"No, of course it isn't, but Bertie was out of control. He sank his teeth into the stupid idiot's arm, and I couldn't get him off for love or money." Angrily, she turned a ferocious glare on her dog, then stabbed her knife into a tomato and splattered seeds all over the chopping board. "I had to thrash him in the end to make him release his hold, and I won't be able to deny it if Steve takes me to court."
"Who attacked first, Bertie or Steve?"
"Me, probably. I was screaming abuse at Steve, so he lashed out at me, then the next thing I knew Bertie was hanging off his arm like a great hairy leech." Unexpectedly, she laughed. "Actually, in retrospect, it's quite funny. I thought they were dancing until red saliva came out of Bertie's mouth. I just couldn't understand what Harding thought he was playing at. First he appears out of nowhere, then he runs at Stinger, then he slaps me and starts dancing with my dog. I felt as if I was in a madhouse."
"Why do you think he slapped you?"
She smiled uncomfortably. "Presumably because I made him angry. I called him a pervert."
"That's no excuse for slapping you. Verbal abuse does not constitute an assault, Maggie."
"Then maybe it should."
"The man hit you," he remarked curiously. "Why are you making excuses for him?"
"Because, thinking back, I was incredibly rude. I certainly called him a creep and a bastard, and I said you'd crucify him if you knew he was there. It's your fault, really. I wouldn't have been so frightened if you hadn't come and questioned me about him yesterday. You planted the idea that he was dangerous."
"Mea culpa," he said mildly.
"You know what I mean."
He acknowledged the point gravely. "What else did you say?"
"Nothing. I just screamed at him like a fishwife because he gave me such a shock. The trouble is, he was shocked, too, so we both sort of lashed out without thinking ... he in his way ... me in mine."
"There's no excuse for physical violence."
"Isn't there?" she asked dryly. "You excused mine earlier."
"True," he admitted, rubbing his cheek reminiscently. "But if I'd retaliated, Maggie, you'd still be unconscious."
"Meaning what? That men are expected to show more responsibility than women?" She glanced at him with a half-smile. "I don't know whether to accuse you of being patronizing or ignorant."
"Ignorant every time," he said. "I know nothing about women except that very few of them could land me a knock-out blow." His eyes smiled at her. "But I know damn well that I could flatten any of them. Which is why-unlike Steve Harding-I wouldn't dream of raising my hand against one."
"Yes, but you're so wise and so middle-aged, Nick," she said crossly, "and he isn't. In any case, I don't even remember the way it happened. It was all over so quickly. I expect that sounds pathetic, but I've realized I'm not much good as a witness."
"It just makes you normal," he said. "Very few people have accurate recall."
"Well, the truth is I think he wanted to try and catch Stinger before he bolted and only hit out when I called him a pervert." Her shoulders sagged despondently as if the brandy-courage in her blood had suddenly evaporated. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. I used to see everything so straightforwardly before I got taken to the cleaners by Martin, but now I can't make up my mind about anything. I'd have insisted on a prosecution like a shot this morning, but now I realize I'd die if anything happened to Bertie. I love the stupid animal to distraction, and I absolutely refuse to sacrifice him on a point of principle. He's worth a slap from a toe-rag any day. Goddammit, he's faithful. All right, he visits you from time to time, but he always comes home to love me at night."
"Okay."
There was a short silence.
"Is that all you're going to say?"
"Yes."
She eyed him with suspicion. "You're a policeman. Why aren't you arguing with me?"
"Because you're intelligent enough to make your own decisions, and nothing I can say will change your mind."
"That's absolutely right." She slapped some butter on a piece of sliced bread and waited for him to say something else. When he didn't, she grew nervous. "Are you still going to question Steve?" she demanded.
"Of course. That's my job. Helicopter rescues don't come cheap, and someone has to account for why this morning's was necessary. Harding was admitted to hospital with dog bites, so I have a responsibility to establish whether the attack on him was provoked or unprovoked. One of you was assaulted this morning, and I have to try and find out which. If you're lucky, he'll be feeling as guilty as you are and there'll be a stalemate. If you're unlucky, I'll be back this evening requesting a statement from you in answer to his assertion that you had no control over your dog."
"That's blackmail."
He shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned, you and Steven Harding have equal rights under the law. If he says Bertie made an unprovoked attack on him, I will investigate the allegation, and if I think he's right I'll submit my findings to the Crown Prosecution Service and suggest they prosecute you. I may not like him, Maggie, but if I think he's telling the truth I will support him. That's what society pays me for, irrespective of personal feeling and irrespective of how it may affect the people involved."
She turned around, back against the worktop. "I had no idea you were such a cold fucking bastard."
He was unrepentant. "And I had no idea you thought you ranked above anyone else. You'll get no favors from me, not where the law's concerned."
"Will you favor me if I give you a statement?"
"No, I'll be as fair to you as I am to Harding, but my advice is that you'll gain an advantage by getting your statement in first."
She whipped the knife off the chopping board and waved it under his nose. "Then you'd bloody well better be right," she said fiercely, "or I'll take your testicles off-personally-and laugh while I'm doing it. I love my dog."
"So do I," Ingram assured her, putting a finger on the hilt of the knife and moving it gently to one side. "The difference is I don't encourage him to slobber all over me in order to prove it."
"I've sealed the garage for the moment," Galbraith told Carpenter over the phone, "but you'll have to sort out priorities with Customs and Excise. We need a scene-of-crime team down here pronto, but if you want a hard charge on which to hold Steven Harding, then C and E can probably deliver for you. My guess is he's been ferrying illegal immigrants in wholesale and dropping them off along the south coast ... Yes, it would certainly explain the fingerprint evidence in the saloon area. No, no sign of the stolen Fastrigger outboard..." He felt the young man beside him stir, and he glanced at him with a distracted smile. "Yes, I'm bringing Tony Bridges in now. He's agreed to make a new statement ... Yes, very cooperative. William? ... No, it doesn't eliminate him any more than it eliminates Steve ... Mmm, back to square one, I'm afraid." He tucked the telephone into his breast pocket and wondered why he'd never thought of taking up acting himself.
At the other end, Superintendent Carpenter looked at his receiver in surprise for a moment before cutting the line. He hadn't a clue what John Galbraith had been talking about.
Although he hadn't been aware of it, Steven Harding had been under observation by a woman detective constable from the moment he was admitted to the hospital. She sat out of sight in the Sister's office, making sure he stayed put, but he appeared in no hurry to leave. He flirted constantly with the nurses, and much to the WPC's irritation, the nurses reciprocated. She spent the waiting hours pondering the naivete of women, and wondered how many of these selfsame nurses would argue vehemently that they hadn't given him any encouragement if and when he decided to rape them. In other words, what constituted encouragement? Something a woman would describe as innocent flirting? Or something a man would call a definite come-on?