Because there are days when I could "drink hot blood, and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on". Paul's priggishness annoyed me. He talked about "dear Jane" as if she mattered to him. Mostly I think about death-the baby's death, James's death, Gerald's death, Father's death. It is, after all, such a final solution. Father connives to keep me in London. He tells me Gerald has sworn to marry Grace if I return. The worst of it is, I believe him. Gerald is so very, very frightened of me now.
I paid a private detective to take photographs of James. And, my, my, what photographs they are! "The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to't with such a riotous appetite." And in a public lavatory too. If the truth be told, I am rather looking forward to showing them to him. What I did was merely sinful. What James does is criminal. There'll be no more talk of divorce, that's for sure, and he'll go to Hong Kong without a murmur. He has no more desire than I to have his sexual activities made public.
Really, Mathilda, you must learn to use blackmail to better effect on Gerald and Father...
*17*
Hughes, who was suffering from sleep deprivation and niggling doubts about the continued obedience of the youngsters he had so successfully controlled, was subdued when he faced Chief Inspector Charlie Jones across the table in the interview room at Freemont Road Police Station. Like Cooper, he was in pessimistic mood. "I suppose you've come to stitch me up for the old cow's murder," he said morosely. "You're all the same."
"Ah, well," said Charlie in his lugubrious fashion, "it makes the percentages look better when the league tables get published. We're into business culture in the police force these days, lad, and productivity's important."
"That stinks."
"Not to our customers it doesn't."
"What customers?"
"The law-abiding British public who pay handsomely for our services through their taxes. Business culture demands that we first identify our client base, next, assess its needs, then, finally, respond in a satisfactory and adequate manner. You already represent a handsome profit on the balance sheet. Rape, conspiracy to rape, abduction, holding without consent, conspiracy to hold without consent, assault, sexual assault, theft, conspiracy to commit theft, handling stolen goods, corruption, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice-" he broke off with a broad smile, "which brings me to Mrs. Gillespie's murder."
"I knew it," said Hughes in disgust. "You're gonna fucking frame me for it. Jesus! I'm not saying another word till my brief gets here."
"Who said anything about framing you?" demanded . Charlie plaintively. "It's a little co-operation I'm after, that's all."
Hughes eyed him suspiciously. "What do I get in return?"
"Nothing."
"Then it's no."
Charlie's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "The question you should have asked me, lad, is what do you get if you don't co-operate? I'll tell you. You get my personal assurance that not a stone will be left unturned until I see you convicted and sent down for the abduction and rape of a child."
"I don't do children," Hughes sneered. "Never have done. Never will. And you won't get me for rape neither. I've never raped a girl in my life. I've never needed to. What those other punks did is their affair. I had no idea what was going on."
"For an adult male to sleep with a thirteen-year-old girl is rape. She's under age and therefore too young to give consent for what's done to her."
"I've never slept with a thirteen-year-old."
"Sure you have, and I'll prove it. I'll work every man under me until he drops in order to turn up just one little girl, virgo intacta before you raped her, who lied to you about her age." He gave a savage grin as a flicker of doubt crossed Hughes's face. "Because there'll be one, lad, there always is. It's an idiosyncrasy of female psychology. At thirteen, they want to pass for sixteen, and they do. At forty, they want to pass for thirty, and by God they can do that, too, because the one damn thing you can be sure about the female of the species is that she never looks her age."
Hughes fingered his unshaven jaw. "What sort of cooperation are you talking about?"
"I want a complete run-down on everything you know about Cedar House and the people in it."
"That's easy enough. Fuck all's the answer. Never went in. Never met the old biddy."
"Come on, Dave, you're a pro. You sat outside in your van over the months, waiting while Ruth did her stuff inside. You were her chauffeur, remember, turned up day after day during the holidays to give her a good time. How did she know you were there if you couldn't signal to her? Don't kid me you weren't close enough to watch all the comings and goings in that place."
Hughes shrugged. "Okay, so I saw people from time to time, but if I don't know who they were, how's it gonna help you?"
"Did you ever watch the back of the house?"
The man debated with himself. "Maybe," he said guardedly.
"Where from?"
"If you're aiming to use this against me, I want my brief."
"You're in no position to argue," said Charlie impatiently. "Where were you watching it from? Outside or inside the garden?"
"I sometimes used to park the van in the housing estate at the side. Ruth reckoned it was safer, what with all the yuppies living there. Wives commuting to work along with their husbands so no one in during the day," he explained obligingly. "There's some rough ground next to the fence round Cedar House garden, easy enough to hop over and watch from the trees."
The Inspector took an ordnance survey map out of his briefcase. "The Cedar Estate?" he asked, tapping the map with his forefinger.
Hughes sniffed. "Probably. Ruth said the land once belonged to the house before the old lady sold it off for cash, though Christ knows why she didn't flog the rest while she was about it. What she want with a massive garden, when there's people living on the streets? Jesus, but she was a tight-fisted old bitch," he said unwarily. "All that frigging money and no one else got a bloody look-in. Is it true she left the lot to her doctor or was Ruth just spinning me a yarn?"
Charlie stared him down. "None of your business, lad, but I'll tell you this for free. Ruth didn't get a penny because of what you forced her to do. Her grandmother took agin her when she started stealing. But for you, she'd have had the house."
Hughes was unmoved. "Shouldn't have been so quick to open her legs then, should she?"
Charlie looked at the map again, fighting an urge to hit him. "Did you ever see anyone go in through the back door?"
"The cleaner used to sweep the step now and again. Saw the woman from next door pottering about in her bit and the old boy sunning himself on his patio."
"I mean strangers. Someone you wouldn't have expected."
"I never saw anyone." He put unnatural emphasis on the verb.
"Heard then?"
"Maybe."
"Where were you? What did you hear?"
"I watched Mrs. Gillespie go out in her car one day. Thought I'd take a look through the windows, see what was there."
"Was Ruth with you?"
He shook his head. "Back at school."
"Refusing to co-operate, presumably, so you had to find out for yourself what was worth stealing. You were casing the place."
Hughes didn't answer.
"Okay, what happened?"
"I heard the old lady coming round the path so I dived behind the coal bunker by the kitchen door."
"Go on."
"It wasn't her. It was some other bastard who was nosing around like me."
"Male? Female?"
"An old man. He knocked on the back door and waited for a bit, then let himself in with a key." Hughes pulled a face. "So I legged it." He saw the triumph on Jones's face. "That what you wanted?"