Damned by Logic

by Jeffrey Ashford

  Frick waited.

  ‘Josh, do you remember the Arnold case?’

  Frick was surprised – and worried – by being called by his Christian name, something which usually only happened when the other was in a good mood because work was progressing well. Was Glover about to ask of him something he would not welcome?

  ‘Arnold had a hell of a row with a woman which ended in his beating her up. She was in hospital for weeks, he was in jail for years because of previous convictions. During his time inside, he was made to meet the victim, following the theory that to learn the pain one has caused will make one feel remorse and shy away from brutality in the future. Could be possible, but things don’t always work out as the experts decide they should. The medical profession prescribed thalidomide to alleviate the distresses of pregnancy after all.’

  Frick failed to understand the significance of what had been said. Despite the extra aspirin, drums were still beating in his head and there was a choppy sea in his stomach.

  Glover went on to explain his thinking. ‘If at the party, Ansell was chatting away to Belinda, trying to persuade her of his innocence, there is the chance he will welcome seeing her again, hoping to make a further attempt to persuade her he was not responsible for his wife’s death and—’

  The phone rang. Glover answered the call, listened more than he spoke, eventually replaced the receiver. ‘That was the superintendent, adding his moan. He would like to hear that we are making progress in the Eileen Ansell case before the end of the year.’

  ‘So would we!’ Frick replied with more feeling than his head could bear and the banging increased.

  ‘He has just read an article in the local rag suggesting that, being a county force, we are not up to handling a case of this magnitude. Failing to achieve the success which would confound such uninformed criticism, he’d have to consider whether steps needed to be taken to ensure efficiency improves in C division’s CID.’

  ‘We’re as good or better than any other division.’

  ‘We’re only as good as the last case. We have to start on another tack. Does Draper believe Ansell is searching for someone who’ll believe him?’

  ‘She didn’t say that.’

  ‘It seems very possible. So tell her to contact Ansell and apologize for her attitude at the party; it was just because she automatically wanted to avoid shop talk. She can tell him she’s sorry for what she said and doesn’t want him to think she begins to believe he was in any way involved in the diamond smuggling or in his wife’s death.’

  ‘Do ... do what, guv?’ Frick’s surprise was great.

  ‘You couldn’t understand what I said?’

  ‘You’re asking her to be a ... a double agent?’

  ‘Hardly apposite. If she learns something important which enables us to open the case wide, she’ll have done her duty.’

  ‘What if she gets him to provide evidence which is strong enough to bring him to trial. The defence would claim entrapment.’

  ‘You may well be correct if he provides direct evidence which is used in court; you are incorrect if she provides information which enables us to find and bring incriminating evidence to court. Then, the accusation of entrapment could not be sustained.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea.’

  ‘A moment ago, you were blaming her for not letting him talk, now you condemn the idea.’

  ‘Then, it was of his own accord. What you’re suggesting means we would have gone out of our way to persuade him to talk.’

  ‘Even a lawyer might find that too fine a difference for the average jury to understand. Here is a chance of learning if Ansell did become mixed up in the smuggling game, and whether he did frighten his wife to death as he tried to force her to say where she burned the monkey.’

  ‘Sir, I appreciate that, but—’

  ‘You will tell Constable Draper to make further contact with Ansell.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Why? Belinda asked herself as she drove along Huntston Road. She turned into Bracken Lane – and slowed. She had believed she had the right to refuse an order which went against her instinctive and ethical standards, yet she had not done so. Frick had been uneasy when he had told her to make contact with Ansell. Uneasy, she judged, because he considered it an underhand – and potentially career damaging – way to carry out the investigation. So why, knowing he would probably back her refusal to do as ordered, had she not refused?

  She braked to a halt. Number thirty-four was no longer guarded by a PC, police tape had been removed, banks of flowers put on the pavement by neighbours had wilted. Other people’s tragedies had short lives.

  She turned off the engine. Had Glover or Frick given any heed as to how embarrassing this might be for her? Glover probably would not since the DCS was demanding action and that would override any personal concerns. Frick would probably not because embarrassment was a natural female weakness and peculiar to only the weaker sex in his view and therefore not an issue for him to consider.

  If it had been a weekday, Ansell might have been at work and she could report no contact. But in the circumstances, what was the likelihood he would be back at work now anyway? Waiting didn’t make an unwelcome task any easier. She left the car, crossed the pavement, opened the wrought iron gate, walked up the paved area to the front door. Her mother had said, when she had been a child and had had to swallow medicine, think it tastes delicious and it will. It had always tasted foul.

  Mrs Kelton opened the door, a suspicious look on her face.

  ‘Is Mr Ansell ...?’Belinda began.

  ‘Not here. Ain’t you ever going to stop worrying him? D’you need to be told what it’s like, you lot upsetting him when he’s mourning?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been ordered to be.’

  She had spoken with such certainty that Mrs Kelton relaxed. ‘No more would I be if he didn’t need someone.’

  ‘You’re very kind to come here on a Sunday.’

  ‘What day it is don’t make no difference for him.’

  ‘He’s lucky to have you to help him.’

  ‘That he is,’ Mrs Kelton answered, foregoing modesty. ‘You say you must have a word with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then he won’t be long gone. You’d better come on in and wait.’

  ‘I won’t bother him for a second longer than I have to,’ Belinda assured the protective cleaner as she entered through the front door. ‘And come to that, it’ll maybe bother me as much as him.’

  Mrs Kelton looked curiously at Belinda.

  ‘I’ve come to admit I made a mistake.’

  ‘Which ain’t the easiest thing to do!’ She showed Belinda into the sitting room. ‘I’ll be away shortly. I’ve prepared a cold meal for him, seeing as I can’t stay to cook because I must see Sophie’s all right. Her mum and dad are out for the day.’

  They heard a car door slam shut.

  ‘That’ll be him. I’ll tell him about his grub on my way out.’ Mrs Kelton left the room.

  Judge an employer by how an employee speaks about him, Belinda thought.

  There was a murmur of voices. Ansell entered. ‘You’ve nothing better to do so you’re here to ask more questions.’ The anger was evident both in his tone and on his face. Their disbelief of his innocence in Eileen’s death, his sense of loss and of guilt at not being able to prevent Melanie’s appalling murder, all angered and unnerved him. And now the police wouldn’t leave him alone.

  ‘No, I’ve no questions.’

  ‘Why then?’

  ‘To apologize.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Being pretentiously pompous.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength.’ Ansell looked thoroughly confused and rather weary.

  ‘When we were at Mary’s party, I suggested you were very ill-mannered to try to discuss certain matters at a party.’

  ‘You were right. And that I tried to do so was more than ill-mannered, it was inexcusable. The apo
logy is due from me.’

  ‘Can we call it quits?’

  ‘With pleasure. Now, the questions?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Are you here merely to make an unnecessary apology?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you on duty?’

  There was the briefest pause. ‘No.’

  ‘Then would you like a drink?’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘I can’t think why we’re still standing. Please sit. I can offer gin, whisky, rum, Cinzano, sweet or bitter, and lager.’

  ‘A sweet Cinzano please.’

  ‘Ice?’

  ‘Just a little.’

  ‘Shan’t be a moment.’ He left.

  She sat on the settee and faced a gilded overmantel mirror. Her hair was not exactly neat, she suddenly noticed; she should not have left the car window half open. She smoothed it down with her fingers. The collar of her blouse was not lying well on the jacket lapel; she straightened it.

  He returned, handed her a glass, raised his. ‘Salud!’

  ‘Sante.’

  They both smiled.

  He crossed to the easy chair next to hers, sat. ‘At the party, you must have decided I was a real ...’ He stopped abruptly, before continuing, ‘Just caught the word in time!’

  ‘No cause for concern. There isn’t a four-letter one I don’t hear every day.’

  ‘It would have been a seven-letter word,’ he countered with another smile.

  ‘You have me temporarily guessing.’ She smiled back.

  They chatted; at first to break any silence, then with interest.

  After more easy chatting, she looked at her watch, surprised that she’d been there so long. ‘I must move.’

  ‘Why the hurry when you’re not on duty?’

  ‘I have to meet someone.’

  ‘You’re sure you haven’t time for another one?’

  ‘Quite sure, thanks all the same, Mr Ansell.’

  ‘Would you like to try David? Please?’

  They went into the hall, then out to her car in front of the garage. He opened the driver’s door for her. She hoped she did not appear surprised. None of her colleagues would have considered such a courtesy – she wanted to be considered equal, she could bloody well open her own car door.

  He watched her drive away. She was one of those who were trying to dredge up evidence to send him to jail for crimes he had not committed, yet he had behaved as if she were an invited guest.

  On her return to divisional HQ, Belinda went down to the canteen. She wasn’t hungry, but needed time to try to find answers before she reported back to the bosses. The civilian worker served her sausages, very little mash at her request, beans, and jelly without a dollop of whipped cream.

  She carried the tray across to a table and sat, too troubled to have noted she had sat herself down opposite Frick.

  ‘Thought you must have lost your way coming back,’ he said.

  ‘He was out and I had to wait for him to return.’

  ‘How did you make out?’

  She put a piece of sausage into her mouth.

  ‘Well?’ he asked impatiently.

  She tapped her cheek.

  ‘If you finish before midnight, report upstairs.’ He left.

  Twenty minutes later, she had just sat at her desk when Thorn entered. ‘What’s got the sarge bellyaching?’

  ‘Probably because I annoyed him.’

  ‘You insisted it was your leg and not the table’s he was stroking?’ Thorn laughed out loud at his – as far as he was concerned – very funny joke.

  ‘Do you ever think of anything but sex?’

  ‘Only when I have to. What have you cocked up this time?’

  ‘He doesn’t know it yet, but I felt sorry for someone.’

  ‘No good offering that as an excuse since it’s an emotion unknown to sergeants.’

  ‘I suppose I have to see him and get it over with.’

  ‘Say “no” and you’ll be able to wear white at your wedding without blushing.’

  ‘If I’m not back inside ten minutes, come along and tell me I’m urgently wanted on the phone in here.’

  She left, went into Frick’s room.

  ‘How much have you learned?’ he asked before she had sat down.

  ‘Nothing relevant.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t ask questions because he was so down in the dumps,’ Belinda admitted.

  Frick’s voice rose. ‘Now I’ve heard the lot! Down in the dumps? He was shit-scared because we’re closing in on him and that was the time to wrench the truth out of him. But you ... you had to feel sorry for him and let him off the hook. You know what the guv’nor’s going to do? Transfer you to a social unit so you can console every teenage yob who’s frightened because he’s stabbed someone for not giving him enough respect.’

  ‘You don’t understand ...’

  ‘Too right, I don’t. Get out and find something to do that you can’t cock up.’

  He followed her, turned into the DI’s office. Glover looked up from the papers on his desk on which he had been working.

  ‘Constable Draper has returned from meeting Ansell, sir.’

  ‘Has she learned anything useful?’

  ‘She didn’t question him.’

  Glover leaned back in his chair. ‘Did she give a reason or leave us to guess?’

  ‘As far as I can make out,’ Frick continued, ‘she thought he was too emotionally disturbed to be worried by more questioning. As I’ve always said, she’s not for the job. After all, that’s not so difficult to understand. One can’t expect a woman to take an emotionally detached view—’

  ‘There’s no need to itemize. You’ve made your opinion of female officers well known.’

  ‘A man would have questioned Ansell even if he looked like he was ready for suicide. Knowing he was in a state, she should have realized he was more likely to crack.’

  ‘She may have thought there was more to be gained by long-term sympathy rather than immediate pressure.’

  ‘She won’t have thought that far.’

  ‘We’ll move on. I want a check on the finances of Ansell and the wife.’

  ‘But ...’

  ‘They’re questions the CPS may throw at us and we need to be ready to provide answers or look slack. Does either have hefty capital and/or a private income? Did she have a life assurance policy? Has he been spending heavily, possibly on tarts or the horses? Did she have a toy boy who needed encouraging with handfuls of tenners?’

  ‘Hardly likely. From all accounts, she was cold enough to depress a bulling male.’

  ‘All accounts can be all wrong.’ Glover returned to the papers on his desk and Frick was summarily discharged.

  Back in his office, Frick called for Belinda.

  He watched her enter. His wife had met her once at a divisional dance and announced her to be attractive, lively and fun. That was unusual. His wife’s judgement had generally been more reliable than his own. ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You told me to find something to do that wasn’t important.’

  ‘Are you trying to be smart?’

  ‘Just obeying orders.’

  ‘Like questioning Ansell?’

  ‘I’ve tried to explain. I judged that because of his state, there was more point in showing understanding now since that might make him more responsive later.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me that’s your idea?’

  ‘Who else’s?’

  ‘You’re to find out what the Ansells’ financial circumstances were and are.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are incapable of accepting an order without querying it?’

  ‘I’m just asking the reason so I can judge how best to carry it out.’

  ‘You do that by questioning whatever bank, solicitor, and accountant he uses.’

  ‘Today’s Sunday.’

  She had
not before heard him swear quite so expansively.

  EIGHTEEN

  Belinda was awakened by a shout up the stairs from her mother. Once again, her alarm had failed to sound because she had not switched it on. She hurriedly washed and dressed. As she made her way downstairs, the smell of egg and bacon cooking became strong. ‘Sorry, but I just haven’t time to eat,’ she said, as she stepped into the kitchen.

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘I won’t get to the station on time.’

  ‘Then you’ll be late.’ Mrs Draper’s manner, the progenitor of her daughter’s, was always direct and ready to deny the supposed authority of authority. ‘A cooked breakfast is the basis of good health.’

  ‘And of excess weight.’

  ‘Eggs and bacon are no more fattening than a slice of bread and butter.’

  ‘If only!’

  ‘The coffee’s been through the filter so will you pour a couple of cups while I dish up.’

  ‘Where’s himself? In bed?’

  ‘And probably snoring.’

  ‘You shouldn’t get up before you have to, just to cook my breakfast.’

  ‘The prophet of self-decision is telling me what to do?’

  Belinda smiled, brought two mugs out of one cupboard, teaspoons from a second, sugar from a third and milk from the refrigerator. She filled the mugs, carried them over to the small table in the corner, sat. She buttered one of the slices of toast from the silver-plated rack.

  ‘There was a phone call for you when you were out last evening. Sorry, I forgot to tell you when you returned.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Peter.’

  ‘Why the hell can’t he understand that as it’s over he really shouldn’t call me all the time.’

  ‘He made me wonder if it could be worth finding out if you two could live together again.’

  ‘We couldn’t.’

  ‘A pity.’

  ‘When you never really liked him?’

  ‘Just a little too much self-confidence. Marriage can soon take care of that.’

  ‘For you, it’s a case of better a cocky son-in-law than none?’

  ‘Marriage has its advantages.’

  ‘For the male. Sex has to be on tap however one feels, cooked meals on demand, never a single word of recrimination when there’s mud all over the newly-cleaned floor.’