Free The Loving Husband by Christobel Kent

that, three a.m. call. Someone with a grudge? He got into something?’ She frowned. ‘Is the wife a suspect?’
    Gerard made as if to pick something out of his teeth. ‘Look,’ he said, examining his fingertip, looking up at her as an afterthought. ‘Obviously there’s no time to bring you up to date on progress, on our thinking so far.’
    Ali folded her arms across her chest, getting the message straight off: as far as Gerard was concerned she was a glorified nanny. ‘Right,’ she said.
    ‘So for the moment,’ droning, ‘I’d like you to act as … a fresh pair of eyes, let’s say. I’m interested in your impressions, unencumbered.’ My arse you are, thought Ali. ‘And of course…’ leaning close so she got a whiff of sweat under the aftershave, ‘I don’t want you getting under my feet in the incident room, your place is in the field.’
    ‘No desk for me, then?’ said Ali, mildly. Surprise surprise.
    He ignored her. ‘But you’ll remember you’re part of the investigative team. Everything you get out of her comes straight to me.’ Then Doug Gerard grabbed the plastic chair parked at the door, and put it into her hands.
    Back inside she set the chair at Fran Hall’s side of the table, and taking advantage of the minute or two Gerard stood there muttering to Carswell above their heads, she leaned towards Fran Hall. The victim’s wife was perched frozen on her chair, her hand still on the handle of her baby’s car seat, ready to grab him up and run.
    ‘Sorry about the room,’ said Ali and she saw Fran Hall look round, dazed, as if she hadn’t noticed where she was.
    Ali had seen that particular look before, her head followed Fran Hall’s trying to work it out, but then Carswell and Gerard were sitting down opposite them and Gerard was explaining that this was just a chat, she wasn’t under caution. They would be recording it, was that all right with her? Fran Hall just nodded, still dazed. No idea, thought Ali, but then again if Gerard’s got anything to do with it he’ll keep us both in the dark for the duration. Carswell, his mouth open in concentration, pressed buttons on the recorder, and the woman flinched at the sound.
    Battered wife? There was a bit of that about her, and Ali’d seen enough of those to know. Was that the theory they weren’t bothering to update her on? Ali had a look at her but the woman’s eyes slid away, dodging. Battered wives often lost sympathy all round on account of that look; she’d seen jurors turn stony at the sight of them: how could they let it happen? Easy, is the answer to that. But the baby looked healthy and there was nothing visible on Fran Hall, no bruises, no hair yanked out, no burns or scarring.
    ‘A couple of things,’ said Doug Gerard, leaning back. ‘First. He was at the pub, you said?’
    Fran Hall nodded. ‘The Queen’s Head.’
    ‘In the village, right? He was a regular?’ Gerard knew something, Ali could hear it in his voice.
    ‘Once or twice a week,’ Fran Hall said, very quiet.
    ‘You didn’t go with him?’
    She hesitated, shook her head.
    ‘He’d walk there, I suppose?’
    She shook her head again. ‘He took the car. He … it was quite a long walk, right at the other end of the village. He wasn’t much of a drinker.’
    Ali looked at Gerard, then Carswell. Who took the car to the local pub? Idle locals who knew they wouldn’t be caught? Fat, lazy, habitual drunk drivers? Was that who Fran Hall had been married to? Gerard didn’t look back at Ali.
    ‘Well, forensics will tell us that. If he’d been drinking.’ He tapped his pen on the table, turning it. ‘Another thing, though,’ he added, casual. ‘His clothing was disturbed and we wondered…’ Ali looked up, from him to Carswell.
    ‘What?’ Fran Hall said, interrupting. ‘Disturbed, what do you mean by that? Disturbed?’
    Gerard sounded patient. ‘Was he in the habit, maybe, of going outside to urinate? Last thing at night, coming home from the