‘We’ll see,’ he replied patronisingly. ‘And there is also the abuse complaint we have received.’
‘That’s malicious nonsense and you know it.’ I was quite cross. ‘I not only demand that you release me from this investigation but also that you inform the press and media that I am no longer a suspect in the murder of my wife.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you do remain a suspect.’
It was like talking to a brick wall.
‘I want my car back,’ I said. ‘And my house, plus my computer and my phone.’
I wanted my life back too, my lovely life with my gorgeous Amelia, but that wasn’t going to happen either.
‘I will need to speak to DCI Priestly,’ the DS said.
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘You do that. I’ll wait.’
I sat down on one of the seats in the police station lobby, crossed my legs and folded my arms. I could also be bloody-minded.
I waited a long time and I began to worry that they must have more evidence against me than I thought.
It had always been a bit of a risk coming back to the police station and part of me had argued strongly against it — the memory of being in that cell, even for only one night, was raw and distressing. I had no wish to repeat the experience.
Eventually the detective sergeant returned, still without handcuffs.
‘You can have your car,’ he said. ‘And access to your house, but we will keep your phone and computer for the time being.’
It was a start — a move in the right direction.
‘Okay,’ I said. I held my hand out. ‘I’ll take the car and house keys now.’
‘I can give you the keys for the house but not to your car. It’s still at our forensic lab and needs to be returned here first to complete the paperwork.’
‘So when will that happen?’
‘Soon,’ he said.
Soon could mean anything from just a few minutes to any length of time you chose. Something happening soon in geological terms meant in only a million years or so.
‘Why can’t I have my phone and computer?’ I asked.
‘Because the forensic team are still going through the data.’
‘They won’t find anything incriminating,’ I said. ‘Not implicating me, anyway. But you should take a look at the emails from Joe Bradbury over the past three years. They will show you the sort of man he really is. And there are more of those on Amelia’s laptop. I presume you still have that?’
‘Yes, we do. We’ve had it since the morning she was found.’
‘Well, take a good look. You will see that there is no possible way that my wife would call Joe Bradbury and invite him over to our house, especially if I wasn’t there. She hated him. Joe was lying about that in the Coroner’s Court yesterday and you should ask him why. Check his phone records. There’ll be no call.’
He looked at me in silence and I found it impossible to read what he was thinking.
‘House keys?’ I said, holding out my hand.
He handed over the padlock keys.
‘Call me at home about the car and the other stuff,’ I said.
And then I departed, inhaling the cold crisp air outside in great gulps. There was definitely something refreshing about freedom.
‘Sounds like you had a good day,’ Douglas said when I told him everything that evening.
‘It could have been better. The damn police still won’t release me from the investigation. They seem hung up on the life insurance thing.’
‘You have to admit that it’s a strong motive,’ he said. ‘Money being the root of all evil, and all that guff.’
‘But that’s not right,’ I said. ‘The correct quote is “the love of money is the root of all evil”. Different thing altogether. It comes from the Bible. Saint Paul’s first epistle to Timothy, chapter six, verse ten.’
Douglas looked at me and raised a questioning eyebrow.
I laughed. ‘I calculate the church buildings insurance premium for the Diocese of London. The bishop quotes that verse at me every year when the premium goes up.’
And my love of money was like nothing compared to my love of Amelia. I’d give up every drop of monetary riches I owned just to have her back for an hour — or even a minute.
‘How about you?’ I asked, fighting back another wave of emotion. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Mixed,’ he said. ‘The damn jury convicted our man of manslaughter rather than murder. Complete cop-out, if you ask me. The judge was clearly furious with them. All but told them so, straight out.’
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
‘The CPS may decide to retry him for murder. Or they might take the view that this conviction is enough. We’ll wait and see.’
‘How long is the sentence for manslaughter?’
‘The maximum possible is life imprisonment,’ Douglas said. ‘Same as for murder. But, in my experience, it’s typically between two and ten years.’
‘Couldn’t the judge just sentence him to life anyway?’
‘He could,’ Douglas agreed, ‘but it would likely be reduced in the Court of Appeal. Much better to get things right the first time round.’
Pity the Banbury police didn’t take the same view.
Friday morning dawned bright and cold with the sun streaming through a crack in Philip’s curtains.
‘I think I’ll go back home today,’ I said to Douglas over breakfast.
‘You know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,’ he said between mouthfuls of toast.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But I can’t run away for ever.’
‘Are you sure you’re ready?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not at all sure, but I have to go back sometime, and today seems as good a day as any. At least the sun is shining.’
Douglas looked troubled.
‘Would you like me to come with you? I’ve nothing scheduled for today now that my trial has finished. All I have to do is prepare my next brief.’
‘My dear brother,’ I said, ‘I would love you to come but you’ve told me how busy you are in the coming weeks and I think this is something I have to do on my own.’
‘At least you don’t have to worry about the police any more.’
‘Don’t I?’ I said. ‘Try telling that to the investigating DS. He’s still treating me as the only suspect.’
‘Trust me,’ Douglas said. ‘I’ve been an advocate in criminal proceedings for more than twenty years now and I’m telling you that there is no chance the CPS would countenance charges against you with so little evidence, and with so many counterindications. Your alibi is cast iron for a start. This DS might not want to admit it but, after what you proved to him yesterday, he will now be forced to look for someone else.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘I told him to check Joe Bradbury’s phone records for the non-existent call he claims he received from Amelia.’
‘That’s a start,’ Douglas agreed. ‘But they will need more than that to charge him with her murder.’
‘But, if nothing else, it will show him to be a liar and that might just stop them believing every word he says against me, and especially all that claptrap about me abusing his daughter.’
‘I agree that is bizarre,’ Douglas said. ‘Why would he say such a thing without any evidence?’
‘Because he’s obsessed. He hates me so much that it clouds his judgement over everything. And I don’t know why. He accuses me of bullying his mother but he’s the real bully. Take all that nonsense over selling the family home a few years ago. He claimed that he was the world’s expert on selling houses and then he made a complete cock-up of it. He berated Amelia for her choice of estate agent and then ended up appointing a cheap one who tried to mislead potential buyers with incomplete information. It would be a joke if it weren’t so serious. The house was eventually sold for a hundred thousand pounds less than we believe it should have raised. All due to his incompetence. The man’s an idiot.’