Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

The DCI nodded. It was normal.

‘But Amelia and I don’t have any children. There is no further issue on her side, so Joe Bradbury now stands to inherit the estate in its entirety. If Amelia had lived for just a few months longer, so that she had outlived her mother, then Joe would have been looking at only half.’

‘And how big is the estate?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know exactly but Mary Bradbury’s house in Weybridge was sold for more than three million.’

In Wednesday morning’s post I received a formal letter from Thames Valley Police, signed by the chief constable no less, stating that, unless new evidence against me were to come to light in the future, I would face no further action over my arrest on suspicion of the murder of Amelia Jane Gordon-Russell.

I didn’t celebrate.

There was nothing to be joyous about. Indeed, I was angry.

I should never have been arrested in the first place.

The letter didn’t exactly state that I was innocent of the crime but it was probably the best I could expect in the circumstances. My true innocence would only be confirmed when someone else, i.e. Joe Bradbury, was convicted.

It was too much to hope for that Thames Valley Police had sent copies of the letter to all the national daily newspapers and the broadcast media, so I wondered if I should send them copies myself. But the press are never particularly interested in innocence, only in guilt, and I didn’t really want to remind them of the whole sorry saga again anyway. At last, after two long weeks, their interest in the gory details of Amelia’s death had begun to wane as new sensational events took over the front pages and the news bulletins.

However, I did take a photo of the letter with my phone and then sent copies of that by email to all my contacts at the insurance companies, those firms for whom I had regularly done freelance work over the past two years, inviting them to again make use of my services.

I also sent a copy to the chairman of the British Horseracing Authority, and cc’d it to the chairman of the Honorary Stewards Appointment Board. Only time would tell if they responded favourably or not.

Probably not .

I thought fleetingly about sending a copy to Joe Bradbury but decided that it would be a bad idea, a very bad idea indeed. He’d go apeshit, and he was deranged enough already, especially as far as dealing with me was concerned. The letter would be like pouring petrol onto an already smouldering fuse — at best incendiary, at worst explosive.

He would find out soon enough when he was arrested. Not that there had been any word of that yet. It had been two days since Nancy and I had provided our signed statements to the police and I was becoming impatient.

I called DS Dowdeswell.

‘Any news of an arrest?’ I asked when he answered.

‘All in good time, Mr Gordon-Russell. We like to get all our ducks in a row first.’

But the ducks had hardly been in a row before they’d arrested me, and I noticed we were back to Mr Gordon-Russell.

‘So are you making any headway?’ I asked ironically.

‘Slow and steady,’ he assured me, without giving me any specifics.

‘I received a letter this morning from your chief constable.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was aware that one had been drafted.’

I wanted to ask the DS if he now felt rather foolish for having gone all the way to North Wales to arrest me so dramatically when he’d had no evidence. But I resisted the temptation, just.

‘How about your inquiries into the carving knife incident at Mary Bradbury’s place?’ I asked.

‘They are ongoing,’ he said in true police avoidance-of-detail speak, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

‘In what way are they ongoing?’ I asked. ‘Have you interviewed Mrs Bradbury yet?’

‘We may have done.’

‘What sort of answer is that?’ I said. ‘Either you have or you haven’t.’

‘I am not at liberty to discuss the matter with you.’

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t for Nancy Fadeley and me, you’d have nothing to go on. You’d still be floundering in the dark trying your utmost to stick a murder charge on me when you’ve known all along that I couldn’t have done it. I’ve given you Joe Bradbury on a plate — intent, opportunity and motive. What more do you want?’

‘Intent?’

‘Have you read the vile emails he’s been sending my wife and me over the past three years? You still have our computers. Look at them. If those emails aren’t a portent to murder, I don’t know what is.’

There was a long silent pause from the other end of the line.

‘Okay,’ the DS said eventually. ‘Yes, I have interviewed Mrs Mary Bradbury. I went to see her yesterday afternoon. And we have also removed from her premises an eight-inch carving knife for analysis.’

‘And?’ I said, encouraging him to go on.

‘Mrs Bradbury was somewhat confused.’

Tell me about it.

‘Initially she confirmed your version of events but, later, she said that her son was only kidding and he hadn’t meant anything by it. Then, later still, she said that she couldn’t in fact remember which of you had been holding the knife, and what did it matter anyway, as no one had been hurt.’

Silly old bat.

‘I’m afraid,’ the DS went on, ‘that she would be a completely hopeless witness in any proceedings, so it is simply your word against his.’

‘That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,’ I said.

‘That’s as maybe,’ he said.

‘How about the knife?’ I asked. ‘I assume you are testing that for fingerprints.’

‘We are,’ he said. ‘But, according to Mrs Bradbury, it has since been through the dishwasher. Seems Mr Joseph Bradbury put it in there and set the thing off.’

I knew the police should have gone and got the knife straight away last Saturday, but even then they might have been too late.

‘Did you ask her about the money from the house sale?’

‘Not exactly,’ he said.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I didn’t mention the house sale specifically but I did ask her for written permission for us to access her bank account. I told her that there had been several local cases of elderly people, especially elderly widows, having had their accounts remotely hacked and emptied by criminals. I offered to ensure that it couldn’t happened to her, and to put her bank on notice that we were on watch.’

Sneaky , I thought. ‘And did she agree?’

‘Readily.’ I could detect some amusement in his voice. ‘But it was important for us to get her permission as the access you had previously made was illegal and hence anything you found would have been inadmissible as evidence in court.’

‘But won’t someone argue that you gained access to her bank accounts by somewhat dubious means?’

‘They might,’ he said. ‘But what I told her was completely true, there have been some local cases of fraud from people’s bank accounts, and she did sign a wide-ranging permission. So the fact that we can look further than any potential hack is quite legal.’

‘So have you looked?’ I asked.

‘We don’t have online access to the account. We have had to make an application to her bank. We are still awaiting their response.’

‘I hope Joe Bradbury doesn’t find out in the meantime. Two years ago, he forced Mary to sign a power of attorney to give him sole responsibility over her finances. Cut Amelia out of the loop completely in spite of the fact that she had done everything for her mother for years. He convinced Mary that Amelia was crazy and not be trusted. That’s a joke. But perhaps it’s Joe that you need to get the permission from. I hope the bank don’t ask you for it or, worse still, ask him directly.’