Joan took some deep breaths, trying to calm down. She watched several more people in turn step up to the counter. But she wasn’t listening to them. She was trying to rehearse what Don had told her to say.
‘Mrs Smiley?’
Joan turned at the sound of her name, and saw a tubby young woman with short fair hair. She was wearing a black uniform waistcoat over a white shirt and black trousers. The officer was peering at the people in the room.
Joan raised a hand. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
The officer had a radio sticking out of her breast pocket. A badge on one side of her chest bore a police crest with the words
Joan followed her through the door, along a corridor and into a cramped, windowless room. There was only a metal table with chairs either side of it. ‘I’m PCSO Watts,’ she said politely, but very seriously.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Joan replied. She was now drenched in sweat.
The Police Community Support Officer asked her to sit down. Then PCSO Watts sat on the other side of the table. She opened a large notebook with a printed form on it. ‘Your husband is missing, is that right, Mrs Smiley?’
Joan nodded.
PCSO Watts picked up a biro. ‘Right, let’s start with his name.’
‘Victor Joseph Smiley,’ she said.
The officer wrote this down, very slowly. ‘And his age?’
‘Forty-three.’
‘You are worried because he did not come home last night, is that correct?’
Joan nodded. She did not like the way the officer was looking at her, studying her face intently. It felt as if she was looking right through her. ‘It’s very unusual,’ Joan said. ‘I mean, more than unusual, if you see what I mean?’
The officer frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t, no.’
‘Victor’s never done this before. Not come home. Not ever in all the time we’ve been married.’
‘Which is how long?’
‘Nineteen and a half years,’ Joan replied. She could have added,
For the next quarter of an hour Joan felt she was on trial. The officer fired one question after another at her. Had Joan contacted any of their friends? Yes, Ted and Madge, but they had not seen him or heard from him. What about Victor’s relatives? All he had was a sister, in Melbourne.
The officer wrote each answer down, painfully slowly.
Joan did her best to talk about Victor in a way she thought any loving wife would talk about her husband. He was the perfect man in every way. She adored him. He adored her. They had never spent a single day apart in all the years they had been married. Of course, they had their ups and downs, like any couple. She said that he was feeling very low after being made redundant. Very, very low.
But he had never, ever, not come home. Until last night.
Even after Joan said all this, PCSO Watts asked if this had ever happened before. Joan told her again that it had not. She repeated that he had been feeling low after being told he was being made redundant.
PCSO Watts was kind and full of sympathy. ‘Have you tried phoning his mobile number?’ she asked.
Joan went white for an instant. She felt her stomach churn like a cement mixer. The officer went in and out of focus.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I try all the time. I keep phoning and phoning him.’
‘Are you worried about the effect that losing his job might have had on him and on his pride?’ PCSO Watts asked.
‘He is a proud man,’ Joan said. Well, she thought, that was better than saying
‘Do you have a photograph of him we could circulate?’ Juliet Watts asked.
‘I could find one,’ she said.
‘That would be very helpful.’
‘I’ll drop one in.’
‘Look,’ the officer said, ‘I know this might be difficult for you, but is it possible that Victor is having an affair?’
Joan shook her head. ‘No. He loves me. We are very close. We are very, very close.’
‘So, you are worried about his state of mind after losing his job?’
‘I am very worried,’ Joan said. Don had told her to focus on this. Don had told her to try to make the police think he might have killed himself. ‘Victor is such a proud man. He came home in tears and sobbed his heart out the day he heard the news.’
