe claims he saw your husband the next day, in the evening?'

  'I've no reason to doubt Mr Radcliffe's word.'

  'Can you remember what Mr Radcliffe said about that meeting?'

  I chose my words carefully. 'Only that he had asked my husband to meet him at the Crown and Anchor pub on the Marlborough road, that they had a row and that the next thing Mr Radcliffe remembers is waking up in his car, still in the car park, in the early hours of the following morning. He was unable to explain why he had passed out.'

  'And you have no idea why your husband and Mr Radcliffe met?'

  I had a very good idea, but saw no reason to tell Inspector Wilkinson.

  'Is it true to say that you and your husband didn't see eye to eye?'

  'You might as well know, Inspector, that my husband didn't see eye to eye, as you put it, with a lot of people. He was capable of being very charming to some people and rather vicious towards others.'

  'Didn't he and Mr Radcliffe fall out about a horse?'

  'That started it, but it was all over years ago. Tom, I mean Mr Radcliffe, wasn't in the least to blame but you couldn't tell Edward that. He wouldn't hear a good word about him.'

  'But you wouldn't describe your marriage as a happy one? Surely the truth is, Mrs Pryde, that your marriage was on the rocks, wasn't it?'

  I saw no point in lying. 'Things were going very badly. You've probably heard it all from Mrs Parsons anyway. I no longer loved my husband, Inspector, and I very much doubt if he had the slightest bit of affection for me.'

  'Did you consider divorcing him?'

  'I did, but I was worried about losing custody of our son.'

  'Did you fight?'

  'Do you mean just argue, or actually come to blows?'

  'Come to blows.'

  'He often hit me. The cut above my lip was his work at Cheltenham races, as are these burn marks.'

  'Do you know how the blood came to be on that bronze we found at the cottage?'

  'It was Edward's. I hit him with the bronze on Friday.'

  'Tell us about it.'

  I told him about Friday's fight, embroidering it in such a way as to divulge nothing about Freddie's involvement.

  'Are you sure your husband was only concussed that evening?'

  'If you're accusing me of murdering him, you're wrong. If I had done, how could he have met Mr Radcliffe for a drink on Saturday night?'

  'We've only Mr Radcliffe's word for that.'

  'What about the landlord and anyone else who saw them in the pub?'

  He didn't pursue that train of thought. 'Did you go and ride out at Mr Radcliffe's yard that morning?'

  I nodded.

  'When you arrived, did you have a long conversation with him in the yard before you started schooling?'

  'Not that long, about five minutes.'

  'What did you talk about?'

  'My ride in the Gold Cup, that sort of thing.'

  'Did you mention your husband, what had happened the night before?'

  I could see where this line of questioning was leading. Tom's head lad, Jamie Brown, had a sour tongue inside a big mouth, as well as a great aversion to women jockeys.

  'If you're referring to the end of our conversation, when Tom said he'd like to get his hands on my husband, that was just talk. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Did he also tell you I said I wanted Edward dead?'

  This time it was the Inspector's turn to nod.

  'Well I meant it,
but that doesn't mean I killed him.'

  'Are you sure you don't know what your husband and Mr Radcliffe discussed in the pub, why they became involved in such a heated row?'

  I shook my head. 'Positive.'

  'They were discussing you. Your husband was telling Radcliffe to stop seeing you. Just how long have you and Radcliffe been lovers, Mrs Pryde?'

  'Can I see my solicitor now?'

  * * *

  Amy's appearance was a good deal more sombre than the night before. Leather had given way to a conventional black suit and she behaved more like a solicitor than a friend from the moment she arrived. After a brief discussion in private it was agreed that I would continue to answer questions provided she was present.

  Wilkinson went straight back on the attack. 'You don't deny, then, that you are lovers?'

  I looked to Amy sitting beside me and she indicated I should answer.

  'I was, but am no longer, Tom Radcliffe's lover. Our relationship began over a year ago and lasted for about eight months, after which I put an end to it.'

  'Were you in love with him?'

  'Yes. But I realised that so long as I was still married to Edward I couldn't continue the affair, and that it wasn't going to make anyone happier in the long term. I was particularly worried that if Edward found out, he would use it as grounds for taking Freddie.'

  'How did Mr Radcliffe react to your ending the relationship?'

  'He was disappointed, but understanding. He thought I ought to leave Edward and fight him for custody.'

  'And you didn't want to do that?'

  'You know who my father-in-law is, don't you? What's more, that wouldn't have been in Freddie's interest. He would be the one to suffer most.'

  'But you continued to see Mr Radcliffe?'

  'On a professional basis only. He had always supported me as a jockey and he saw no reason to stop doing so.'

  'Perhaps he hoped you would go back to him?'

  'I made it clear that would have been impossible.'

  'As long as Edward was alive.'

  'If you're seriously suggesting that Tom killed Edward, you're making a grave error of judgement. It's ludicrous. You don't even know that it's Edward's body yet.'