‘You must have talked to the police about it, Hester.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The fact that they released you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘When I saw you that afternoon, you said that it was your fault, that you were the reason he was dead. By the way, I didn’t tell the police you’d said that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, heard by the wrong people, it could sound as though you were confessing to having killed him.’
‘What do you mean by “the wrong people”?’
‘I mean people who thought Ritchie had been murdered, And, at least at first, the police must be included in that number. But you must have told them something which stopped them being suspicious of you, something that let you off the hook.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’
‘Are you happy to tell me what you told the police?’
There was a long silence. Then Hester said, ‘I’ve tried to blank it out of my mind.’
‘I’m sure you have.’
‘I don’t like going back there.’
‘But you must know that your mind’s going to have to come to terms with it at some point.’
‘Mm.’
‘And I think you’ll feel better when you face it, face what actually happened.’
‘Maybe.’ But she didn’t sound convinced.
Jude waited. She sensed that to push further at this point might break the confidential atmosphere between them.
The silence became threateningly long. Jude was just reconciling herself to having reached the end of any revelations she was going to get, when Hester said, in a thin, distracted voice, ‘What I said to you was true. I was the reason why Ritchie was dead.’
‘In what way?’
‘If I hadn’t been there, he still would have been alive.’ Jude didn’t prompt, just waited. ‘I wasn’t in the hall when Gordon and Ritchie did their demonstration of the gallows for everyone. I’d gone to the loo. I was finding it increasingly awkward just hanging out with people during rehearsals. Because of Neville. He seemed so cold and unaffected by what had happened between us … and also by then he seemed to be coming on to Janie Trotman. It was painful for me. So, as soon as the rehearsals finished, I tended to rush off to the loo, to avoid socializing. And I stopped going on to the Cricketers.
‘But that Sunday afternoon I stayed in the loo until I thought everyone would have gone, but when I came out I found Ritchie was still there in the hall. And I was, kind of, a bit awkward with him – not as bad as with Neville – but not relaxed, anyway.
‘He asked me what I’d thought of his escaping death by inches on the gallows. I had to confess that I hadn’t seen the demonstration, and so he insisted that I must have a private showing of it. Ritchie was just a show-off, really. Like a little boy who won’t allow anyone to miss the new conjuring trick he’s just learnt.
‘I thought it was a bit silly, but it couldn’t do any harm to humour him. So Ritchie got himself up on stage and climbed on to the wooden cart underneath the gallows. And he put the noose round his neck – and told me to pull the cart away.
‘He was being all silly and melodramatic, saying, “You can be the one, Hester! You can be the person who sends me to my death!” But I’m sure he didn’t mean it, he was just joking, just playing the scene for all it was worth, “showing off” again, I suppose I mean.
‘So, anyway, I did as he told me to – I pulled away the cart. And there was quite a thump as he fell and the noose tightened around his neck. He was kicking out and gasping – and I thought that was just Ritchie playing up the drama and about to free himself. And his hands were up at his neck, trying to get a purchase on the rope, but it was too tight.
‘Then finally I realized he wasn’t play-acting, that he was being strangled for real. And I put the cart back and tried to get his feet on to it, but they were just hanging loose, with no strength in them. And I got up on the cart and tried to loosen the noose around his neck. But I couldn’t, it was too tight.
‘And then I realized that Ritchie was dead.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘And what the hell are you doing here?’
Neither of them had noticed the door open, but they both looked up at the sound of Mike Winstone’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, blazered and more red-faced than ever.
‘I just came to visit Hester,’ replied Jude, sounding cooler than she felt as she rose from her chair.
‘Oh yes? And aren’t you aware that she’s meant to be having a course of rest and recuperation?’
‘I don’t think my presence will have delayed either her rest or her recuperation.’
‘I’ll have a strong word with the people downstairs. They shouldn’t just let anyone wander in to a place like this.’
‘I spoke to the Director. I’m here with his blessing.’
‘Well, you’re not here with my blessing.’ As he spoke Mike Winstone’s face grew redder still. He sat himself down with a proprietorial manner in the chair that Jude had just vacated.
‘I’ll be leaving shortly,’ Jude said.
‘I’m glad to hear it. And you’re involved with that “Saddoes” lot, are you?’ He deliberately used the diminishing mispronunciation.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, if you value your life, don’t you dare mention to any of them that Hester’s in here, will you?’
‘I had no plans to mention it.’
‘Keep it that way.’
‘So officially she’s still “staying with a friend”, is she?’
‘Yes. And it’s bloody inconvenient having her away from the house. There are only so many takeaways and pub meals I can put up with.’
‘I’m sorry, Mike.’ It was the first time Hester had spoken since his arrival.
‘So you bloody should be. Have the quacks here given any indication of when they’re going to let you out?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Hester sounded very down. ‘The psychiatrist says he can definitely see some improvement.’ She offered this tentatively, a sop to her husband’s anger.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. ‘Huh, it’s all so bloody vague, isn’t it? The whole business of “mental illness”. Because ultimately, at some point the patient has to make the effort themselves. You know, snap out of it, stand on their own two feet, start to take responsibility for their life again.’
‘I am trying to get better, Mike. Really.’
Hester sounded so reduced that Jude was tempted to say something in her defence, but it wasn’t the moment to step in between husband and wife. Though she couldn’t envisage much improvement in Hester’s condition until Mike acknowledged that she was genuinely ill.
‘Well, I hope you get sorted by the end of next week. The boys have got an exeat from school, and subjecting them to a whole weekend of my cooking comes under the definition of child abuse.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Hester in a very thin voice.
‘None of this would have happened,’ Mike grumbled, ‘if you hadn’t got involved with that bunch of “Saddoes”. God, what a load of posturing toss-pots they are. When I saw that idiot showing off his hanging on that gallows contraption …’
‘Were you actually in Saint Mary’s Hall for the demonstration?’ asked Jude.
‘Yes, came in to hurry Hest along a bit. She said the rehearsal finished at six, and it was easily ten past before—’
‘And,’ Jude interrupted, ‘you knew that Ritchie Good was later strangled by the apparatus?’
‘Oh certainly, I heard. Serve the bugger right, I thought. So end all show-offs, if I had my way. Good riddance. As I say, except for his bloody stupidity, my wife wouldn’t have been traumatized – or whatever other fancy word the shrinks use for it – and she wouldn’t be locked up here in a loony bin.’ Clearly Mike Winstone was never going to score any points for political correctness. His bluff cricketing bonhomie had completely evaporated.