‘Right,’ he said.
I left him to it and went back to my car. There was a task I had to perform before I went into the house to see the police, and it was something I was not looking forward to.
I drove out of Lambourn on the Wantage road and turned into the drive of Kate’s parents’ house. They had moved here five years ago when Kate’s father had retired and Bill had taken over the stables. But Arthur Rogers had enjoyed his retirement for only a few weeks before being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and he had survived for barely two months after that. Daphne, his widow, now lived here alone and was one of the grandes dames of the racing world.
I stopped in front of the house and wondered if anyone would be up yet. I pushed the bell and heard a reassuring faint ringing somewhere deep inside. Daphne was indeed up but still in her dressing gown as she opened the door.
‘Good morning, Sid,’ she said with a smile. ‘What brings you here this early?’
‘Morning, Daphne,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘Is Kate here?’
‘Why?’ The smile disappeared.
‘I have to see her.’
‘Did Bill send you?’ she asked. ‘I always said that Kate shouldn’t have married that man. He’s brought disgrace on this family. Race fixing, indeed!’
Murder, it seemed, was acceptable.
‘Is she here?’ I asked again.
‘Maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t. Why do you have to see her?’
‘Look, Daphne, it’s important. Something’s happened to Bill.’
‘Something else? What’s he done now?’
‘Is Kate here?’ I asked again in a more forceful tone.
‘She’s asleep. In the spare room.’
‘Are the children with her?’ I asked.
‘No. They’re in the attic rooms,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and wake them?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘leave the children. Let me go and wake Kate.’
She looked at me quizzically but made no objection as I went past her into the house and up the stairs.
‘It’s the room at the front,’ she called after me, ‘over the front door.’
I knocked gently on the door and opened it a little.
‘Is that you, Mum?’ said Kate sleepily from inside. ‘Who was that at the door?’
‘Kate,’ I said, speaking through the crack. ‘It’s Sid Halley. Can I come in?’
‘Sid! What are you doing here? Did Bill send you?’
‘Yes, Bill sent me. Can I come in?’
‘Just a minute.’ I heard her get up and open the wardrobe door. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She was wearing a tweed overcoat and pink slippers.
‘Sorry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I haven’t got a dressing gown with me.’ She looked tired and her eyes were red from too much crying. ‘Where’s Bill?’ she asked.
‘At home.’
‘What are you doing here, then? I told Bill I’d be back by ten.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When did you tell Bill you’d be back by ten?’
‘Last night. Look, Sid, what’s all this about?’ She was beginning to be alarmed. ‘Is Bill all right?’
‘No, Kate,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid he’s not.’
‘Oh my God! What’s happened? Where is he?’
‘Kate, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.’ There was no easy way.
‘Dead? He can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘I’m so so sorry.’
She sat down heavily on the bed, her overcoat swinging open to reveal a pink nightdress with little blue and yellow flowers embroidered around the top.
‘He can’t be dead,’ she whispered. ‘Everything was all right last night. He came round about eight o’clock and we talked for a couple of hours. He wanted me to go home with him then but the children were asleep so I said that I’d be home this morning.’
She looked at me. ‘Was it a car accident?’
I nodded. Better, I thought, to have only one shock at a time.
A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her coat. A second followed and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She lay down on the bed and I put a pillow under her head and covered her with the duvet.
‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ I said, and went downstairs to find that Daphne was still where I had left her.
‘Is Bill dead?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Thought so. Why else would you be here and so determined to see Kate. How?’
‘Let’s get some tea.’
She led the way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘How?’ she asked again.
‘I’m not really sure. He was shot.’
‘Shot! I thought it must have been an accident.’
‘No, I’m afraid not. He was shot in the head. It looks like suicide — but I’m not so sure it was.’
It was Daphne’s turn to sit down. ‘You mean it might be murder? It can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘How did he seem?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the usual… bloody-minded.’ It was no secret that Bill and his mother-in-law did not get on, and that was putting it mildly. As she had rightly said, she had not approved of the marriage and thought that Bill was nowhere near good enough for her daughter.
‘He came round here and begged Kate to go back to him. I thought she was better off without him and I told her so.’
Daphne could be a very stupid woman at times, I thought. The fact that it had been Kate who had cheated on Bill seemed to have passed her by.
‘Grannie, why is Mummy crying?’ Young William was standing in the kitchen doorway. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that his father’s brains are all over the sitting room wall?
His carefree, little-boy days had ended. Today, as the eldest of the four, he would have to carry his share of responsibility for his brothers and his sister. Today, he would become a man. A challenging task for one so young.
I made the tea for us all and took one up to the spare room.
Kate was lying on her side, curled up like a foetus. She wasn’t actually crying now. She was staring with unseeing eyes at the pillow next to her head.
I sat down beside her and laid my feeling, right hand on her shoulder. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’ It seemed to be an inadequate starting point.
She rolled on to her back and looked at me. ‘Where was the crash?’ she asked. ‘Was it last night? I must go and see him.’
She started to get up but I held up my hand.
‘Kate,’ I said, ‘you must not go and see him. You must remember him as he was and not as he is now.’
‘Oh God!’ she wailed and the tears flowed again. There would be many tears in the days ahead. She sat up and clung to me, her head on my shoulder. I could feel the wet warmth of her tears on my neck.
And I cried with her. I cried in grief for my lost friend.
‘Please tell me what happened,’ she said when at last the sobs eased.
If I had not been there, she would have learned the grisly details soon enough. Just as soon as some caring but clumsy policeman, detailed to inform the next of kin, had arrived to notify her that her husband had put a.38 revolver in his mouth and blown off the back of his head. I had no doubt that the gun in question was the same gun that Chief Inspector Carlisle had been looking for two days ago, the same one that was used to make the holes in Huw Walker’s chest.
‘Kate, my love, I’m afraid Bill didn’t die in a car crash. It seems that he may have shot himself.’ I tried not to make it sound as dreadful as it was.
‘You mean — he committed suicide?’ She had leaned back to look at my face.
‘It appears that he might have.’
‘Oh, my darling. Why?’ Her voice was a-quiver as a fresh round of sobbing sent a shudder through her body.
‘Here, drink your tea.’
She drank the hot sweet liquid. Best cure for shock there is.