Cobweb

by Margaret Duffy

  ‘The local paper said something about a bad bend,’ I recollected, gazing as we passed at the replaced tape and netting that was still strung across the gap in the railings. ‘But in which direction was Harmsworth travelling? The report didn’t say.’

  ‘And what about the lorry that went through the railings a couple of days beforehand?’ Patrick stopped the car in a lay-by after we had rounded the bend and got out. ‘Shall we walk back?’

  This did not prove to be at all hazardous, as there was hardly any traffic. The opposite was true on the motorway, of course, and we stood in silence for a few moments, watching the unceasing rivers of vehicles roaring beneath us.

  ‘This isn’t what I expected,’ Patrick said. ‘I thought we’d have a situation where there was an accident black spot on a very busy road, a place where prangs were taking place on a regular basis. Even though there’s a warning sign, I’m sure the bend is dangerous if people drive too fast and accidents have happened; but for two vehicles to leave the bridge in exactly the same place in the space of forty-eight hours …’ He leaned over slightly and looked down. ‘You can still see the marks where they hit the road.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind a bit then?’ I said lightly.

  He gazed at me and said, ‘It would have been a very handy little gap to shove someone through, wouldn’t it? Worth trying to find out if Harmsworth regularly drove this way. Where did he live, in Woodhill itself?’

  ‘Yes, so he wouldn’t have had to come this way home from work. The accident, or whatever it was, happened in the very early hours of the morning. Did he need to work that late or was he on to something important connected with the Giddings case?’

  Patrick had a quick look around, examining the ground, but hundreds of cars had passed this way since the DCI’s death. Then he said, ‘I wonder if Gray did a lot more investigation into this than he let on and got too close to someone for his own safety?’

  We walked back, in silence.

  ‘Part of my brief is to find out if any more police officers are in danger,’ Patrick reminded himself when we were sitting in the car. ‘The rest is involved with discovering any connection between the murders of Giddings and Gray. No, you were right all along: first we must find out about Harmsworth. And while I’m not at all convinced that his death was anything to do with that of Jason Giddings, I don’t like the way Gray was done to death as soon as he took over sole charge of the case, having doubted the inquest findings on Harmsworth.’

  ‘What about Fred Knightly, the Super?’

  ‘I don’t think there’ll be much input of a constructive nature from him with regards to any investigation into Harmsworth’s death – he’s far too busy with having to do most of the work of heading up the Giddings inquiry. There’s another individual lurking around who’s reputed to be from Special Branch, but they don’t even know his name yet. Going back to Knightly: he gets wheeled out and well briefed when there’s a press conference and that’s about it. He’s good at PR. Erin was quite clear on that. Normally spends most of his time filling in risk-assessment forms and attending every government law-and-order-initiative conference he can to get himself out of the building. He definitely thinks Harmsworth ought to be laid to rest.’

  Due for retirement? Over the hill? Dead? Did it matter to no one but us?

  The village of Beech Hanger, some two miles from Woodhill, was select, as I had expected it to be: crisply clipped hedges, glimpses of very large gabled houses down gated drives, paddocks and rows of loose boxes. The Giddings residence, The Chantry, was at one end of the village street, just past a pretty church.

  ‘Have you made an appointment to see her?’ I asked as we turned into the drive.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just as well, as she takes lumps out of people.’

  ‘You’ve really got your knife into this woman, haven’t you?’ Patrick said with a chuckle.

  The drive wove through a rather contrived but very beautiful planting of Betula utilis jacquemontii, white-barked Himalayan birch, and then straightened on the approach to the house, which, surprisingly, appeared to be very old. Perhaps it incorporated a real chantry, I thought, a chapel where monks had prayed for the souls of the dead.

  A woman who was not Honor Giddings answered the door and without introducing herself led us through a hallway to a large, low-ceilinged room on the left. I thought for a moment that the room was unoccupied, but as the door was closed almost silently behind us the widow rose suddenly from a winged armchair that had its back to us facing the fireplace.

  ‘Patrick Gillard,’ she said – a statement of fact, not a question.

  Patrick inclined his head slightly by way of response and then said, ‘This is my assistant, Miss Langley, who, if you have no objection, will take notes.’

  ‘Your sergeant?’ queried Mrs Giddings, giving me a hard look.

  ‘No. SOCA personnel don’t necessarily have police rank. Miss Langley is a civilian.’

  She smiled coolly. ‘That’s fine. I just like to know exactly who is in my house. Do sit down.’

  We all sat, Honor Giddings perching herself on the edge of a sofa, and I took out my notebook and without staring at her wrote a short description of her, in shorthand in case anyone tried to read over my shoulder, in other words to enable me to be as rude as I wished. But I had to be honest and admit that she did not fit the mental image I had built up. Even keeping in mind that she had just lost her husband in ghastly circumstances, here was not the gaunt and tight-lipped harpy staring from the pages of the newspapers. Perhaps she just came out very badly in photographs. Wearing a very well-tailored black trouser suit with a white blouse relieved at the neck by a pale-pink silk scarf she looked every inch the professional woman, her dark shoulder-length hair glossy, her complexion fine and clear.

  Patrick offered her our condolences and she thanked him.

  ‘I do realize that you’ve been interviewed already,’ he continued.

  ‘This is the third time, actually,’ Honor Giddings drawled. ‘First by someone by the name of Harmsworth, then I think by an Inspector White – or was it Gray? – who arrived with a girl with red hair, and now you. No, there was someone else – a man who said he was from a department of Special Branch whom I found rather objectionable. It’s been a real circus, actually.’ The reproof was there.

  ‘I’m only here because, tragically, the first two officers you mentioned are no longer with us,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘But, obviously, you’ve had other things on your mind.’

  ‘You mean they’re dead?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘It would appear that Detective Chief Inspector Harmsworth was involved in an accident, but Detective Inspector Gray was murdered last week in similar fashion to your husband. My job is to discover if there’s a connection and ensure that no other police officers’ lives are at risk.’

  ‘But that’s awful. Surely—’

  Patrick interrupted her with, ‘Had your husband ever met either of them, do you know? Had he – and I’m sorry to have to ask this – been in any kind of trouble with the law that might have resulted in a visit from the local police? A traffic offence, perhaps?’

  I found myself impressed that the lady did not get on her high horse. She reflected for a few moments and then said, ‘I think he had a few points on his licence, but everyone does these days, don’t they? There’s nothing else that I can think of.’

  ‘Could he have met them socially? Was he a Mason?’

  Patrick told me afterwards that Gray had been, Harmsworth not.

  ‘No. But he belonged to the local Round Table. And it’s perfectly possible that he could have met them at a constituency do. But I must point out that he had very little time for that kind of thing, what with being on committees and so forth. I simply can’t believe that there was any kind of real connection between my husband and these men.’

  ‘I understand he was due home quite early that night as you were giving a dinner party.’

  ‘That’
s right. Just us and a few friends.’

  ‘At what time were you expecting him?’

  ‘Somewhere between six thirty and seven, but it was just an informal affair. There were no important debates that night. Our entertaining has – had – to be on the impromptu side, as I never knew when he would have to stay late.’

  ‘Was he coming straight home, do you know? Had you asked him to pick up anything for you on the way here? Something to do with the dinner party, for example?’

  ‘Oh no. Hilary sees to all that. He never went shopping.’

  Patrick ignored her snooty implication that the MP had been far too grand to pop into an off-licence, saying, ‘I understand she’s your housekeeper.’

  ‘Yes, but she doesn’t clean – someone else does that. And there’s other help in the garden.’

  ‘They’ve all been interviewed. Do you have any theories as to why your husband was in the park?’

  ‘Everyone’s asked me that!’ the woman snapped. ‘No, I don’t, not one.’

  ‘A taxi driver has come forward who picked him up at the station and dropped him at the Green Man at around five forty-five. Did he make a habit of going there for a drink on the way home?’

  I made a note to check whether enquiries had been made there.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I suppose he could have done.’

  ‘Surely you must know if that was his habit.’

  She was beginning to lose patience. ‘Well, I don’t. Wives shouldn’t expect to know absolutely every last detail of their husbands’ routines.’ Gazing on his wedding ring she added, ‘I’m sure your wife doesn’t grill you about all your movements.’

  ‘No, I tell her what I’ve been up to,’ was the swift response. ‘It’s too far to walk home from the pub, though, isn’t it? He’d have had to get another cab.’

  An irrritable shrug was all that was forthcoming on this.

  ‘Your son reckons he went there to pick up men.’

  A real fan of bombshells; I drew a five-pointed star on my notepad and a load of sparks.

  ‘I can’t remember how many times I’ve told you people that my husband wasn’t gay!’ Honor Giddings raged. ‘Besides which, Theo has absolutely nothing to do with this.’

  ‘No, he just threatened to get even with his stepfather for having his allowance stopped. Is he so prone to making drunken threats that you get used to them and they’re safely ignored?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She rose wearily to her feet and went over to stand by the window. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve had enough of your questions. When can I have Jason’s body so I can arrange his funeral?’

  ‘That’s not in my jurisdiction, but I don’t think it will be just yet.’

  There was a short, tense silence and then she turned abruptly to face us. ‘No, Theo isn’t in the habit of making threats. He’d just had a little too much to drink that evening. But Jason and he had never really got on. I suppose some sons find it difficult when their mother remarries and Theo did – very much so. He’s rather a possessive person.’

  Patrick leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs, scrutinizing her closely. ‘It suggests there’s a huge difficulty – hatred, something much more than just about money – when people make those kind of accusations. The park where your husband was found has a very bad reputation after dark. If he wasn’t there for nefarious purposes – and arguably it wasn’t yet quite dark then although a very overcast evening when he arrived at the pub – then he must have been killed somewhere else and taken there, where his body was mutilated. Again, that speaks of the deepest hatred.’

  There was another silence broken by Patrick asking, ‘Is your son capable of that?’

  ‘No,’ Honor Giddings replied in a low voice. ‘Not at all. But I have to tell you that he is reputed to have some very unpleasant friends.’

  ‘Criminals?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. All we had to go on was something a colleague of Jason’s said about seeing Theo in a club with people he thought were undesirables. Jason told me he was going to have some checks done. There was the chance, you see, that someone might have tried to get at him through Theo. There are some terrible people about – not that I need to tell you that.’

  ‘Who was this person who told your husband about it?’

  ‘I don’t know – Jason didn’t say.’

  ‘Did the Special Branch officer who came to see you mention it?’

  ‘No. And I was too distraught to think of asking him.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the club?’

  ‘I think it’s called Jo-Jo’s. But I don’t know where it is.’

  ‘Was your husband involved with anything controversial? Supporting hunting or animal testing, for example?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. He didn’t have wildly strong views on anything, really.’

  ‘When he didn’t come home at the time you expected him, what did you do?’

  ‘Just carried on as normal for a while. It wasn’t unusual, you see; the trains are late all the time.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I made sure there were drinks and nibbles organized, as our friends were due to arrive, and drove to the station – in case he hadn’t been able to find a cab. There was no sign of him.’

  ‘Was it usual for him not to take his car?’

  ‘Oh, yes, quite usual. He got sick of getting stuck in traffic jams. And it meant he could have a drink with colleagues before he set off for home.’

  ‘Then what did you do when you couldn’t find him?’

  Honor Giddings was getting really fed up with her inquisitor now. ‘Why came home, of course! There was nothing I could do but chat for a while with guests and then ask Hilary to serve the meal, as she was worried about it getting spoilt and everyone was hungry. I’d already tried to reach Jason several times on his mobile to no avail. By nine thirty I was getting really worried and rang the police. I felt a real fool as it wasn’t as though he’d been missing for all that long. Then I heard nothing until the phone call the next day. I hadn’t slept – I had a feeling something horrible had happened.’

  ‘I understand you couldn’t get hold of your son until early on the following Monday.’

  ‘That’s right, he’d been up north. God knows why. I was furious with him for not being around when I needed a bit of support for once.’

  ‘Would he have been any use?’ Patrick asked baldly.

  ‘No, probably not,’ she answered through her teeth. ‘Is that all you need to know? It’s not just you I’ve had to put up with since this happened, but the whole damned world. I’ve had the media camped on the doorstep, not to mention my sister Fiona being a thorough nuisance.’

  ‘She’s no help either then?’ Patrick said with the ghost of a smile.

  Fists clenched, the resentment boiling out, Honor Giddings said, ‘That first morning she was here not half an hour after I’d phoned her husband Quentin with the news. Floods of hysterical tears, but only to get her picture in the papers and hoover up the attention and sympathy. And here was I, having to give it to her. We’ve never really got on, even as children. She was lazy and greedy – still is; and now it’s beginning to tell. I’ve told her several times to lose weight or she’ll be ripe for cardiovascular hypertension or atherosclerosis, not to mention thrombosis. For God’s sake, the woman’s already prone to breathlessness and has varicose veins. She didn’t speak to me for a whole year once when I told her that she reminded me of a woman I’d done a PM on who’d been lying dead in her flat for over a week. She’d died of a burst atheromatous aneurysm of the abdominal aorta. Perhaps I shouldn’t have emphasized how I’d had to cut through layers of rancid fat before I discovered the massive internal bleeding.’

  Really quite impressed with this outpouring I said, ‘Returning to your husband again, there was a newspaper article a couple of years ago, at the time of your wedding, suggesting that your husband was actually bisexual and had married for professional respectability
purposes before entering politics. Is there any truth in the allegation?’

  ‘All kinds of filth are printed in the gutter press,’ Honor Giddings said heavily. ‘Are you just brought along to ask that kind of question?’

  ‘Answer it,’ Patrick requested softly. ‘And for the record, no, she isn’t.’

  The woman paced back and forth before the window a few times, chewing her lip. Then she said, ‘I understood from Jason that when he was in his early twenties he did have an … infatuation … for another man. They were barely out of their teens and both had girlfriends. It was just a growing-up thing and happens all the time. That was all! Now please go away and leave me alone!’

  ‘It didn’t happen to me,’ Patrick said sadly. We were on our way back to Maggie’s. ‘I obviously dipped out there.’

  ‘I always had crushes on much older men when I was a teenager,’ I admitted.

  ‘We’re freaks.’ Patrick chuckled and then blew a raspberry in my direction.

  ‘She loathes her sister – really boiled over.’

  ‘In quite poisonous fashion too.’

  ‘I think she suspects du Norde might have had something to do with her husband’s death but didn’t really want to say so. And to be fair, Giddings doesn’t seem to have been the complete waste of space that du Norde tried to make out. I mean, if he belonged to the local Round Table he must have been interested in the community in which he lived.’

  ‘And this old cynic says that might have been just a pose.’ Patrick patted the briefcase that was on the seat between us, heavy with copies of the case files. ‘I’ll go through this lot again, but I can’t remember anything about Giddings requesting his stepson be kept an eye on with regard to whom he was knocking around with. I shall have to ask the man from Special Branch.’

  The unusual diffidence in his tone made me say, ‘You are using your army rank.’