‘Not you, sir,’ the Superintendent said and paused significantly. ‘There’s something else.’
‘Something else, Chief Superintendent?’ Mrs Rottecombe corrected her previous mistake. There was genuine anxiety in her voice now.
The Superintendent took advantage of it. He nodded slowly and added, ‘A bad business, I’m afraid. Not at all pleasant.’
‘Surely not someone dead…’
The Superintendent didn’t reply. He led the way round to the Range Rover, stepping over hose-pipes and with the acrid smell of smoke in their nostrils. Battleby stumbled after them. Mrs Rottecombe wasn’t helping him now. The smell and the Superintendent’s sinister emphasis was playing on her imagination. In the darkness the Range Rover might have been an ambulance. Several policemen stood nearby. Only when they got closer did she see it was Bob’s vehicle. So did he and protested.
‘What the devil’s it doing out here?’ he demanded.
The Superintendent answered with his own question. ‘I assume you always keep it locked, sir?’
‘Of course I do. I’m not a damned fool. Don’t want it stolen, do I?’
‘And you locked it tonight, sir?’
‘What do you think? Asking dumb questions like that,’ said Battleby. ‘Of course I locked it.’
‘Just making sure, sir. You see, the firemen had to break the side window to move it out into the road, sir.’ There could be no mistaking the purpose of the repeated ’sir’, at least not for Mrs Rottecombe. It was intended to provoke and it succeeded.
‘What the fuck did they do that for? That’s breaking and entering. They had no right to–’
‘Because you had locked it, sir, as you have just admitted. The fire engines couldn’t get into the yard, sir,’ said the Superintendent. More provocation. He said it slowly as though explaining the matter to a backward child. ‘And now, sir, if you’d be so good as to give me the keys I’ll–’
But Battleby had been baited far enough. ‘Oh, fuck off, copper,’ he said, ‘and mind your own business. My bloody house burns to the ground and all you want to do is–’
‘Give him the keys, Bob,’ said Mrs Rottecombe firmly. Battleby swore again and groped in his pockets and finally found them. He tossed them towards the Superintendent who picked them off the ground and made a show of unlocking the door on the passenger’s side.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like you to look at this material, sir,’ he said, blocking Mrs Rottecombe’s view and switching on the interior light. Lying on the seat beside the gag and the handcuffs were the magazines. The Superintendent stood back and let Battleby see them. For a moment he gaped at them.
‘Who the fuck put them there?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me that, sir,’ said the Superintendent and moved away so that Mrs Rottecombe could see the collection. Her reaction was more informative. It was also more calculated.
‘Oh, Bob, how revolting! Where on earth did you buy that filth?’
Battleby turned his bloated face on her lividly. ‘Where did I buy it? I didn’t buy it anywhere. I don’t know what it’s doing there.’
‘Are you saying someone gave it to you, sir? If so, would mind telling me who–’
‘No, I’m fucking not,’ Battleby shouted, totally losing control of his temper. Mrs Rottecombe backed away from him. She knew now that she had to distance herself from him. Being the friend of a man who had pictures of children being raped and tortured was the last thing she needed. Tying Bob up and whipping him was one thing but sadistic paedophilia…And the police were definitely involved now. She wanted out. The Superintendent took a step closer to Battleby and peered into his purple face and bloodshot eyes.
‘If you didn’t buy this material and no one gave it to you, just tell me how it happens to be in your car, your locked car, sir. You tell me that. You’re not suggesting it got in there by itself, are you, sir?’
There was no doubting his sarcasm now. This was interrogation proper. Mrs Rottecombe made an attempt to get away.
‘If you don’t mind…’ she began but the Superintendent’s tactics had achieved the object he had been hoping for. Battleby took a drunken swing at his face. The Superintendent made no attempt to dodge the blow; it struck him full on the nose and blood ran down his chin. He was almost smiling. The next moment Battleby’s arms were behind his back, he was handcuffed and a large Sergeant was frogmarching him to a police car.
‘I think we had better continue this interview in a calmer atmosphere,’ said the Superintendent, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to accompany us too, Mrs Rottecombe. I know it’s very late but we’ll need a statement from you. It’s not just a case of assaulting a police officer in the course of his duty. There’s Possession of Obscene Material under the Act as well. You were a witness to everything that occurred. And there is another matter, possibly a more serious one.’
Mrs Rottecombe crossed to her Volvo and followed the police cars to the police station in Oston in a state of controlled fury. Bob Battleby was going to get no help from her.
Chapter 11
‘You’re not going to like this, Flint,’ Superintendent Hodge of the Drug Squad in Ipford said with all the glee of a man who was finally being proved right, and that at the expense of a man he thoroughly disliked. He settled his backside on the edge of Inspector Flint’s desk to emphasise the point.
‘Don’t see how I am,’ said Flint. ‘Don’t tell me they’re putting you back on the beat. I mean, that would really hurt me.’
The Superintendent smiled nastily. ‘Remember what you told me about Wilt not being into drugs? Said the blighter wasn’t that sort. Well, I’ve got news for you. The Drug Enforcement Agency in the States has faxed an inquiry on Mrs Wilt in a drug-dealing connection. What do you say to that?’
‘I’d say you’d picked up some fancy transatlantic language. Been seeing too many old movies, have you? The Wilt Connection. You’ve got to be joking.’
‘They are requesting information about Mrs Eva Wilt, address 45 Oakhurst Avenue–’
‘I know where the Wilts live, don’t I just,’ said Flint. ‘But if you are trying to tell me that Eva Wilt is into drug pushing you’re clean round the twist. That woman is a leading antidrug campaigner like she’s a leading campaigner for everything else from Save the Whales to stopping the TV cable company from digging holes along Oakhurst Avenue because it hurts the cherry trees and they are part of the Ipford Rainforest. Pull the other one.’
Hodge ignored the crack. ‘Of course she’s a leading antidrug campaigner. Gives her splendid cover Stateside.’
Inspector Flint sighed. Really, Superintendent Hodge was getting to be a bigger fool the more he was promoted.
‘Where are we now? _Kojak?_ You should watch something a bit more up to date than that old stuff. Not that I mind. At least I can sort of understand what you’re talking about.’
‘Very witty, I’m sure,’ said Hodge. ‘So if she’s so clean how come they’re asking for information?’
‘Don’t ask me what Yanks do. I’ve never understood. Anyway, what reason did they give?’
‘Presumably because they have her under suspicion,’ said Hodge and moved off the desk. ‘Our American confrères don’t give reasons. All they’re doing is asking. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’
‘Be nice if some people could begin to,’ said Flint when the door closed behind the Superintendent. ‘And what was all that confrères business about?’