Crippen made a face, indicating doubtful resignation. ‘Maybe not, but we have to keep all options open for now. So who are we going to grill next?’
The decision was made for them, as they saw Betsan Evans through the caravan window. She was coming across the yard with three mugs of tea on a tray.
‘This is going to get more and more bloody awkward as we go on, John,’ muttered Crippen. ‘I hate these domestic affairs; it’s just embarrassment all round.’
His sergeant thought it odd for an experienced detective to feel embarrassed, but this was certainly an unusual situation. Nichols went to the door to take the tray from the farmer’s wife.
‘Thanks, Mrs Evans. I’m afraid we need to talk to everyone again. Can you come over in a few minutes, please?’
She nodded, albeit reluctantly. ‘If you want to speak to my husband as well, I’m afraid he’s gone over to Llandovery with his father and Jeff. They took the trailer to fetch some calves and won’t be back until dinner time.’
She walked back to the house, and the two police officers handed a mug of tea to the PC outside before settling back to drink their own and discuss the new twist that had cropped up.
‘This Tom Littleman seems quite a ladies’ man, even though he was a boozer,’ observed Nichols.
‘Some women seem to fall for these naughty fellows,’ said Crippen gloomily. ‘Puts a bit of spice in their life, perhaps, after being stuck out here with a couple of husbands who smell of manure and talk only about the price of sheep.’
‘How serious was it, I wonder? Being seen going into the pictures in Brecon is hardly grounds for divorce.’
‘Depends on what their husbands thought about it, if they found out.’
The sergeant looked at Crippen. ‘Do you fancy either of the women for it, then?’
‘They’re big and strong enough, tough country women. But no, not really. I’ve never heard of a woman throttling a man. It’s always the other way around.’
‘So your money’s on one of the men – or even both of them together?’
The DI shrugged. ‘Let’s not jump our fences until we come to them, John. Drink your tea, then we’ll hear what she’s got to say.’
EIGHT
In the staffroom of Garth House others were also drinking tea when the telephone rang in the passage outside. Moira, as their nominal secretary, felt obliged to be the one who answered it.
A moment later she came back in again, an excited expression on her face. ‘I think you’d better talk to them, doctor,’ she said in a stage whisper, though the phone was outside.
‘Who is it, Moira?’ asked Angela, getting out of her chair.
‘The War Office!’ she replied in hushed tones. ‘They wanted to speak to Dr Pryor, but I said he wasn’t here.’
After a puzzled Angela hurried out of the room, Moira and Siân were consumed with curiosity, once again showing their intense interest in all the doings of the Garth House Consultancy.
‘What on earth would the War Office want with Richard?’ asked Siân. Though he was ‘doctor’ when they were with him, in private they spoke of both him and Angela by name.
‘He was an army officer all through the war,’ pointed out Moira. ‘Let’s hope they don’t want to call him up again!’
Siân, who was surprisingly abreast of world events, thought this not beyond the bounds of possibility. ‘There’s so much trouble in the world these days – Russia has just formed the Warsaw Pact, Germany joining NATO, our rail and newspaper strikes! I’d not rule out them calling up reservists.’
But when Angela came back, she was able to reassure them that Richard Pryor was not being hauled off to Aldershot next day.
‘It’s another case for us, hopefully,’ she announced. ‘That was a lawyer from the War Office. I think he said it was something to do with the Adjutant-General’s Branch. I’m not well up with these military outfits.’
‘What sort of case could that be?’ asked Siân, mystified as to why the army should want her hero.
‘It seems there’s some controversy about a compensation case following a shooting death. They need a second medical opinion.’
‘Dr Pryor will be pleased at that,’ said Moira confidently.
‘I know he was quite proud of his army service. He said once that perhaps he should have stayed in the RAMC instead of taking that civilian job in Singapore.’
‘Yes, I heard him say that, too,’ chipped in Siân. ‘He reckoned if he’d stayed, he’d probably be a brigadier by now.’
Angela smiled at their enthusiasm for her partner. ‘Well, he’d better get his medals out and clean them up, because I arranged for this lawyer to come down to see us next week!’
Betsan Evans was not tearful or hysterical, just defiant.
When Arthur Crippen suggested to her that she had been economical with the truth over her relationship with Tom Littleman, the farmer’s wife made no attempt to deny it.
‘It was an awful mistake, but there it is,’ she said. ‘He was a good-looking chap, and in spite of the fact that I knew he was a bad lot there was something about him that I couldn’t resist.’
‘It was more than just a visit to the pictures, was it?’
Betsan looked down at her hands, which were rough compared with the smoothness of her face.
‘We went back to that flat of his once or twice,’ she murmured. ‘It was partly that grubby place that made me end it so soon. It made me see how sordid the whole affair was.’
The sergeant looked up from writing on his statement forms. ‘When did it finish, Mrs Evans?’
She sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. ‘A few weeks ago. He didn’t seem all that bothered, damn the man! Shows how little it meant to him.’
‘Does your husband know about it?’
The question certainly jerked the woman out of her state of dull apathy. ‘No, of course not! For God’s sake, don’t tell him, will you?’
As he spoke again, the inspector felt as if he was walking on eggshells. He was a kindly man, but this was a murder investigation and he couldn’t see how he was going to avoid hurting a few people.
‘I’m afraid I can’t guarantee anything, Betsan. It depends on how the investigation goes.’
‘Aubrey mustn’t know,’ she said desperately. ‘It would kill him – or he’d kill me!’
She realized what she was saying and her face took on a sudden ghastly pallor. For a moment Crippen thought she might be sick.
‘What about Rhian? Does she know about your affair?’
Now on slightly less frightening ground, Betsan shook her head vehemently. ‘God, no! She’s so strait-laced. She wouldn’t understand how I was tempted.’
Crippen looked at her gravely. ‘I think she might, Mrs Evans. You’re not the only one we’ve had information about.’
The implication of what he had said took a moment to register with Betsan. Her eyes widened, and the paleness of her cheeks flushed pink.
‘You don’t mean… I can’t believe it! That bloody man! I thought he loved me – for a couple of weeks, anyway.’
‘Are you sure you never told her about him – or that she told you a similar story?’
Tears now appeared in her eyes for the first time. Arthur felt that Littleman’s infidelity troubled her more than her own. She shook her head and wiped her eyes angrily with her fingers.
‘We aren’t that close, not as if we were sisters – or even sisters-in-law,’ she sniffed. ‘Rhian lives over in the cottage, and although we see each other most days there isn’t a lot to talk about, apart from the farm. It’s not even as if either of us has kids.’
Crippen detected an underlying hint of loneliness and longing in her voice. ‘So you wouldn’t know if her husband knew about it? Nothing in a change of his manner or anything like that?’
Again she shook her head and found a crumpled handkerchief in the pocket of her apron, blowing her nose hard. ‘Rhian doesn’t know about me and Tom, does she?’ she asked haltingly.