Williams stood up and took a step towards his wife.
‘Shut up,’ he commanded.
His voice had become just as loud and angry as hers. ‘Do not say another word. Or I shan’t be responsible for my actions. Do you hear?’
Wynne Williams took another step towards his wife. His right arm was slightly raised and his fist clenched.
Vogel stood up too and, moving at speed for a tall man no longer in the first flush of youth, positioned himself between man and wife.
‘That’s enough,’ he commanded.
Williams looked as if he was about to argue. But ultimately he sat down again, without saying anything more, either to his wife or to Vogel. He lowered his head into his hands.
‘Typical,’ yelled Marjorie Williams. ‘Snivelling coward. Like I said. Pathetic snivelling coward.’
Vogel glanced towards Williams. He thought the man might be starting to cry, but couldn’t see his face. Mrs Williams, meanwhile, was beginning to sway slightly on her feet. She did not speak either, instead taking a deep drink from her glass, dribbling just a little of the wine from one corner of her mouth.
Vogel was a non-drinker. Teetotal cops have always been a rare minority. They sometimes didn’t get an easy ride in the police force either, particularly not in the Met where Vogel had spent most of his career, and a hard-drinking culture had prevailed, certainly during his time there. Vogel didn’t care. Apart from one unfortunate episode in his youth, he had never drunk alcohol. He didn’t like the taste of alcohol nor what it did to people. He particularly disliked seeing women drunk, although he knew better than ever to mention that. He supposed he wasn’t meant to even think it any more, but he didn’t much care about that either. Marjorie Williams was unpleasantly drunk. She might be a very nice and intelligent woman when she was sober, but, right now, Vogel considered her to be thoroughly monstrous. And he wanted nothing more to do with her in the state she was in.
‘Mrs Williams, I need to continue to speak to your husband alone,’ he said. ‘We may well want to talk to you at some point, but for the time being I must ask you if you would be kind enough to leave the room.’
Vogel was being deliberately over courteous. He had always found that confrontation was the worst path along which to travel when dealing with drunkenness. Marjorie Williams leered at him. At least Vogel considered it to be a leer.
‘Thish is my kitchen,’ she said.
‘Indeed it is,’ commented Vogel, in his most reasonable manner.
Marjorie Williams stared at him through watery eyes, which may or may not have been focusing properly.
‘Oh all right, whatever you want,’ she said, after a moment or two. ‘You’re welcome to the useless fucker.’
Vogel watched as she turned round and made her way just a tad uncertainly out of the room.
Well, he thought, he and Saslow certainly had a fair idea of the state of the Williams marriage now. Indeed they had already learned quite a lot about Wynne Williams.
He turned his attention back to Wynne, who was still sitting with his head in his hands.
‘So is your wife right, Mr Williams?’ he asked. ‘Have you been having a sexual relationship with Gillian Quinn?’
William looked up and leaned back in his chair. He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. Vogel had been right. He had shed some tears, but mercifully seemed to have remained in reasonable control of himself.
‘No,’ he said. ‘The woman’s wrong. As usual. I’ve never had a sexual relationship with Gillian. I damned well wish I had, though.’
‘What does that mean? Have you made advances which have been rebuffed?’
‘You could say. More days than not, for some years, except when we were in lockdown and I couldn’t get near her. But not the way you mean. It’s never been about sex. I was in love with her. Head over heels. What am I saying? Was? I still am. I love her to bits. I would do anything for her. I begged her to leave Thomas. He didn’t deserve her. I would have looked after her. Still would.’
‘So you were prepared to leave your wife for her, were you?’
‘No “were” about it. I’d leave Marjorie now like a shot, if Gillian would have me. I’d go anywhere with her. I’d leave everything else behind for her. The job. Everything. We could manage. I’ll stand by her, you know. Whatever happens. Whatever you lot do to her.’
Wynne Williams’ eyes shone with passion. There was nothing gentle about them now. Vogel was beginning to think it might just be possible that he would end up having a certain amount of sympathy for Marjorie Williams.
‘When did you last see Gillian?’ he asked.
‘Friday,’ Williams answered promptly. ‘The day before Thomas was killed.’
‘Was that at school, then?’
‘Yes.’ Williams paused. ‘And afterwards. I may as well tell you, because I’m sure you’ll find out. I persuaded Gill to come for a quick drink with me. There’s a pub just off the Northam road that we use every so often to get away from it all. We call it “our place”. Well, I do...’
Williams paused, smiling slightly, as if he were drifting away from what appeared to be the rather grim reality of his life.
‘Please go on,’ Vogel prompted.
‘Yes. Our place. It was just somewhere to go. I had a bottle of lager and she had an orange juice. She barely drinks, Gillian. Unlike some.’
He spat the last two words out, paused again, then continued without prompting.
‘Anyway, we’d only been there for five minutes or so when Thomas came barging in. He was hopping mad. He threw himself at me, and I think he might have knocked me down, if the landlord hadn’t intervened. Then he just yelled at me to keep away from his wife, and more or less dragged Gillian out of the pub. I followed, but I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I did anything it might make it worse for Gillian. Plus, Marjorie is right about one thing, I am a coward. Physically anyway. Thomas Quinn was a big strong man, and I already knew about his temper. As for me, well... I am as you see me.’
Williams was slightly shorter than average and narrow-shouldered. He had thin legs and arms, but the beginning of a belly. He did not look like a man capable of any sort of physical confrontation. However, Vogel reminded himself that you could never be sure about such things. After all, Wynne Williams had just squared up to his wife with fists clenched, and one arm raised.
‘He half pushed Gillian into her car and ordered her to drive straight home or else,’ Williams continued. ‘He said he’d be right behind her. Then he got into his own car and took off out of the car park after her. But not before he’d shouted another threat at me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That if he ever caught me near his wife again I’d be sorry.’
‘What did you do then? Did you go back into the pub?’
‘No. I went and sat in my car, tried to calm down. I was in a bit of a state. I did try to phone Gillian whilst she was still on her way home, though. I knew she wouldn’t be able to speak once she was with him. But, well, he answered. I might have guessed. I didn’t see it, but he must have taken her phone from her. Not for the first time, I don’t think.’
Williams paused.
‘What did Thomas say to you over the phone?’ prompted Vogel.
‘He said, “You don’t fucking listen, Williams, do you.” Then he carried on threatening me, telling me what he was going to do to me. It was awful. I just hung up in the end.’
‘Did you try to contact Gill again?’
‘No. How could I? Thomas had put the fear of God into me and, anyway, I knew he had her phone. I hoped she might try to contact me. But she didn’t. Not surprising really. She lived in terror of him.’