foolhardy policeman to go and ask Lord Pryde if he had been paying out hush money to his son! I resolved to play the role of the concerned wife.
At six o'clock the door bell rang. A uniformed police constable was accompanied by a man of striking good looks, over six feet tall and dressed in a surprisingly well-cut dark grey suit. All in all, he looked a class above the popular image of his profession. I put him in his mid to late thirties and made a note to be extra careful in what I said, for fear that, in the time honoured phrase, it might one day be used in evidence, and even worse, against me. Inspector Wilkinson introduced himself and asked if they could come in. There was no milk in the refrigerator, but five minutes later we were all seated by the fire drinking black coffee, the young constable poised knowingly and breathlessly over his notebook. I was determined to give the impression of being relaxed and in control, and as the Inspector seemed in no rush to begin questioning me, I took the initiative.
'I'm sure there's really nothing to worry about, but he has been gone for three weeks now, so I thought that it would be only sensible to notify you.'
Inspector Wilkinson said nothing and just looked at me expectantly. I obliged by going on.
'He's never gone away like this before; without even a telephone call or a card.'
He muttered something incomprehensible and then asked: 'You have a son, don't you?'
'Yes, Frederick. He's five.'
'Same age as my eldest.' He looked around the room. 'Is he here with you?'
'No, well, you see we – I mean Freddie and I – we haven't been staying here for the last three weeks. We've been staying with friends.'
'Trouble between you and your husband?' he enquired, trying to appear sympathetic.
For some reason I hesitated before replying. 'I'm afraid we had a row.'
'About anything in particular?'
'Nothing specific really. You know the kind of thing.'
He appeared to understand. 'Perhaps he's taken a holiday to collect his thoughts. It does happen, you know, and then he'll come back full of remorse and seeking your forgiveness.'
I laughed to myself. The only remorse Edward knew was the horse of that name who had won the Triumph Hurdle two years previously.
The Inspector continued. 'Are any of his clothes missing? I suppose you've checked?'
'Yes, I did look, but nothing seems to be gone.'
'And are you sure he hasn't been here at all during the past three weeks? Popped in and out as it were?'
'I can't be absolutely certain. My daily, Mrs Parsons, has been on holiday. All that's definitely missing is his car.'
He looked over at the constable's notebook. 'That's a green Jaguar 4.2 registration REF 376X?'
'Yes, that's it. He loves his car.'
'Did your husband have any problems you were aware of, at work, say, or any debts perhaps?'
'He hasn't had a job for some time; we live off my earnings as a jockey and a little private income he has. As for debts, he did tell me he was in a spot of trouble with his bookmaker.'
'Do you know what sort of trouble?'
'I think there's quite a lot of money involved,' I answered, playing the innocent. 'We don't discuss that kind of thing, with me being a jockey.'
'How much is quite a lot? It would help if you were more precise, Mrs Pryde. Are we talking about hundreds or thousands?'
'Thousands, I'm afraid.'
The Inspector raised his eyebrows, and I noticed the constable underlining my answer in his notes.
'Your husband's father is the new Lord Chief Justice, isn't he?'
'That's right; does that matter?'
'Obviously, when the son of a very important person disappears, senior police officers have to become involved.'
'You don't think the IRA are behind this or anything?'
'Quite frankly, at this stage we don't think anything, nor for that matter do we discount anything. We're just being extra cautious. That's one of the reasons I'm here.'
'And the other?' I asked suspiciously. His relaxed and confident manner was beginning to unnerve me.
'Do you know the Melksham area well by any chance?'
'I know it's the other side of Marlborough and I've picnicked with Freddie on the downs there a couple of times; otherwise I can't claim to know it well. Why?'
'We've found your husband's car there. On the site of a disused chalk pit, set well back from the main roads. The car's been gutted, burnt out, and it's being examined by forensic experts at the moment.'
'You're not suggesting Edward was in it?'
'I'm not suggesting anything. Did he know that area well?'
'Not that I'm aware of. He came on one of the picnics, I think. When was it discovered? The officer at the station didn't mention anything at all when he fed the information I gave him into the computer.'
'It was only reported this morning. Your information wouldn't actually have found its way onto the computer until late this afternoon and then we got the word from Swansea.'
The telephone rang and I answered it. It was for the Inspector. His back straightened and his whole manner became increasingly alert and excited. Whatever he was being told clearly made interesting listening.
'Really?' he remarked to the caller after five minutes without interrupting. 'In the boot? When will forensic know if they've got anything to go on? Tomorrow. Good. We'll have to tell the Yard and probably Special Branch as well. Any chance of keeping it from the press for the moment? I'll be here for another, say, ten minutes and then I'll come straight on over. We can go on to the site together. Excellent.'
He put the phone down and turned gravely towards me. I knew something was wrong and that despite his sombre expression he was secretly excited. The adrenalin was running just like any jockey's does before a big race.
'That was my sergeant at the station. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. They've discovered the charred remains of some human bones in the boot of the car, and a pool of dried blood on the ground nearby. I don't want to distress you unnecessarily, Mrs Pryde, but I'm afraid your husband may be dead.'
I felt I ought to cry and I knew they expected me to, but I just couldn't. For a long time, I'd felt nothing for Edward but hate.
'Can I get you a glass of water – or something stronger perhaps?' the Inspector asked solicitously.
I shook my head. 'No, that's all right, thanks.' I decided to feign shock and buried my head in my hands. I then genuinely began to cry, not for myself or for Edward, but for Freddie. He had lost his father and that was a terrible thing, however evil he may have been. I looked up to find Inspector Wilkinson seated opposite me again, analysing my reaction.
'I know this is difficult for you,' he started. I'm sure I detected a slight hint of cynicism in his voice. 'But can you think of anybody who might have wanted to do away with your husband?'
I shook my head. In fact I could think of a whole lot of people who would not mourn his passing, all those whose names were in that pocket diary, for a start, including mine. Presumably that had gone up in smoke with him.
'Think about it, please. Anybody with a grudge, for example. What about this bookmaker he owed money to? Do you know his name?'
1 shook my head again. 'He never talked about his gambling to me, not in any kind of detail. He regarded it as his own private business, a gentleman's preserve.'
'I'll need a list of his friends, acquaintances, anybody who might be able to help us piece together his movements during the last two weeks.'
I knew of course that Tom Radcliffe had met Edward on the Saturday, the day after our fight. There was no point keeping quiet about it as everybody in the pub had probably heard their row, and anyway, Tom was the last person to lay a hand on Edward.
'He did see a friend of mine, a trainer, the night after we had our row. His name's Tom Radcliffe and his stables are over at Wantage.'
'Mr Radcliffe? Well, that's a start, I'll have his address, if you don't mind, and we'll go and have a word with
