John Francome - Declared Dead

'Of course I wasn't. I was up all night looking after Freddie. I think you ought to know that there are many people who wanted my husband dead. You see, he was a blackmailer.'

I could have sworn the Inspector grinned.

'That's a very serious allegation to make, Mrs Pryde, particularly about a man who's in no position to defend himself.'

I proceeded to tell them all about the diary and our conversation that Friday afternoon. It was obvious from their reaction that they didn't believe me.

'Where is this diary, then?' asked the Inspector.

'I presume it was burned with him. I didn't know it even existed until the day we found it. He must have carried it about with him.'

'And why didn't you mention this before?'

'Because I hoped it wouldn't be necessary. It's not the nicest thing, you know, for my son to be brought up with his father's wrongdoings exposed in this way.'

'Very thoughtful of you. And also a very convenient explanation for what I regard as a seriously unhelpful attitude. Are you really asking us to believe that your husband was blackmailing his own father?'

'That's what I said.' I was beginning to become angry at his supercilious manner.

Wilkinson looked despairingly over at the Superintendent, who now spoke for the first time.

'The initials JP2 weren't also there by any chance were they?' he sneered.

'I'm sorry, I don't follow you.'

'Pope John Paul the Second. Quite frankly, your allegations are ridiculous and do you no credit. If your motive is to help Mr Radcliffe, you're not going the right way about it.'

Amy intervened before I could let fly. 'There's no need to be rude to my client. I expect you to follow up this particular line of enquiry. Unless you intend to charge my client, I must advise her not to answer any more questions.'

The officers looked at each other and shook their heads. 'No, that's all right. You can go for the moment, Mrs Pryde, after you sign the statement that we'll now prepare. I must warn you not to talk to anyone about this case or to try and get in touch with Mr Radcliffe. We'll have to check up about Saturday night.'

'You mean, talk to Freddie?' I started to panic.

'Unless someone else can corroborate what you've just told us.'

'Ralph, Ralph Elgar. He got up a couple of times and asked if he could help.'

'That should be all right, then.'

'Can't I see Mr Radcliffe, just for five minutes?'

'That's impossible.'

'Where is he?'

'He's still here helping us with our enquiries.'

'Will he be released today?'

'I'm afraid I'm not in any position to answer that.'

That night Amy phoned to say Tom had been charged with Edward's murder. The dried blood found near the car had matched precisely the blood sample taken from the bronze. It seemed that DNA was a truly reliable form guide. As far as the police were concerned Tom had both motive and opportunity to kill Edward. Although they couldn't pinpoint the precise time of death – bones and blood yield no such clues – they firmly believed that Tom had killed Edward after leaving the pub and that his memory block was a convenient fabrication. The final irony was that as I had admitted we were lovers, the police were intending to call me as a witness for the prosecution. According to Amy I was lucky. I had been a short head away from joining him in the dock as an accessory or accomplice. She ended the call by telling me that in the morning the police were going to apply for a warrant to search the cottage.

'Is there anything you don't want them to see?' she asked.

'Of Edward's? Nothing I can think of. They're welcome to it all.'

I lay in bed and thought of Tom. When I was an amateur, and he first started giving me rides, I thought his interest was solely platonic, a kind of peace gesture in the light of Edward's antagonism towards him. Unlike Edward, he obviously enjoyed any success I had. He was fun to be with and I found his good humour and enthusiasm a welcome antidote to Edward's ever-increasing depression and short temper. Our affair just blossomed one day.

We had driven down to Devon and Exeter where I was riding a horse for Tom in a handicap chase. When we arrived at the course, there was thick fog and racing was abandoned. Tom suggested that we went for lunch in a nearby hotel just on the edge of Dartmoor. It was cold outside and there was an enormous log fire burning on one side of the restaurant. We both had a bit too much to drink, and during lunch, Tom reached across for my hand and told me how much he loved me. I hadn't really known what to say. I wasn't certain whether I loved him but at that moment knew that I wanted to go to bed with him.

Ten minutes later, after having booked a room, we were upstairs in a warm bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Tom pulled me gently towards him. He then took my face in his hands and kissed me softly on the lips.

'I've been wanting to do this for months.'

I didn't say anything but pulled him back against me and we began kissing again. Our tongues darted in and out, exploring and licking. He then moved his hands gently down my neck and began to undo the top buttons of my blouse. Once he had undone them far enough, I almost stopped breathing with excitement as he moved his hands slowly inside. As he began caressing my breasts, he moved his head lower, his tongue exploring the inside of my ear, and then started to kiss my neck. From being almost breathless, I was now breathing heavily and my nipples began to ache as they hardened. I hadn't felt so good in ages, and moved my hand under his jumper and began to unbutton his trousers. As I slipped my hand under the elastic of his boxer shorts and started to run my fingers gently over his smooth skin, I could hear his breathing quicken. From then on, we had all but torn the clothes off each other and had made wonderful love on the carpet.

I hadn't felt any guilt at all, and after that we had made love as often as possible, and wherever possible, until I realised that it had to stop because I had been putting my own interests above my son's. If Edward found out, he'd make sure we both suffered: I couldn't live with myself if Freddie was hurt because of my infidelity.

I had at least kept Tom's letters and now and then I used to take them from their hiding place and recall our times together. The letters! I shot up in bed. They were hidden in the cottage and their contents would be extremely damaging to Tom if the police were to find them. I had no option but to go and recover them. I dressed and slipped out of the back door of the house.

It was well past two in the morning when I arrived at the cottage. I drove past to make sure the police weren't watching it and parked the car a hundred yards down the road. I was terrified as I pushed open the front door and tiptoed across to the stairs. I didn't want to turn on the lights and decided to fetch a torch from the kitchen. I then went up to the spare room. I put my hand up the chimney of the fireplace in the corner, which we never lit. There was a small alcove inset into the wall; I'd discovered it by chance a couple of years previously. I felt about for the small package of letters. It was a month since I had last taken it out. I fumbled around on the edge of the ledge but could not feel anything. Just as I began to panic, my fingers brushed against the package. I heaved a sigh of relief. I must have pushed it further back than usual on the last occasion. I shone the torch on the packet and opened it. One last nostalgic look through before I burned them. But instead of the bundle of envelopes, I found only a few newspaper cuttings and a photograph, taken on holiday some years before, of me – naked from the waist up. I was smiling at the camera but it was Edward who had had the last laugh.