him into being civil and inviting me into his library. It was a magnificent room, lined with thousands of leather-bound books. At the far end sat a large mahogany desk piled with legal-looking documents. A fire was blazing and he beckoned me to sit down on one of the leather armchairs beside it. It reminded me of my last serious discussion with Edward.
Lord Pryde looked tired and drawn, although nowhere near as drained emotionally as one would expect from a man who just recently lost his only son. He went straight on the attack, a family characteristic.
'Victoria, it really is quite wrong of you to come here uninvited. If Eleanor had been here you would have caused her considerable distress, and that's the last thing I want at the moment. As you can imagine, Edward's death has come as a terrible blow… to us both,' he added, apparently as an afterthought. 'I must ask you in any event to be brief. It would be dishonest of me to pretend that you are welcome in this house, and if it's young Freddie you've come to talk about, then you're wasting your time. It's quite clear to us that his interests are best served by being brought up here.' He stood up and started pacing the room, giving me no chance to speak. 'I realise that we are no longer young, but the boy is a Pryde, and quite frankly your involvement with this Radcliffe man makes your continuing custody of the boy quite out of the question. Of course, we would have no objection to your seeing him now and again, say once a month during the school holidays, but it's quite impossible for him to remain with you.'
I wanted to scratch his narrow, arrogant eyes out, but his spectacles would have got in the way. I went on the verbal attack instead.
'How very generous of you,' I replied aggressively. 'As it happens, it's not Freddie I've come to talk about, not directly at least. I'll leave that fight to the lawyers, and it will be a fight, I warn you. No, I'm here to talk about this,' I said, triumphantly waving a piece of paper in front of him. 'The letter from a certain Mr Lorenz, which my late beloved husband treasured so much.'
His complacent air gave way to a vitriolic rage.
'Where the hell did you get that?' he demanded, walking over towards me.
'No you don't!' I replied, putting it back inside my handbag. 'Don't worry, Gerald, I'm not a blackmailer. Your secret is dead along with your son. I just want to ensure that justice is now done. You must tell the police what Edward really was, so that they start investigating all those other people who had a real reason for wanting him dead.'
'Don't be ridiculous! Do you seriously think that a man of my standing can afford to expose himself so that some two-penny-ha'penny racehorse trainer is acquitted of a murder he almost certainly committed in any event? Think of my position. I would have to resign, lose everything I've worked all my life for. How would Eleanor feel? Isn't it enough that she's lost her son? No, Victoria. I've absolutely no intention of doing what you ask. Here, you're going to give me that letter right now!' He shoved me hard and grabbed the handbag. In a second he had opened it and removed the letter. He threw it straight onto the fire without even looking at it. As it burned he held me back from the fire with his right arm.
'There. Gone is your one and only piece of evidence.'
'How do you know I haven't made a copy?' I countered.
'I wouldn't care. Only originals are admissible in court. Now, leave this house and never ever return.'
I smiled condescendingly at him. 'As you will. Just one last thing. The next time you burn one of my mother's letters, I would prefer you to ask permission.' I didn't wait to see his reaction. Only his overweening arrogance would have let him think I was naive enough to bring actual evidence with me.
I returned to Ralph's house to find a message waiting for me to contact Amy Frost as a matter of urgency.
Freddie was running around the house with Ralph's dog. It was amazing how well he had taken the news of Edward's death. It was either a consequence of his age or more likely an indication that its true implications had not yet sunk in. When he saw me walk through the door he left the dog and came running up to me. I bent down and picked him up in my arms and we gave each other a big hug.
'What have you been up to today?' I said as I kissed him on his forehead. As he rushed through a seemingly endless list of things he had done, I pulled my head away and admired him. He was the spitting image of Edward, but had blond hair like my own. Once he finished telling me his various achievements, I put him down and told him to go on playing with the dog while I called Amy. I wondered if she had any news of Tom's committal hearing, which was due to take place in a couple of days' time. By now the prosecution statements would have been served and Tom given full notice of the case against him. Clever Amy had befriended the solicitor acting for Tom and with a bit of luck, she would have been tipped off as to its strengths and weaknesses.
I caught Amy just as she got in the door.
'Any news?' I asked anxiously.
'I'm afraid so and it's not ail good. Hold on a minute while I take my coat off and make myself a little more comfortable.'
I couldn't believe that she could sound so calm.
'Shall I fire away?' she asked, a minute or so later. 'They've served the statements on Tom's solicitor and to be honest, although I haven't actually been shown them, they don't seem to make that happy reading.'
'What do you mean?' I already sounded anxious.
'As I told you, in the absence of a confession or an eye witness, the police case has to be based on circumstantial evidence. You know what I mean, once they prove the body is Edward's, all the clues have to point to Tom as the murderer.'
'But what clues?'
'Hold on a minute, I'm coming to that. Just let me get my notes out. Right. To begin with, the row in the pub was a very acrimonious affair and was overheard by half the saloon bar. Apparently Edward was asking Tom to leave you alone and Tom lost his temper and threatened all sorts of things if Edward didn't treat you better. I gather they very nearly came to blows and both were the worse for drink when they left, just before closing time.'
'But that doesn't prove anything. Tom doesn't mean it when he makes those kinds of threats.'
'You know that, Victoria, but the police don't. Can I continue?'
'I'm sorry.'
'It's all right. I do understand, but if you let me finish with the evidence we can dissect it afterwards. Next comes the forensic stuff. On the track leading to the chalk pit they've discovered four footprints which match the shoes Tom admits wearing the night he met Edward.'
'But he's got the same size feet as half the men in England.'
'I thought you were going to let me finish! And on those shoes they've found traces of chalk which match that found in the pit. Finally, hidden in a disused stable in his yard under a load of machinery they've found a petrol can which they believe was used to set fire to the car and Edward's body.'
'I just don't believe it. The chalk on the shoes is probably the same as you will find near those gallops Tom uses and the petrol can proves nothing. There must be a million discarded petrol cans on farms and in stables.'
'You're probably right but not all their owners have a motive for wanting Edward dead or, for that matter, have petrol stains on the clothing they were wearing the night the victim disappeared.'
'On his clothing! But how?'
'Tom says he must have done it when he filled his car up with petrol on the way to the pub.'
'It's very likely – he's a clumsy bugger.'
'It's just unfortunate I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Victoria, but you've got to accept that Edward's dead and Tom's going to be on trial for his murder in less than two months' time.'
I thanked her for her help and asked if she would attend the committal hearing to keep an eye on the proceedings. I would be elsewhere, at Tom's yard trying to locate the present whereabouts of Michael Corcoran and hoping that he might admit to the police that he was being blackmailed. I took out his letter of confession and clenched it tightly in my hand. Ironically, a spot of blackmail of my own was now called for.
