Free Policeman's Progress by Bernard Knight

argument.
    â€˜The hospital won’t have it – it’s covered in stinking mud and although it’s all right now, it’ll be pretty “ripe” in a day or two,’ offered the doctor.
    MacDonald shrugged. ‘Have to go to the public mortuary then … none of ’em have got fridges, so we may as well take it up to Newcastle.’
    The remains were carefully wrapped in a canvas stretcher with a polythene lining and taken aboard one of the launches for the journey up to the city.
    Milburn and Bewick watched it leave.
    â€˜Like a bloody state funeral!’ the sergeant said scathingly. ‘C’mon, let’s get across for that cuppa.’
    While the morbid cavalcade was advancing up the Tyne, Alec Bolam was just arriving home, oblivious of the murder. He was not to be involved for at least another day, as his present duties were far removed from murder investigations.
    He swung the car into the driveway of his semidetached villa and left it there, as he was going round the clubs later on. He stuck his key in the front door, wondering with a sigh what sort of reception awaited him on the other side.
    His wife was standing at the other end of the hall, at the door of the kitchenette.
    â€˜Why haven’t you put the car away?’ she snapped.
    No word of welcome , he thought, resisting the urge to open the door again and step back into the peace of the street outside. ‘Hello, pet – I’ve got to go out again later on.’ He was determined not to start anything – let her do it, then he could salve his conscience by telling himself it was all her fault. ‘Everything all right?’ he added.
    This apparently merited no reply. Vera Bolam vanished into the kitchen. He hung up his coat and hat and wandered morosely into the lounge. It was a modern house, with one long room stretching from front to back, the kitchen and hall being at the side.
    His wife’s head jerked into the serving hatch.
    â€˜You’re early. You’ll have to wait on Betty for your tea.’
    The grim face snapped back out of sight. Alec sank into an easy chair alongside the glowing fire. He picked up the Evening Chronicle and shook it open. Though his eyes followed the lines of print, his mind was hardly registering. For the thousandth time, he wondered why marriage should be such a hell of a thing after starting with such promise.
    True, this business with Betty and that damned poof had brought things to a head but, even before that, they’d had a good many cool years. Vera was still an attractive woman at forty-two, a year younger than himself. She came in now and set the table, without giving him a glance. Neither said anything.
    His wife had an aura of tenseness and Alec held his tongue. He knew that whatever he said, even if it was about the weather, would light the fuse of some new outburst. To occupy himself, he picked up the poker and made a vicious attack on the fire.
    â€˜Trying to ruin it? It’s been all right all day and now you come and make a mess of it – look at the dust you’re raising!’
    The words snicked out like the flashing of a rapier, all the more effective because he knew she was right – he was wrecking a perfectly good fire.
    Flinging the poker down, he jumped to his feet. ‘OK, OK, but for God’s sake, can’t you say something pleasant – just for once?’
    She sneered at him. ‘I might – if you did! You use this place like a lodging-house. In and out at all times, face like a fiddle …’
    The usual row began, but was interrupted by the sound of another key in the front door. They both stopped. ‘No fighting in front of the child’ had been the rule for so many years that they still kept the habit, though the ‘child’ was now a grown woman.
    Vera Bolam hurried out to meet her daughter and the murmur of female voices was abruptly cut off by the slamming of the hatch.
    Alec