Felix Francis: Guilty Not Guilty

‘But it could happen.’

‘Only in the movies,’ I replied.

Specifically in Kind Hearts and Coronets .

When I’d been aged about twelve I’d obsessed over that film, watching Alec Guinness in black-and-white on an old video recorder, daydreaming for hours about cunning ways I could emulate him and elevate myself up the family pecking order. Third-son syndrome, I called it. Neither the heir, nor the spare. Hence the chances of inheriting anything were slim, let alone the title and the family seat — not that I’d ever been very keen on the draughty thirteenth-century castle in the Welsh Borders where I’d been raised.

Fortunately, my childhood obsession with bumping off my brothers in order to become the tenth earl hadn’t progressed beyond fantasy, not least because I had adored my siblings. I still did, albeit from a safe distance.

The detective sergeant changed tactic. ‘You don’t seem very distressed by the news of your wife’s death.’

‘I am devastated,’ I said. ‘My wife and I were very close.’

‘That isn’t how it appears to me.’

‘But you can’t see how I’m feeling on the inside,’ I replied.

I had been taught as a child not to display my emotions. ‘Big boys don’t cry’ had been a mantra for my grandfather, the eighth earl, with whom I had spent much of my early years.

I was devastated. I hurt, badly, and part of me wanted to scream and shout, but the ‘Captain Sensible’ within simply asked what good it would do, so I didn’t.

And it was not as if I hadn’t prepared myself for this moment.

For the previous three years, I had half-expected on a daily basis to hear that Amelia was dead. She had seriously tried to kill herself twice and openly discussed the likelihood of taking her own life almost every week.

Over time, I had discovered that there was a limit on how much I could accompany and chaperone her. If someone was determined to kill themselves, then it was nearly impossible to stop them. To keep Amelia safe for every single moment of every day was unachievable short of locking her up in a mental hospital — something that had happened more than once in the recent past.

‘When did you last see your wife?’

‘Yesterday afternoon about five,’ I said.

‘Can you account for your movements over the past twenty-four hours?’

‘I was at work in my study yesterday until about four,’ I said.

‘Where is your study?’

‘At my house. I’m a self-employed business consultant. I work mainly from home unless I have meetings, and they are usually in London. Mostly with insurance companies.’

The look on his face indicated clearly that he didn’t think much of insurance companies. Not a lot of people do.

‘Doing what, exactly?’ he asked.

‘I’m an actuary.’

I could see a quizzical look spread into his eyes.

‘I deal in all sorts of insurance but mostly life cover and annuities.’

I don’t think it helped him much.

‘Basically, I calculate risk against reward,’ I said. ‘I calculate mortality rates and investment risk and then I turn those into insurance premiums.’

‘Clever, then, are you?’ he asked with irony.

I shook my head. ‘Just good at maths.’

‘So what did you do after you left your study?’

‘I changed into a suit and then drove myself to Birmingham. To Edgbaston. I attended a charity event in the banqueting suite at the cricket ground. It started at seven and finished about eleven. Then I stayed the night in a hotel.’

‘Which hotel?’

‘The Edgbaston Manor Hotel. It’s near the cricket ground. Walking distance. I checked in around six and walked to the ground.’

‘It’s not far from your house to Birmingham. Why didn’t you simply drive home afterwards?’

‘Because the event was a dinner and I knew I’d be drinking.’

‘Drink often, do you, Mr Gordon-Russell?’

Was he trying to rile me?

‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘I had maybe three or four glasses of wine throughout the whole evening. Too much to drive but I certainly wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re implying.’

‘Why didn’t your wife go with you?’

‘Charity dinners are not really her thing.’

Were not.

‘Is there anyone who can vouch that you were at this dinner?’ he asked.

‘Lots of people,’ I said. ‘I sat at a table with friends.’

‘And were they staying at the same hotel?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. I walked to the hotel alone.’

‘For a nightcap?’

‘No,’ I said patiently. ‘I went straight to bed. I needed to be well rested for my role as a steward at Warwick Races today.’

‘Did you call your wife?’

‘I spoke to her at about six, before I went to the dinner, to tell her I’d arrived safely at the hotel. She told me she was just going out for an hour to meet a friend at the village pub for a drink.’

‘What is the name of this friend?’

‘Nancy Fadeley,’ I said. ‘She lives right across the road from us in the same village.’

The detective sergeant nodded as if he already knew.

‘She was spoken to this morning as part of our house-to-house inquiries.’

‘What did she say?’ I asked.

He ignored me.

‘Did you call your wife again later?’

‘No. It was after eleven when I got back to the hotel and I didn’t want to disturb her. She might have gone to bed early. She often does when I’m away.’

Did.

‘And she knew she could call me if she needed something. I always have my phone on. I leave it by the bed all night when I’m away, just in case.’

‘But she didn’t call?’

‘No.’

‘How about this morning?’

‘I tried the house number about nine but there was no answer so I thought she must have gone out. She often goes food shopping in Waitrose on Wednesday mornings.’

Went.

‘How about her mobile phone?’

‘I tried that too but there was no answer. It went to voicemail so I left a message saying I’d be home around six-thirty. The last race at Warwick today is at five but we have to complete our report before we can leave.’

‘So you also work for Warwick Racecourse.’

‘It’s not exactly work,’ I said. ‘Not paid work anyway. I’m what is called an honorary steward. For the BHA — the racing authority. It’s a volunteer role. I suppose you could call it my hobby. I act for about thirty-five days a year at the local racecourses — Warwick and Stratford mostly. It is something I choose to do in addition to my usual day job.’

The detective made some notes before again looking at me.

‘Did anyone see you at the hotel last night?’

‘Not that I specially remember. The restaurant staff would have seen me at breakfast. Plus the receptionist when I checked out.’ I dug into my pocket and produced the credit card receipt from my wallet and put it on the table. ‘There. I checked out at...’ I glanced at the slip. ‘Nine fifty-two this morning.’

‘But no one saw you from the time you left the dinner until breakfast. So there would have been plenty of time for you to drive home, kill your wife, and get back to Birmingham.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ I said, standing up. ‘I didn’t kill her. In fact, I’ve had enough of this. You said I was free to go at any time, so I’m going. Which way is it to the exit?’

It was obviously not what he’d been expecting.

‘But we need to ask you some more questions.’

‘Then you will have to make an appointment. I will attend only with my solicitor. I want to see my wife.’

‘As I told you before, that’s not possible.’

‘Why not?’ I asked belligerently.