Declared Dead

I had been booked to ride a horse in the opening race at Hereford, an unreliable no-hoper who regarded each fence as a launching pad to send his jockey into orbit. If still in one piece, I resolved to drive over to Newbury police station later on in the afternoon, and then go on to the cottage and collect some more clothes.

I survived the race and reached the police station just after three-thirty. The officer on duty could not have been more charming and sympathetic. He suggested that a constable should come over to the cottage in a couple of hours' time to take down further details and collect a photograph of Edward for circulation. I couldn't very well refuse, and he reassured me that, apparently, disappearing spouses were not at all uncommon and advised me not to become over-concerned. It was arranged that the make, model and number of Edward's car and other details of his description would be logged on the police computer and circulated round the country.

Feeling that I had at least done something positive, I plucked up the courage to return to the cottage. It was cold and strangely forbidding and I found difficulty in believing that for six years this place had been the family home, and that Freddie had spent the whole of his short life here. It was like reading an old love letter when the affection once felt is at best an unreal and distant memory.

The cottage was much as I had left it that Friday and that alone created a sinister, depressing atmosphere. To keep myself occupied, I lit the fire and sat down to watch the television and catch up with the racing results until the police arrived. I was still uncertain just how much to tell them about the relationship between Edward and myself. I had no doubt they would pursue that line of questioning, as to the outsider matrimonial discord was the most likely explanation for his disappearance.

I decided to be economical with the truth. I could see no advantage in coming clean about my involvement in Edward's attempts to clear his gambling debts and, equally, I could see no virtue in exposing him as a blackmailer. It was hardly in Freddie's interest to have his father's evil personality revealed to the public glare, and anyway I had no independent evidence to support it. Nor, I reasoned, would it be fair to name Edward's 'investors' as he called them. Indeed, even if I did, how did I know the authorities would believe me? It would take a pretty brave or foolhardy policeman to go and ask Lord Pryde if he had been paying out hush money to his son! I resolved to play the role of the concerned wife.

At six o'clock the door bell rang. A uniformed police constable was accompanied by a man of striking good looks, over six feet tall and dressed in a surprisingly well-cut dark grey suit. All in all, he looked a class above the popular image of his profession. I put him in his mid to late thirties and made a note to be extra careful in what I said, for fear that, in the time honoured phrase, it might one day be used in evidence, and even worse, against me. Inspector Wilkinson introduced himself and asked if they could come in. There was no milk in the refrigerator, but five minutes later we were all seated by the fire drinking black coffee, the young constable poised knowingly and breathlessly over his notebook. I was determined to give the impression of being relaxed and in control, and as the Inspector seemed in no rush to begin questioning me, I took the initiative.

'I'm sure there's really nothing to worry about, but he has been gone for three weeks now, so I thought that it would be only sensible to notify you.'

Inspector Wilkinson said nothing and just looked at me expectantly. I obliged by going on.

'He's never gone away like this before; without even a telephone call or a card.'

He muttered something incomprehensible and then asked: 'You have a son, don't you?'

'Yes, Frederick. He's five.'

'Same age as my eldest.' He looked around the room. 'Is he here with you?'

'No, well, you see we – I mean Freddie and I – we haven't been staying here for the last three weeks. We've been staying with friends.'

'Trouble between you and your husband?' he enquired, trying to appear sympathetic.

For some reason I hesitated before replying. 'I'm afraid we had a row.'

'About anything in particular?'

'Nothing specific really. You know the kind of thing.'

He appeared to understand. 'Perhaps he's taken a holiday to collect his thoughts. It does happen, you know, and then he'll come back full of remorse and seeking your forgiveness.'

I laughed to myself. The only remorse Edward knew was the horse of that name who had won the Triumph Hurdle two years previously.

The Inspector continued. 'Are any of his clothes missing? I suppose you've checked?'

'Yes, I did look, but nothing seems to be gone.'

'And are you sure he hasn't been here at all during the past three weeks? Popped in and out as it were?'

'I can't be absolutely certain. My daily, Mrs Parsons, has been on holiday. All that's definitely missing is his car.'

He looked over at the constable's notebook. 'That's a green Jaguar 4.2 registration REF 376X?'

'Yes, that's it. He loves his car.'

'Did your husband have any problems you were aware of, at work, say, or any debts perhaps?'

'He hasn't had a job for some time; we live off my earnings as a jockey and a little private income he has. As for debts, he did tell me he was in a spot of trouble with his bookmaker.'

'Do you know what sort of trouble?'

'I think there's quite a lot of money involved,' I answered, playing the innocent. 'We don't discuss that kind of thing, with me being a jockey.'

'How much is quite a lot? It would help if you were more precise, Mrs Pryde. Are we talking about hundreds or thousands?'

'Thousands, I'm afraid.'

The Inspector raised his eyebrows, and I noticed the constable underlining my answer in his notes.

'Your husband's father is the new Lord Chief Justice, isn't he?'

'That's right; does that matter?'

'Obviously, when the son of a very important person disappears, senior police officers have to become involved.'

'You don't think the IRA are behind this or anything?'

'Quite frankly, at this stage we don't think anything, nor for that matter do we discount anything. We're just being extra cautious. That's one of the reasons I'm here.'

'And the other?' I asked suspiciously. His relaxed and confident manner was beginning to unnerve me.

'Do you know the Melksham area well by any chance?'

'I know it's the other side of Marlborough and I've picnicked with Freddie on the downs there a couple of times; otherwise I can't claim to know it well. Why?'

'We've found your husband's car there. On the site of a disused chalk pit, set well back from the main roads. The car's been gutted, burnt out, and it's being examined by forensic experts at the moment.'

'You're not suggesting Edward was in it?'

'I'm not suggesting anything. Did he know that area well?'

'Not that I'm aware of. He came on one of the picnics, I think. When was it discovered? The officer at the station didn't mention anything at all when he fed the information I gave him into the computer.'

'It was only reported this morning. Your information wouldn't actually have found its way onto the computer until late this afternoon and then we got the word from Swansea.'

The telephone rang and I answered it. It was for the Inspector. His back straightened and his whole manner became increasingly alert and excited. Whatever he was being told clearly made interesting listening.