Free Close Call by J.M. Gregson Page A

know, I’m afraid.’ Phil was already wishing he hadn’t raised such matters. He wouldn’t want his own track record in such things put under the police microscope.
    â€˜What about you, Mrs Smart? Are you aware of any sexual liaisons being conducted by either Mr or Mrs Durkin?’
    Carol was furious that a husband who couldn’t keep it in his trousers should be throwing out these thoughts about other people. She gave Phil a blistering look and said to Lambert, ‘No. And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.’
    â€˜That would be a most unwise decision, Mrs Smart. Withholding information in a murder enquiry would be viewed as a serious instance of obstructing the police in the course of their duties.’ Lambert was pleased to convey the impression that he would be delighted to arrest her for it. ‘If either of you think of anything which you consider might have a bearing on this crime, it is your duty to get in touch with us immediately. Your confidences will of course be respected, unless they later prove to be needed as evidence in a murder trial. Have you anything further to contribute before we leave?’
    The Smarts glanced at each other, then shook their heads simultaneously. It was the only sign of unity they had given in the entire exchange.
    â€˜We shall probably want to speak to you separately at a later stage, when we have a more detailed picture of the events of Saturday night. For the moment, thank you for your help.’
    Carol Smart didn’t like that last bit at all. She had always assumed that they would be together for any police questioning. The thought of what that dolt of a husband might say without her watchful presence at his side filled her with trepidation.

Eight
    T he full post-mortem report was in when Lambert and Hook returned to Oldford police station.
    â€˜There’s nothing you wouldn’t have been expecting,’ said DI Rushton gloomily when they entered the CID section. Lambert scanned the print-out of the report. Robin Durkin had been strangled with a piece of electric cable three feet seven inches long, which had bitten deeply into his neck, breaking his windpipe and killing him in seconds. In effect, he had been garrotted.
    There were a few scratches on the neck around the line where the cable had bitten into the flesh, but as they had feared, they had been made by the dead man himself, struggling desperately and ineffectively to remove the instrument of his death in his last seconds on earth. There was skin and a little dirt under the dead man’s nails, but they were his own skin and dirt, accumulated there in those last moments as he fought for his life.
    Lambert said dully, ‘The cable is relatively new, but there are soil particles on it, the ph of which suggests that it had come from the area where it was used. In other words the cable was probably picked up on the building site which has now been transformed into Gurney Close.’
    Rushton said, ‘I haven’t been out there. Presumably there are lots of bits of cable and other builders’ detritus still lying around.’
    â€˜Yes. The Durkins’s garden has been pretty well cleared. And so has Mrs Holt’s plot, the first one as you enter the close: she’s had this young man Jason Ritchie working pretty well full time at her place. But the others haven’t progressed quite as far as that. In any case, the four owners have hired a skip jointly, and have been dumping builders’ rubbish in there for the last two or three weeks as they began the work of clearing their plots and establishing gardens. I had a look into it. It’s almost full of broken bricks and broken strips of wood and bits of copper and plastic piping.’
    â€˜And pieces of electric cable, no doubt,’ said Rushton sourly. It was what they had expected, but you always hoped against hope that the murder weapon would lead you straight to your killer.
    Hook was trying to