Читать книгу Missing Pieces - K L Harrison - Страница 9

Late November

“Good evening Mrs Davidson. Thank you for agreeing to see us again. This is WPC Grant, you met her….”

“Yes Inspector, I remember Miss Grant. And again, thank you for being so patient with me that evening Constable. I could not have been easy to handle.”

WPC Grant nodded slightly, doing a very good job of hiding her true feelings. Spence was impressed.

Felicity Davidson led Spence and WPC Grant into the lounge room. Spence enjoyed looking at the Turner prints.

“Inspector, this is my father, Alexander Brandis.”

Brandis held out his hand; his handshake was firm.

“Inspector. Grim business all round. What progress are you making?”

Spence gave the stock answer.

“It’s early days Mr Brandis but we are following several lines of inquiry. Mrs Davidson, I hope you don’t mind but we need to ask you some additional questions.”

“Of course, Inspector.”

“For god’s sake man, hasn’t my daughter been through enough? How many more times do you need to keep asking the same questions?”

Brandis was a man used to getting his own way.

“I’m sorry sir, Mrs Davidson, but when it’s murder, we have to check and double check.”

Spence was taken aback that he had actually called this pompous, self-important twat ‘sir’.

“Mrs Davidson, we have to ask you some personal questions.”

He paused for effect.

“Did you and your husband have a regular, healthy sexual relationship?”

“How dare you!! I think you had better go Inspector, and you can assume that I will be speaking to the Chief Constable about this.”

Brandis was starting to get red in the face and the veins on his forehead were working overtime. However, Spence had been in the game too long to be intimidated by the likes of Brandis.

“Very well sir. We will take Mrs Davidson to the station. I will arrange for the presence of a psychologist, you can organise your lawyer to be present, and, if you need Trevor’s number, here, save you having to look it up. He, Margaret and I had dinner last night. He is well acquainted with the case.”

Spence offered Brandis his phone, maintaining total eye contact. Brandis stepped back. Once again, Joanne Grant looked on in awe.

“Now I am sorry to have to delve into such personal things but it is important.”

“Is this to do with that Patel woman?”

Spence side-stepped the question.

“So Mrs Davidson, may I ask again-“

Felicity Davidson was suddenly transformed. The grief-stricken widow became the bitter, rejected wife.

“No Inspector, we did not. God knows how this happened.”

She pointed to her stomach.

“Roger showed no interest in me. And it wasn’t just the Patel woman; he had been, shall we say, lacking in interest for the best part of two years.”

Spence stayed quiet, allowing her to speak. Her bitterness prevented her from getting her words easily.

“He never touched me. He wore pyjamas even during those rare moments we were intimate, Inspector. I cannot even remember the last time I saw my husband naked.”

Spence realised that there was no need to delve into their sado-masochistic fun and games; they did not exist. After a few more questions of a less sensitive nature, Spence and WPC Grant took their leave. Spence told Joanne Grant that he would have liked to have stayed, just to see how Brandis took it all. They were soon in the car and heading back to the station. WPC Grant was awestruck.

“Did you really have dinner with the Chief Constable last night sir?”

Spence’s smile was broad.

“I’ve spoken six words to the Chief Constable WPC Grant on the two occasions we have met. ‘Good evening sir’ and ‘good evening sir’.”

They shared a discreet smile.

“We’re making progress Constable; that was an informative little chat. Mr Roger Davidson was into B and D. It didn’t stop him fooling around with Patricia Patel but it does seem to have put a damper on the marital conjugal relationship. I think we might have something here. I’m going to drop you off at the Station. Work with the others on past cases, see if something stands out.”

They did not speak until they returned to the station. Just as WPC Grant was getting out of the car, Spence finally spoke.

“I am visiting Woodlands. I’ll be gone a few hours. Oh, and WPC Grant, have you ever considered permanently switching to CID?”

Joanne Grant was taken aback. Spence smiled and drove off.

Spence realised that Robert Hamsby had quickly become more than just an old friend or a bit player in the current inquiry. He was becoming a reliable and trusted sounding board. Spence had no real friends in the force. He was respected, he enjoyed a drink or five with some of his colleagues, but there was nobody to whom he was close, in whom he could confide. Rediscovering Bob Hamsby had been one of the great strokes of good fortune which were rare in Spence’s life.

“I’ve got to be honest Bob; I am stuck on this one. I’m seeing Superintendent Marks tomorrow morning, and I have nothing to say.”

“What’s he like?”

“She. Tough, honest, fair and if she thinks you’re slacking she will let you know it. I like her. She cares about her job and looks after those under her. But I’m still likely to get a bollocking. Tell me about Roger Davidson and the school, his colleagues, the kids. Stream of consciousness stuff Bob, I don’t care how trivial you might think it is.”

Bob Hamsby spoke at length while Spence listened intently.

“I would say he was liked by most but not necessarily respected by most. You must have picked up that some of my staff did not think he was up to the job. He made a couple of slips, but I never doubted the wisdom of my choice of him for deputy. Not sure he had any really close friends, but no enemies either. He was pretty popular with the kids, I’ve even had parents try and get their son or daughter into his class.”

“What about Patricia Patel?”

“Umm. Well you know the details by now. That was finished as far as I know. How did your interview go with her?”

“Nothing surprising; and she is definitely out of the frame. She was shagging one of my senior colleagues on the evening that Roger Davidson was murdered.”

The joint laughter was spontaneous and ongoing. Hamsby then raised the issue of Felicity Davidson.

“Relations between Roger and his wife seemed strained to say the least. I guess his fling with the delightful Miss Patel would account for that. And it would appear she may not have been the first,” Spence added.

Spence continued.

“I know I can trust you Bob, and whatever I say is strictly entre nous.”

“Of course, Winston!”

“Their sex life was non-existent. The new baby was the result of a rare one-off. And there is something else. It would appear that Roger Davidson enjoyed a bit of kinky stuff. B and D.”

“Wow! Well, everyone’s private life is their own business, and from my perspective here, as long as it does not affect my school, I’m not really interested. If Roger Davidson wanted to get thrashed or Patricia Patel chooses to shag her way through the Wiltshire constabulary, who am I to object? Both good teachers. What did Felicity think of his unorthodox, extra-curricular activities?”

Spence smiled.

“She didn’t know?”

“So Bob, as far as you are concerned, he was to all intents and purposes just a regular teacher. And he had no issues with any of the staff or kids?”

“I’m sorry Winston, nothing out of the ordinary. As a deputy he sometimes had to do unpopular things. He had to pull Charlie Page into line once about being too hard on a couple of Year 9 lads, but he managed that without having to drag me in. He had to get Shane Tott to redo some reports, and I sensed some tension between the two of them. Once or twice he and Deidre Palmer clashed, but then who doesn’t clash with Deidre? He pissed off Trevor Manston about rejecting an Art excursion. No, nothing Winston. And I am genuinely surprised at his kinky interests, but it takes all sorts.”

The two friends chatted a bit longer and Spence took his reluctant leave. This reborn friendship had been the highlight of recent times for him, along with his surprising evening with Susannah Pearson, of course.

Goddard Ave was icy. The salt trucks had not been round yet and he was glad to find an ample parking spot outside his flat. The lights were on and as he opened the door, the smell of a thick boscaiola sauce was wafting through. Pavarotti was singing his heart out, an aria from Andrea Chernier. Spence walked into the kitchen and Laura immediately gave him a big hug.

“I’m so sorry about the mess and everything the other night dad. So to make up for it, fettuccine boscaiola. And if you check the fridge, you might find a rather nice Tuscan Chianti.”

Spence said nothing; he just held his daughter close to him and kissed her forehead. He opened the fridge, and examined the bottle. Chianti Classico DOCG. Spence knew he was going to enjoy this and his little girl had not scrimped, which meant of course she was probably after something. He poured himself a glass.

“Dad, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Joel round.”

“How could I mind? The man who has so recently caused my only daughter so much grief is soon to arrive. After I have given him a good thrashing and thrown him back out into the cold, and have warned him never to go near you again, and advised him that every cop in Wiltshire will be looking out for his number plate, we shall eat.”

“Ah, thanks dad, I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

Spence savoured his wine; Laura gently stirred her sauce while Pavarotti headed to the guillotine.

“Laura can I ask you something personal?”

She looked at him with that “Oh god no, what now?” sort of look.

“You and Joel, do you ever get into B and D?”

“Oh dad, that’s gross, you can’t ask me things like that.”

“No, I’m serious. Is it what people do nowadays?”

“Are you looking for something to help you keep going during your advancing years?”

Spence said nothing and took another sip of the Chianti.

“Look we fool around a little bit with bondage, I might tie him to the bed or he might tie me up, and we – and, no dad, I can’t do this.”

“What about discipline, things like spanking, caning?”

“Dad! What do you think I am? No, that’s horrible. We could never hurt each other.”

She gave the sauce another stir and turned round.

“This has got something to do with the case hasn’t it?”

“You know I can’t answer that. Yes. I just wanted to get a handle on what younger people might be getting up to nowadays. You see it in the movies, in the papers and god knows what’s on the internet. When I was younger, I barely knew it existed. Toffs and Tory MPs did it, but not ordinary people. So in your circles, nothing?”

Laura smiled and shook her head.

“Do you want me to ask Millicent if she’ll…”

At that they both cracked up. The doorbell rang. Spence put his wine down and in an elaborate change of character sombrely announced:

“I’ll get that.”

He walked to the front door, and all Laura could hear was:

“Joel! Get into the kitchen, now!”

Joel hastened in and looked at Laura, ashen-faced. She had no choice but to turn back to her sauce for fear of bursting into laughter. Spence pointed to a chair and said:

“Sit down Joel.”

He sat down close to the nervous young man and looked him straight in the eye.

“Now about the other night….. Was it really as bad a match as the papers said? I hear the Town played absolutely crap. Glass of Chianti?”