Free This Honourable House by Edwina Currie Page B

my silence. He can’t buy it, so he’s putting the frighteners on me.’
    Stevens grunted. ‘Do you really believe he’s capable of this, Mrs Bridges?’
    Gail hesitated under the gaze of the shadowy, intelligent eyes. She was silent for a moment, then held herself rigid. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘If you’d seen the way he dumped me, in public, without shame, you’d agree he was capable of anything.’
    The sergeant returned. ‘Nobody about who can help for the present, I’m afraid. But we can take a statement, and your fingerprints.’
    ‘Mine? Why do you have to do that?’ Gail clasped her hands.
    ‘In order to eliminate them from our inquiries,’ came the sergeant’s reply. ‘Then we’ll be in touch, Mrs Bridges.’ He held open the door for her.
    The inspector stayed seated as Gail rose jerkily to her feet, but he shook hands with her amiably enough. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Bridges. Oh, one more point.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘We don’t want to encourage this type of nastiness. Don’t give anyone ideas. So my advice to you is not to mention it in your interviews. We do get copycat crimes.’
    ‘I see,’ Gail said uncertainly.
    ‘And, naturally,’ Stevens continued smoothly, ‘if it was your husband, or anybody else, we have to avoid pre-trial publicity. So it’s best not to say a word.’
    ‘You’ll catch him quicker?’
    ‘We’re more likely to put him away.’
    Gail nodded. ‘I’ll do my best. But if I’m asked if I’ve had any comeback from him, it’ll be impossible to lie. I have to be able to speak out about these matters. I have to.’ She gathered up her bag and followed the sergeant out.
     
    It was some hours later, towards the end of the shift, that the sergeant returned with a closely typed piece of paper. He put it wordlessly on Stevens’ blotter and pointed.
    ‘I guessed that might be the case,’ the inspector said. ‘Only her prints on it, eh?’
    ‘That’s it. And loads of them.’
    ‘We could take a DNA sample and check the saliva.’
    ‘The letters are stuck on with Pritt stick. The envelope’s done with Sellotape. Somebody with savvy, I’d say, sir.’
    ‘Hmm. Should we get CID to look at it, if only for form’s sake?’
    The sergeant shrugged. It was common knowledge in the office that Stevens had spent five years on the detective side and had returned to uniform willingly, his opinions of his investigating colleagues somewhat soured. The inspector toyed with a pencil. Then: ‘Perhaps not today. She was upset. Got a powerful sense of grievance.’
    ‘If you ask me, she was lucky he stayed that long. She’s a bit of a shrew. My sympathies lie elsewhere.’
    ‘I wasn’t asking you, Ron. She may have been badly treated, as she claims. The question is, has an offence been committed here?’
    ‘My considered opinion is, no.’
    ‘She did it herself?’
    ‘Makes sense, sir. Though we must keep an open mind.’
    ‘Indeed. Poor woman. But it figures. He was one of us, wasn’t he?’

Chapter Six
    ‘I loathe Brighton. I detest the Grand Hotel. I hate the conference season.’
    Pansy Illingworth, editor in chief of the Globe , was holding forth. Jim Betts sniffed in mournful solidarity and offered her another cigarette. They were slouched on stools in the Grand’s grandest bar. It was early yet and the bar was not busy. Pansy accepted without thanks, lit it from a flaring lighter and blew out a stream of smoke, tossing back frizzy brown hair in a gesture Betts found irritating. She fidgeted, rubbing her open palm fretfully over skinny thighs in designer suede jeans. The painted nails threatened to tear the soft calfskin.
    ‘Bloody politicians! You’d guess they’d see quite enough of each other while Parliament’s sitting without devoting their precious recess to glad-handing the faithful. And in a third-rate seaside resort in the offseason,’ she continued. ‘Or maybe they agree with our poncy travel editor’s opinion that Brighton’s sooo trendy now. Why