‘No,’ said Wilt, ‘I most definitely wouldn’t.’
Inspector Flint sighed again. ‘You know, we’re going to get to the bottom of this thing,’ he said. ‘It may take time and it may take expense and God knows it’s taking patience but when we do get down there–’
‘You’re going to find an inflatable doll,’ said Wilt.
‘With a vagina?’
‘With a vagina.’
In the Staff Room Peter Braintree staunchly defended Wilt’s innocence. ‘I tell you I’ve known Henry well for the past seven years and whatever has happened he had nothing to do with it.’
Mr Morris, the Head of Liberal Studies, looked out of the window sceptically. ‘They’ve had him in there since ten past two. That’s four hours,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t do that unless they thought he had some connection with the dead woman.’
‘They can think what they like. I know Henry and even if the poor sod wanted to he’s incapable of murdering anyone.’
‘He did punch that Printer on Tuesday. That shows he’s capable of irrational violence.’
‘Wrong again. The Printer punched him,’ said Braintree.
‘Only after Wilt had called him a snivelling fucking moron,’ Mr Morris pointed out. ‘Anyone who goes into Printers Three and calls one of them that needs his head examined. They killed poor odd Pinkerton, you know. He gassed himself in his car.’
‘They had a damned good try at killing old Henry come to that.’
‘Of course, that blow might have affected his brain,’ said Mr Morris, with morose satisfaction. ‘Concussion can do funny things to a man’s character. Change him overnight from a nice quiet inoffensive little fellow like Wilt into a homicidal maniac who suddenly goes berserk. Stranger things have happened.’
‘I daresay Henry would be the first to agree with you,’ said Braintree. ‘It can’t be very pleasant sitting in that caravan being questioned by detectives. I wonder what they’re doing to him.’
‘Just asking questions. Things like “How have you been getting on with your wife?” and “Can you account for your movements on Saturday night?” They start off gently and then work up to the heavy stuff later on.’
Peter Braintree sat in silent horror. Eva. He’d forgotten all about her and as for Saturday night he knew exactly what Henry had said he had been doing before he turned up on the doorstep covered with mud and looking like death…
‘All I’m saying,’ said Mr Morris, ‘is that it seems very strange to me that they find a dead body at the bottom of a shaft filled with concrete and the next thing you know they’ve got Wilt in that Murder HQ for questioning. Very strange indeed. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes.’ He got up and left the room and Peter Braintree sat on wondering if there was anything he should do like phone a lawyer and ask him to come round and speak to Henry. It seemed a bit premature and presumably Henry could ask to see a lawyer himself if he wanted one.
Inspector Flint lit another cigarette with an air of insouciant menace. ‘How well do you get on with your wife?’ he asked.
Wilt hesitated. ‘Well enough,’ he said.
‘Just well enough? No more than that?’
‘We get along just fine,’ said Wilt, conscious that be had made an error.
‘I see. And I suppose she can substantiate your story about this inflatable doll.’
