Inspector Flint sighed again. ‘You know, we’re going to get to the bottom of this thing,’ he said. ‘It may take time and it may take expense and God knows it’s taking patience but when we do get down there–’
‘You’re going to find an inflatable doll,’ said Wilt.
‘With a vagina?’
‘With a vagina.’
In the Staff Room Peter Braintree staunchly defended Wilt’s innocence. ‘I tell you I’ve known Henry well for the past seven years and whatever has happened he had nothing to do with it.’
Mr Morris, the Head of Liberal Studies, looked out of the window sceptically. ‘They’ve had him in there since ten past two. That’s four hours,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t do that unless they thought he had some connection with the dead woman.’
‘They can think what they like. I know Henry and even if the poor sod wanted to he’s incapable of murdering anyone.’
‘He did punch that Printer on Tuesday. That shows he’s capable of irrational violence.’
‘Wrong again. The Printer punched him,’ said Braintree.
‘Only after Wilt had called him a snivelling fucking moron,’ Mr Morris pointed out. ‘Anyone who goes into Printers Three and calls one of them that needs his head examined. They killed poor odd Pinkerton, you know. He gassed himself in his car.’
‘They had a damned good try at killing old Henry come to that.’
‘Of course, that blow might have affected his brain,’ said Mr Morris, with morose satisfaction. ‘Concussion can do funny things to a man’s character. Change him overnight from a nice quiet inoffensive little fellow like Wilt into a homicidal maniac who suddenly goes berserk. Stranger things have happened.’
‘I daresay Henry would be the first to agree with you,’ said Braintree. ‘It can’t be very pleasant sitting in that caravan being questioned by detectives. I wonder what they’re doing to him.’
‘Just asking questions. Things like “How have you been getting on with your wife?” and “Can you account for your movements on Saturday night?” They start off gently and then work up to the heavy stuff later on.’
Peter Braintree sat in silent horror. Eva. He’d forgotten all about her and as for Saturday night he knew exactly what Henry had said he had been doing before he turned up on the doorstep covered with mud and looking like death…
‘All I’m saying,’ said Mr Morris, ‘is that it seems very strange to me that they find a dead body at the bottom of a shaft filled with concrete and the next thing you know they’ve got Wilt in that Murder HQ for questioning. Very strange indeed. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes.’ He got up and left the room and Peter Braintree sat on wondering if there was anything he should do like phone a lawyer and ask him to come round and speak to Henry. It seemed a bit premature and presumably Henry could ask to see a lawyer himself if he wanted one.
Inspector Flint lit another cigarette with an air of insouciant menace. ‘How well do you get on with your wife?’ he asked.
Wilt hesitated. ‘Well enough,’ he said.
‘Just well enough? No more than that?’
‘We get along just fine,’ said Wilt, conscious that be had made an error.
‘I see. And I suppose she can substantiate your story about this inflatable doll.’
‘Substantiate it?’
‘The fact that you made a habit of dressing it up and carrying on with it.’
‘I didn’t make a habit of anything of the sort,’ said Wilt indignantly.
‘I’m only asking. You were the one who first raised the fact that it had a vagina. I didn’t. You volunteered the information and naturally I assumed…’
‘What did you assume?’ said Wilt ‘You’ve got no right…’
‘Mr Wilt,’ said the Inspector, ‘put yourself in my position. I am investigating a case of suspected murder, and a man comes along and tells me that what two eye-witnesses describe as the body of a well-nourished woman in her early thirties…’
‘In her early thirties? Dolls don’t have ages. If that bloody doll was more than six months old…’
‘Please, Mr Wilt, if you’ll just let me continue. As I was saying we have a prima facie case of murder and you admit yourself to having put a doll with a vagina down that hole. Now if you were in my shoes what sort of inference would you draw from that?’
Wilt tried to think of some totally innocent interpretation and couldn’t.
‘Wouldn’t you be the first to agree that it does look a bit peculiar?’
Wilt nodded. It looked horribly peculiar.
‘Right,’ continued the Inspector. ‘Now if we put the nicest possible interpretation on your actions and particularly on your emphasis that this doll had a vagina–’
‘I didn’t emphasise it. I only mentioned the damned thing to indicate that it was extremely lifelike. I wasn’t suggesting I made a habit of…’ He stopped and looked miserably at the floor.
‘Go on, Mr Wilt, don’t stop now. It often helps to talk.’
Wilt stared at him frantically. Talking to Inspector Flint wasn’t helping him one iota. ‘If you’re implying that my sex life was confined to copulating with an inflatable fucking doll dressed in my wife’s clothes…’
‘Hold it there,’ said the Inspector, stubbing out his cigarette significantly. ‘Ah, so we’ve taken another step forward. You admit then that whatever is down that hole is dressed in your wife’s clothes? Yes or no.’
‘Yes,’ said Wilt miserably.
Inspector Flint stood up. ‘I think it’s about time we all went and had a little chat with Mrs Wilt,’ he said. ‘I want to hear what she has to say about your funny little habits.’
‘I’m afraid that’s going to be a little difficult,’ said Wilt.
‘Difficult?’
‘Well you see the thing is she’s gone away.’
‘Gone away?’ said the Inspector. ‘Did I hear you say that Mrs Wilt has gone away?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where has Mrs Wilt gone to?’
‘That’s the trouble. I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, I honestly don’t know,’ said Wilt.
‘She didn’t tell you where she was going?’
‘No. She just wasn’t there when I got home.’
‘She didn’t leave a note or anything like that?’
‘Yes,’ said Wilt, ‘as a matter of fact she did.’
‘Right, well let’s just go up to your house and have a look at that note.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ said Wilt. ‘I got rid of it.’
‘You got rid of it?’ said the Inspector. ‘You got rid of it? How?’
Wilt looked pathetically across at the police stenographer. ‘To tell the truth I wiped my bottom with it,’ he said.
Inspector Flint gazed at him demonically. ‘You did what?’
‘Well, there was no toilet paper in the lavatory so I…’ he stopped. The Inspector was lighting yet another cigarette. His hands were shaking and he had a distant look in his eyes that suggested he had just peered over some appalling abyss. ‘Mr Wilt,’ he said when he had managed to compose himself, ‘I trust that I am a reasonably tolerant man, a patient man and a humane man, but if you seriously expect me to believe one word of your utterly preposterous story you must be insane. First you tell me you put a doll down that hole. Then you admit that it was dressed in your wife’s clothes. Now you say that she went away without telling you where she was going and finally to cap it all you have the temerity to sit there and tell me that you wiped your arse with the one piece of solid evidence that could substantiate your statement.’
‘But I did,’ said Wilt.
‘Balls,’ shouted the Inspector. ‘You and I both know where Mrs Wilt has gone and there’s no use pretending we don’t. She’s down at the bottom of that fucking hole and you put her there.’