How relevant was all this? wondered Wield. It might have something to do with the case in terms of the break-up of the Waterson marriage. Or it might be a deliberate tactic of diversion. But this he doubted. There was too much genuine passion not to mention desperation for this outburst to be tactical.
It was time to get back to the point.
'So,' he said, 'when you came on shift today you were told your husband had been admitted.'
'Not straight away,' she said. 'Not for a couple of hours. It was Dr Marwood who told me.'
'What was your reaction?'
'Well, I wanted to know if he was all right, naturally. And when Ellison . . . Dr Marwood said it was just some kind of nervous tension and he'd been sedated but seemed fine this morning, I got worried in case it had something to do with me.'
'Would that have surprised you?'
She thought about this, then said, 'Yes, it would. He could get very emotional, Greg, you know, fly off the handle, have a fit of what they'd call hysterics in a woman. But it was always at something specific. Often it was completely illogical, but there had to be something, not just sitting at home brooding about things that had happened. And in any case, I doubt if he did much brooding about what had happened to us.'
'What had happened to you, Mrs Waterson?' asked Wield.
'I don't see that that has anything to do with you,' she retorted. 'Look, what you're here for is to find if I can help you track down Greg, right? Well, I can't. I walked out on him three weeks ago and till this morning I'd not seen him since.'
'Mrs Waterson, when I arrived this morning, you didn't look like, well, like a woman separated from her husband.'
'Because I was letting him kiss me and feel me up?'
'That's right.'
She smiled and drew on her cigarette, both with visible effort.
'Sergeant, I went to see him in my break. I was exhausted. You can't imagine what a relief it was to talk to someone who wasn't talking to me professionally. And when he got hold of me, well, at least he wasn't grabbing at me to complain about a pain or ask for a bedpan. It was nice and soothing when he started stroking me, like a massage. Oh yes, when you arrived I probably looked as if I was ready to get into bed with him, and I was. But not to make love, just to sleep . . . sleep . . . sleep . . .'
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Wield felt very sorry for her but not so sorry that he was going to return to Dalziel with questions unasked.
He said, 'What did you and your husband talk about this morning?'
She opened her eyes with difficulty and looked at him blankly.
'What did he say about the reasons for him being there?' he pressed.
'What makes you think he said anything?' she evaded.
'Well, so far you've not asked me a single question about it, luv,' he said. 'And that sounds like a lack of curiosity which could be a record.'
'You're not daft,' she said wearily. 'All right. He told me everything. He'd written it all down. Did he not show it to you? Why'd that fat bobby, Dalziel, not come himself?'
'Do you know Mr Dalziel?' he asked.
'I've seen him, naturally. He doesn't bother much with curtains. And everyone roundabout talks about him. He's what you call a character, I suppose.'
'I suppose he is,' said Wield. 'Did you believe your husband's statement, Mrs Waterson?'
'Of course, no problem. Things fall apart around him, always have done. Give him a pencil and he'll draw you a near-on perfect circle. But I've known him cut his finger spreading butter and he can break a cup just stirring his tea. Put him and a gun in the same room and someone's almost bound to get hurt. Story of his life.'
She yawned widely. He wasn't going to be able to keep this interview going much longer. There were more ways of escape than decamping.
'Did you know he was having an affair with Mrs Swain?' he asked.
'Not specifically,' she said, standing up and moving slowly towards the narrow bed which occupied one corner of the room. 'But I know all about her, all that matters, I mean.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means she'd be slim, with long legs, good figure, blonde hair. Names don't matter. I sometimes doubt if Greg knows their names. He's like a little boy in a sweet shop. He just points at the lemon popsicles, and because he's such a charming little boy, he usually gets what he's pointing at.'
As she spoke, she loosened her skirt, stepped out of it, and began to unbutton her blouse. There was nothing seductive or suggestive in the action even if Wield had been seducible or suggestible in that direction. She was on automatic pilot, preparing for crash down. Wield did notice, however, that she fitted her husband's blueprint very well.
'Was it because of the women you left him?' he asked.
'No,' she replied. 'Not just the women.'
