‘Did you challenge him about it, Mrs Ingles?’ asked Keedy.
‘Yes, I did. It made me livid.’
‘What did your husband say?’
‘I’ve never seen him so angry,’ she replied. ‘When he realised that I’d been listening, he used the most disgusting language. And then he …’
The memory was too fresh in her mind to bear repetition. June needed a few more minutes before she could go on. Marmion assured her that there was no hurry. Taking down her statement, Keedy was equally considerate. Both of them recognised the significance of what she was telling them. When she was ready to continue, she made a pathetic effort to put on a brave face.
‘What did your husband do, Mrs Ingles?’ prompted Marmion.
‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve always been so … contented together. Brian’s been a good husband,’ she declared, anxious to say something in his defence. ‘Some people might say that he spoilt me. And it meant so much to me, you see.’
‘What did?’
‘My jewellery — he demanded that I sold it at once.’
They’d heard more than enough to be convinced that Ingles had been plunged into some sort of financial crisis. Petrified at the death of his daughter, he’d rallied soon after and regained something of his former swagger, but phone calls to the house had given him an edge of desperation. He was even about to sell off the jewellery he’d bought his wife throughout their marriage. The urgency of it all was frightening.
‘What did you say, Mrs Ingles?’ asked Keedy.
‘I refused,’ she replied. ‘I put my foot down and refused to hand over my jewellery. It was very precious to me — and I don’t mean in terms of its value.’
‘How did your husband react?’
There was another strained silence as she fought to compose herself.
‘He hit me,’ she said, lower lip trembling. ‘Brian went berserk and slapped me across the face. He’s never done anything like that before. He wouldn’t have dared. Then, instead of apologising and trying to comfort me, he went charging off upstairs to grab my jewellery box. My husband’s lost control,’ she wailed, ‘and it’s all to do with those phone calls he took.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Marmion.
‘He’s at home. Brian said that I had to leave for a couple of hours because he had an important business meeting. Just think of that,’ she said, eyes widening in despair. ‘We’ve been married for thirty years and I get thrown out of my own house. You’ve got to help me, Inspector. Since that bomb went off, I’ve been living with a madman.’
Brian Ingles sat white-faced on the edge of an armchair in his living room. The man who stood over him was tall, lean, well featured and almost twenty years younger. Wearing an expensive suit, he fingered his moustache as he looked down at Ingles, relishing the power he had over him. He listened to a long list of promises from the other man.
‘It’s not enough,’ he said, coldly, ‘and it’s not soon enough.’
‘You have to give me more time,’ pleaded Ingles.
‘You’ve already had far too much time. Debts must be paid.’
‘And I’ll pay them in full if only you’ll bear with me for a while. It’s the worst possible moment. We’re in mourning for our daughter, for God’s sake! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘It means a great deal.’
‘Then show some compassion.’
‘You exhausted my supply of that a long time ago.’ He took some sheets of paper from his inside pocket and held them up. ‘We have a contract. I expect it to be honoured.’
‘I did honour it,’ asserted Ingles. ‘I paid you thousands.’
‘All you were doing was to pay off some of the interest. You’re nowhere near settling the whole debt. The longer you delay, the higher the interest becomes,’ he went on with a taunting smirk. ‘You borrowed so much that the bank won’t give you any more credit. Find the money elsewhere. It will take more than this house and a jewellery box to get me off your back.’
‘You’re bleeding me dry, you bastard!’
‘I didn’t ask you to catch the gambling bug. When you risk your future on the turn of a card, you have to be ready to pay a high price. You’re a loser, Brian, a born loser. You’ve had such success at everything else in the past that you thought you couldn’t fail. But you did,’ said the man with grinning satisfaction. He stuffed the contract back into his pocket. ‘You failed and failed again. Failure costs money.’ His face hardened. ‘I warned you that I wasn’t a man to be trifled with. You pushed me to the limit.’
‘I thought it was someone else,’ said Ingles, head in his hands. ‘When I heard that they had a suspect, I really believed that the police knew who’d done it. It was such a relief. You hadn’t carried out your threat, after all.’
‘Yes, I had — I don’t make idle threats, Brian.’
‘I never thought you’d stoop to murder.’
‘Oh, I stooped much lower than that,’ said the other, exultantly. ‘When I was in the army, I learnt three vital lessons, you see. I learnt how to make an explosive device that went off when I wanted it to. I learnt how to play cards and win because there’s a lot of spare time when you’re a soldier. And — most important of all — I learnt that, when you’ve got hold of an enemy, you never let him go.’
‘I should have gone to the police at the very start.’
‘You signed a legal document. It’s binding.’
Ingles tried to get up. ‘I’ll ring them now and tell them the truth.’
‘Sit down,’ ordered the man, pushing him back down. ‘You’re not stupid enough to get the coppers involved. It’s the one thing in your favour. You know what I’d do, Brian. Cross me and you won’t have a house left to sell.’ He looked around the room. ‘It will burn very nicely.’
‘You’ll never let us off the hook, will you?’
‘It’s where you deserve to be.’
Ingles was horrified at his impotence in the face of his visitor. After luring him into a token friendship, the man had slowly stripped him of almost everything that he held dear and the worst of it was that Ingles could do nothing about it. Naked fear paralysed him. Even though the man had been responsible for the death of his daughter, Ingles felt powerless against him. It was almost as if he were hypnotised. ‘What did you mean?’ he asked, quietly. ‘When you said that you’d stooped lower, what did you mean? Wasn’t cold-blooded murder enough for you?’
‘I hate waste,’ said the man, airily. ‘Florrie was an attractive woman and she was feeling lonely. So I got to know her a little. We became friends. When I heard it was her birthday, I even drove her to the pub to make the arrangements. Florrie was going to tell them, you see. When we had the party, I was going to be unveiled as the best birthday present she’d ever had. But I disappointed her,’ he went on with a callous laugh. ‘I dropped her like a stone and let her go off with the rest of those doomed canaries.’
Ingles sat forward. ‘You knew Florrie? You spent time with her?’
‘We did more than spend time, Brian. I’ll let you into a secret.’ The man leant forward to whisper. ‘You and June were about to become grandparents.’
The horror of it all was too much to endure. When he realised what his tormentor had actually done, Ingles lost his fear and his inertia. The man had not only seduced Florrie then killed her in an explosion, he was glorying in villainy. Ingles’s rage surged and he leapt up to grapple with the visitor. The brawl was quickly over. The man was younger, stronger and far more accustomed to fighting. After subduing him with some heavy punches, he got a hand to his throat and held Ingles at arm’s length. He was about to administer further punishment when he heard a loud knock at the front door. Swinging round, he saw a face peering at him through the window.