Declared Dead

'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 him. Anybody else you can think of?'

'No, nobody.'

'Do you have a photograph of your husband we can borrow, please?'

I went upstairs and picked one up from our dressing room table. It had been taken about two years before, at Newbury Races. I handed it to the Inspector who, in my absence, had picked up the bronze from the coffee table and was admiring it. To my horror, I could still see traces of blood on the horse's head. I'd had no time to clean it after Freddie had hit Edward, and Mrs Parsons, true to form, must have overlooked it the following Monday.

'Is this you?' he asked, holding it up in front of me.

'No, that's Arkle, you know, the great Irish horse, with Pat Taffe up.'

'Of course, I should have seen the jockey was a man.'

'This is Edward?' he asked, carefully putting the bronze back and taking the framed photograph from me.

'That's him. It was taken a couple of years back. He hasn't changed much; he's just a little bit fatter round the face and has a few streaks of grey in his hair now.'

'A fine looking man. He wasn't wearing this tweed suit, was he by any chance, when you last saw him?'

I thought back to that Friday and of Edward lying on top of me, his hands round my throat. Sartorial observations weren't at that time my major concern.

'I think so, but I can soon find out by checking his wardrobe upstairs.'

'Would you mind taking a quick look?'

'If it will help. Do you want to come with me?'

He followed me up to the spare room. The wardrobe was still unlocked and there was no sign of Edward's favourite tweed suit.

'It looks like he was,' I said. 'It doesn't surprise me. There were times I thought he slept in it.'

The Inspector smiled. 'We all get attached to certain clothing. It's an unusual weave so the fibre might show up under the microscope, that is if any has survived the fire. Did he wear any rings or anything else that might help for identification purposes?'

'Not Edward. He hated what he called poof's paraphernalia and only wore a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand. He had inherited it from his grandfather.'

'What about his teeth? Do you know the name of his dentist?'

'He never went, not as far as I was aware anyway.'

'No gold fillings or anything?'

'None. He was very proud of his teeth, even though they were yellow from those cigars he smoked.'

'That's a nuisance. If you've only got charred bones to work on, teeth and jewellery can be very helpful when it comes to identification. I'm sure we'll find something.'

'Do you mean that otherwise you won't be able to tell for certain if it's Edward's body or not?'

He looked at me as if surprised by my question, and I felt myself going red in response. He took up the initiative. 'Do you have any reason to think that it might not be?'

'None at all. I just don't understand why he would want to kill himself and in such a horrible way.'

'You think it must be suicide then?'

'What else? You're surely not suggesting he's been murdered?' I said, in disbelief.

'At this stage, Mrs Pryde, I'm keeping an open mind. I'm just sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'd better be going.'

We went downstairs where the constable was reading through his notes.

'Right then,' the Inspector continued, 'I'll leave Garnier here to wait for the fingerprint boys. We'll need some of yours as well, of course, and Freddie's and your daily's, Mrs Parsons. Would you mind giving Gamier her address? Is there anything in particular your husband has recently had his hands on?' I instinctively thought of my neck.

There're his binoculars in the hall. Will they do?'

'Perfect. We should get some very good dabs off them.' He turned to leave. 'I'll need to take a more detailed statement from you later. Let me say again how sorry I am that this has happened. I would prefer it if you didn't talk to the press and you might find it sensible to lie low for the next couple of weeks. You can give Garnier the address where you're going to be staying.'

I didn't feel any need to reply. He reached the front door then looked round as if to survey the room. 'Oh yes, one final thing, Garnier. Make sure the fingerprint boys take the marks on that bronze and then bring it back to the station for forensic to have a look at. I'll be in touch, Mrs Pryde.'

Chapter 5

An hour and a half later, two fingerprint experts had grunted and crawled over the cottage. Edward's binoculars were greeted with whoops of satisfaction as they yielded apparently perfect specimens of the fingers of both his hands. My prints were taken and then they left to visit Mrs Parsons. I warned her by telephone that they were on their way to see her. Her involvement at this stage made any call to the press unnecessary. By midnight the whole of Lambourn would know that something serious was up in the Pryde household. I had already telephoned Ralph Elgar and told him the barest details of what was happening. He was shocked, and reassured me that Freddie was quite all right with him until I could get back. He insisted that we continued staying there until everything was cleared up. After the fingerprint men and Garnier had left, I telephoned Amy Frost in London. I was relieved when she answered the phone, as I thought she might be away for the weekend. I recounted everything that had happened.