Percy decided this was way beyond black coffee. ‘I think you should go home, sir. I’m going to go downstairs and get someone to drive you. You won’t go away, will you?’
‘Not going away.’ Tucker shook his head and lifted his right hand in what looked like some sort of blessing.
DC Brendan Murphy was unfortunate enough to be checking facts at his computer. Percy seized upon him, outlined the problem, and directed him to drive home the stricken head of Brunton CID. He then returned to the penthouse office and managed to lead Tucker to the lift.
The chief superintendent threw his arm round his DCI’s shoulder and used the privacy of the lift as the opportunity for a confidence. ‘We don’t always hit it off, do we, Percy? But underneath it all, I reshpect you.’ When Peach failed to react to this, he clutched his resisting torso to the chief superintendal breast and insisted, ‘I love you, Pershy Peace. You know that, don’t you?’
A small group of CID officers witnessed the departure of their chief, belted securely into the back of the police Mondeo behind DC Murphy. Tucker waved at them like departing royalty as he disappeared between the high brick pillars of the exit.
Percy decided that Mrs T.B. Tucker might need to know what to expect. It wouldn’t do for this apparition to disrupt one of her bridge afternoons. He rang Brunnhilde Barbara and apprised her of her spouse’s impending arrival.
‘And why do you disturb my day to tell me this?’ came the formidable enquiry.
She scarcely needed a phone, thought Percy, holding the receiver six inches away from his ear. ‘He’s been saying goodbye to an old friend. You may find that he’s — well, a little the worse for wear.’
‘You mean he’s DRUNK?’ Both the volume and the outrage were Wagnerian.
‘I suppose he is, yes. But DC Murphy will see him safely into the house.’
‘There will be no need for that. I shall see to him MYSELF.’ The tone indicated that the Valkyries were saddling up.
Percy went back into the squad room and the hushed group awaiting him there. He announced, ‘He’s going to get a seeing to from Brunnhilde Barbara.’
A hush fell over the little conclave. A passing uniformed officer removed his hat and stood reverently erect.
Peach wasn’t sure how he had expected John Alderson to look, but this wasn’t it.
The house was a modest 1930s’ terraced with a small garden at the front, where the buds of roses were swelling and spring-flowering pansies were giving of their best at the edges of the single big bed. The owner met them at the door. He was slight, balding, fiftyish, and he walked with a limp as he led them indoors.
He sat them facing the light in the small, tidy living room and said, ‘We won’t be disturbed. I live alone here.’ He watched Clyde Northcott as he produced notebook and ballpen, noting how small they looked in the DS’s huge hands, but offering them neither refreshment nor further comment.
‘I gather that you didn’t intend that we should have this meeting at all,’ said Peach aggressively. Best to get the latest episode in a trying day off on a combative note, he thought.
If Alderson was shaken, his narrow features didn’t show it. ‘I didn’t see any point in wasting your time. I knew I couldn’t help you, so I thought it was better if I was kept out of it.’
‘So you won’t be at all pleased to find that Mrs Ros O’Connor immediately volunteered your name to us.’
He hoped his verb would annoy Alderson, but the man didn’t show any irritation. ‘Ros is an impulsive creature. She doesn’t always think before she speaks. But I wouldn’t have it otherwise.’
The kind of sentiment lovers often voiced but rarely meant, in Peach’s experience. He said, ‘Mrs O’Connor probably wasn’t quite herself after her husband’s death. She seemed a little erratic.’
He smiled appreciatively. ‘Erratic, yes.’ He rolled the syllables round his mouth and apparently found them acceptable. ‘That’s rather a good word for Ros. She’s certainly impulsive. That’s what brought us together.’
‘I think we should know a little more about what brought you together, Mr Alderson.’
‘Do you really? I’d say that it’s a private matter and that the details should remain private.’
‘And then I’d remind you that a man has been brutally murdered and that you are the lover of his wife. In these circumstances, you are a man who warrants full CID investigation, which is what you are going to receive.’
Peach gave him a satisfied smile. If the man preferred the confrontational approach, that would suit him admirably at this stage of the day. Alderson’s grey eyes narrowed, but he didn’t flinch. ‘I suppose I should try to see this from your point of view. What is it you want to know?’
‘You could tell us a little more about your relationship with Ros O’Connor, for a start. Other people are going to do that, so it would be as well if we have your account now.’
‘We’re lovers. We have been for the last few months. We don’t flaunt it, but I expect quite a few people know about our situation. People whose own lives are empty love to gossip about others.’
The timing tallied with what Ros had told them earlier. ‘How much did Dominic O’Connor know about this?’
Alderson took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, extracted one, then tapped it against the back of his hand thoughtfully, first at one end and then at the other. But he didn’t light it. Having examined it carefully, he returned it to the packet. It was a curious performance and it wasn’t clear how conscious he was of his actions. He said, ‘On the face of it, Dominic knew nothing. But he was an intelligent man who was alert to the world around him. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. Some men don’t like to face the fact that they’ve been cuckolded.’ He glanced at their faces, searching for a reaction to the ugly old word, but receiving none. ‘It’s more likely that Dominic was preoccupied with his own amours. If you’ve found out anything about your victim, you’ll know that he conducted a string of affairs.’
‘We have been told that, yes. Do you think any of them was connected with his death?’
‘It’s possible. Cherchez la femme, they say, don’t they? But I can’t help you. His love life didn’t concern me and I wasn’t interested in the details of it.’
‘Except that it left the way clear for you with his wife.’
‘You make me sound like an opportunist.’
‘Perhaps that’s how it looks from the outside. If you think things are different, this is your chance to enlighten us.’
Alderson stared hard, first at Peach and then at Northcott, searching for a reaction he did not get; both men remained impassive. ‘Perhaps you’re not so far wide of the mark. I found a lonely woman, who didn’t quite know what she’d done wrong to be so neglected. I’m used to being on my own, though I’m no monk. I was divorced ten years ago and I’ve played the field as it suits me since then. I’m not proud of that: I’m telling you because you could find out easily enough, if you chose to.’
‘What we’re interested in is the investigation of a murder and how you fit into it. It’s your present affair with the victim’s widow which we need to know about.’
Alderson weighed this and apparently found it acceptable. ‘I suppose I thought of Ros as just another opportunity, at first. She’s a pretty woman. She was also a lonely woman in search of sex and companionship. You’d be surprised how many of them are available. Or perhaps you wouldn’t.’
‘So it isn’t a deep relationship.’
Peach made it a statement: he was still keen to provoke this acute man into some impulsive reaction. He didn’t succeed. Alderson eyed him coolly, assessing what the implications of his answer might be for himself. ‘We’re close now. It’s probably true to say that neither of us thought of it as more than a fling when it began. But you can never forecast how these things will develop.’
‘That sounds like a cautionary note for the promiscuous.’
‘Maybe it is. I think sex was a big part of it for both of us when it began. It goes deeper than that now.’