CONSTABLE AT THE DAM a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 19)

by NICHOLAS RHEA

  ‘Are you sure? You’ve not misread the signs, have you? I’m sure she’d never hurt you, Gordon, she’s so proud of you.’

  ‘She is. She often says so . . .’

  ‘Maybe you’ve misunderstood her actions?’ At this point, I began to feel guilty because I was also cheating Gordon but my professional caution compelled me to withhold my knowledge. Nonetheless. I did agonize over whether or not I should reveal what I knew of Deirdre and Ken. But Gordon was continuing.

  ‘That’s what I’ve tried to tell myself. I’ve told myself I’m being silly, that I’m finding cause for suspicion when there is none. I did think it was her reaction to the move out to Ramsdale, it is a bit remote, but the more I delve into things, the more I examine her behaviour, the more sure I am about what’s happening, Nick. Looking back over, oh, several months, there are things that don’t add up, things she’s done and said, places she’s said she’s been, people she said she’s been with, when she hasn’t. Things like that do add up, they add up to the fact she’s having an affair. I don’t know what to do, Nick. I just don’t.’

  ‘Have you tackled her about it?’ was my next question. He paused for a moment, sipping from his coffee, then shook his head.

  ‘No, how can I? How can I do that? How can I accuse her of cheating me if she’s not? I might have misinterpreted the signs . . .’

  ‘You could always hire a private detective,’ I said. ‘But that’s expensive.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t spy on her, not my own wife.’

  He sat before me with his hands wrapped around the mug, not drinking his coffee but staring into space as he spoke. He was behaving very calmly, dry-eyed the whole time and quite rational, but I could see that he was deeply hurt.

  ‘Gordon, you tell me you have grave suspicions about Deirdre, suspicions which have developed over a considerable time, and yet you still doubt your interpretation of those suspicions . . .’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to believe them,’ he said. ‘Maybe I don’t want to believe she’s deceiving me, maybe I can’t accept that she’s having an affair with another man. And I can’t. I can’t bear the thought of it, that someone else is touching her, making love to her . . .’

  ‘But you do want to know? You want to know if your suspicions are correct?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What sort of things have led you to this conclusion?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s difficult to be precise; it’s been happening over such a long period. She’s been working late at the pub, getting lifts home with men, for example. There’s whispered phone calls, unexplained incoming phone calls. One day, she told me she was going on a shopping expedition to Harrogate with a couple of friends, women friends, and later one of them told me she’d been in London that weekend. The friend, I mean, not Deirdre. She couldn’t have been with Deirdre in Harrogate — so I don’t know where Deirdre went that day. I didn’t ask. I didn’t put her on the spot but it made me think she was keeping secrets. It’s things like that, Nick, tiny things strengthened by lies. Lots of lies and few straight answers.’

  ‘And have you any idea who she might be seeing?’ I had to ask.

  ‘No, no idea. But she does meet a lot of men in her pub work . . . and I would never want her to stop that work, she enjoys it and likes the companionship. She needs something like that, living out here. Besides, the money does give her some independence.’

  He stared into space again and I wondered how to tackle this dilemma, but concluded there was only one way for Gordon to make any progress.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her,’ I told him. ‘It’s the only way.’

  ‘I couldn’t, Nick! I just could not do that.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t have her followed by a detective, then you’ll have to do it yourself. You’ve got to find out whether there are any genuine grounds for your suspicions. When you are reasonably confident she’s going to meet her man friend, you follow her, or you test out her story, initially without her knowing. It won’t be easy, Gordon, in fact it will be extremely difficult and heart-breaking if you do find your suspicions are correct.’

  ‘You couldn’t do it, could you? For me? Keep an eye on her for me? Watch her and let me know if she is seeing somebody?’

  ‘Sorry, Gordon,’ I had to say. ‘Much as I’d like to help you, Police Regulations forbid me doing that sort of thing.’

  ‘But if you saw Deirdre in circumstances which you knew were suspicious, with a man, I mean, meeting secretly, that sort of thing, you’d tell me?’

  I gripped my mug so tightly that my fingers began to turn white but had to shake my head.

  ‘It’s a hypothetical question, Gordon, and I’m not sure of the answer. Looking back on my own experiences with this kind of problem — professional experiences, I might add — I don’t think I would tell you. If I saw Deirdre in what I thought were adulterous circumstances, my interpretation of the event might be wrong. If I saw her having dinner at a nice restaurant with a man, for example, it might be nothing more than that. It might be a meeting to do with her work, or she might be meeting a relation . . . there are hundreds of perfectly acceptable reasons why men and women meet those of the opposite sex who are not their spouses, and it doesn’t mean they are having affairs. If I did see her in such circumstances and relayed the information to you, I could be utterly mistaken and so could you — and think of the damage that would cause, think of the distrust it would needlessly generate between you and Deirdre.’

  ‘I take your point. You’re right, it is my problem and I’ve got to sort it out,’ he whispered. ‘The trouble is I can’t distinguish what might be part of an affair and what might not.’

  ‘It’s very important you do make that distinction,’ I went on. ‘It means that, on balance, Gordon, I don’t think I would tell you — the reason would be simple as I’ve just explained. The wrong interpretation could be placed on what I had witnessed and think of the problems that would cause.’

  ‘But I thought the police gave evidence in such cases . . .’

  ‘If a police officer witnesses something in the course of his duty which might be relevant to a domestic court case, then he could be called upon to give evidence in court or at a tribunal, just like anyone else.’

  ‘But individuals can’t expect the police to spy on their partners?’

  ‘No. Any evidence we would give would have to be part of formal legal proceedings. But a police officer must not keep watch on people for domestic purposes, it’s not part of our duty. We could never keep an eye on a man’s wife to determine whether or not she was committing adultery, for example. It’s up to you to find out if there is any truth in your suspicions. I’m sure you can achieve that without asking Deirdre if she’s having an affair. When you feel you have the necessary proof, that’s the time to confront her.’

  ‘And ask her to end it?’

  ‘Tell her to end it,’ I said.

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I had to be honest. ‘All I do know is that many affairs are short-lived, they are seldom enduring. Many of those involved do return to their spouses and sometimes, a marriage can be stronger because of it. Sometimes.’

  ‘I could never imagine that!’ he cried. ‘It would devastate me. Look at me now, even before I’ve reached that stage! I’m a wreck; I can’t work; I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You’ve made an important step by talking about it,’ I assured him. ‘You mustn’t keep such things to yourself, that’s guaranteed to aggravate matters.’

  ‘I had to talk to somebody and thank God you turned up when you did. Oh, God, this is awful . . . you’ve no idea of the agony I’m suffering. I just cannot believe what she’s doing.’

  ‘Then get proof, Gordon, get the necessary proof before you do anything else. That’s vital. And be rational about it, don’t do anything silly.’

  ‘Like jumping off a cliff, you mean? No, I won’t do that. But I can talk to you about it, can I? Lik
e this? As friends?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can, and I’m sure you can distinguish between what is part of my duty and what is not.’

  ‘I know you’ll tell me anyway,’ and he smiled wanly.

  ‘Now, you should get your painting gear assembled and go on to the moors to paint a very angry picture.’

  ‘You could be right,’ he smiled, taking my empty mug from me. He went across to the sink and placed it in a bowl. ‘You’ll call again?’

  ‘I will,’ I promised, adding, ‘And you can call and see me any time, you know that? Or just ring if you’d like to talk.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and I knew he was depending on me. That meant I would have to be extremely careful how I handled this delicate matter. I’d have to strive for a balance between my police duties and my genuine concern for Gordon. I left him to his misery knowing there was so little I could do at this stage. Sooner or later he would learn the truth and I wondered how he would react although it was perhaps a good thing that he’d had this opportunity to prepare himself for the worst. That, I felt, was far better than the sudden shock of discovering the truth. I wondered how Gordon would cope with a sudden shock.

  * * *

  In the meantime, Phase III, construction of the dam itself, was nearing completion. This meant it looked like a dam and worked like a dam, even if the water had not yet risen to its full height behind it, and that the service accommodation (Phase IV) was not yet complete. Although water was accumulating, it would be a long time before the reservoir was full. At this stage, the movement of water was being controlled; it passed through the sluices in a regulated flow and the effect, downstream, meant that the appearance of Ramsdale Beck had not radically altered. Below the dam, the flow was very similar to those days, now long ago, when there had been no reservoir in the upper dale.

  Long before the reservoir was allowed to fill to capacity, the elegant stone structure, already known as Ramsdale Bridge Dam, had to be thoroughly tested for the effects of gravity, hydrostatic pressure stresses and a force known as uplift in addition to stresses within the ground itself. The sheer weight of the dam and of the accumulated water could produce powerful forces within the ground and while these were being assessed, so was the likelihood of various other strains and leakages. All these had to be checked and double-checked before the level of water was allowed to rise any further.

  Under no circumstances must the weight and content of water, or the result of subterranean, hydrostatic or other stresses, be allowed to produce a breach of the dam and no leak, however minor, must be permitted. If any of that happened and the dam burst, then a twenty-foot high wall of water would sweep down the dale with catastrophic results for Aidensfield and district.

  As a mere village constable, I had no idea of the precise form or content of those stringent tests, except that they were diligently carried out over a long period by teams of experts. None of the tests was made known to the public, but I did know that it was a lengthy and demanding process which demanded the highest degree of skill from those responsible. I had absolute faith in the construction teams.

  I was not sure whether there had been the equivalent of a topping-out ceremony as there is when the roof of a new house is completed but in fact, the dam was far from complete. There was an immense amount to do, including completion of the powerhouse and transformer. Added to that, I could not forget the eventual interment of the mortal remains of Warwick Humbert Ravenswood, currently languishing in a mortuary freezer.

  The wide and deep oblong hole which would accommodate his remains could be seen, but only from a great distance. It was virtually invisible from the walkway itself, for it was in the face of the dam immediately below the walkway and beneath one support of the old packhorse bridge. Some eight feet long by four feet high and four feet deep, it looked like a massive gaping mouth in the neat stonework. It was prominent at this stage because no stone sealed it — that would come after Warwick had been placed inside. Nonetheless, the reconstruction and re-siting of Ramsdale Bridge was now complete. It was located at the eastern end of the dam and when the dam was finished, there would be a walkway across the top. Its route would be beneath the old packhorse bridge and would be duly fenced for safety purposes, with a small office complex, viewing platform and inspection chambers.

  The public could cross the dale via that route which, in effect, had replaced the old track. Someone jokingly suggested it should be called the Ravenswood Walk in honour of the man whose bones would be forever built into the stonework below it — and the joke became reality because that is what the walkway was eventually called. I did think the little bridge added an aura of charm to the new structure, a well-executed blending of old and new.

  In the weeks following my emotional talk with Gordon, I did make a conscious effort to visit him whenever I was in Ramsdale but he was always away from home. The house was deserted — Deirdre was working either in Sandra North Fashions or at the Hopbind — but I did not regard Gordon’s absence as unusual because he did go out quite regularly, either to paint, lecture or run his art classes. His absences did mean, of course, that I was not updated with developments in his marriage, but conversely, he did not telephone me to ask for a chat. This led me to believe he had resolved the matter.

  Then one dull and dreary evening in late April, an hour or so after sunset, I received a telephone call from Deirdre. I was on duty, finalizing some paperwork in my office before knocking off at 10 p.m.

  ‘Nick?’ she began in a little, squeaky voice. ‘I’m worried about Gordon.’

  ‘Why?’ was my first reaction. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘He went out this morning, on to the moors to do some work, and he’s not come back. He always gets back in good time, he can’t work in the dark, of course. It’s not like him to be so late. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘He’s not been missing overnight, then?’

  ‘Oh, no, nothing like that. But if he’s going to be late, or thinks he might be, he always leaves a note to say where he’s gone. This time, he hasn’t. I wouldn’t have rung you otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll come straight away,’ I told her. ‘You’re at home now?’

  ‘Yes, it was my half day at the shop, I’ve got the afternoon off and I’m not working at the Hopbind tonight. Thanks. See you soon.’

  It was pouring down as I passed the reservoir site, but the place was brightly lit to give it a warm glow in the darkness which had now descended. The site huts and offices were all illuminated and powerful floodlights highlighted the stone beauty of the curved dam with its topping of the old bridge. Some of the lights played on the shallow water behind to provide a strangely tranquil scene. The beauty of the floodlit water was such a contrast to the bleakness of the dark, deserted moorland which surrounded it but I had no time to admire it. I chugged along, now thankfully in a minivan as the rain lashed down around me, and eventually came to Ramsdale House. Like the reservoir site, it was brightly lit and I parked in the paddock as usual, hurrying through the gate to the door I normally used. I rattled the brass knocker and Deirdre appeared with a glass of gin and tonic in her hands.

  ‘Come in,’ she invited with a wan smile, stepping back to admit me. ‘Hurry, Nick, you’ll get drenched!’

  ‘Any news of Gordon?’ I asked, as I stepped over the threshold to shake the rainwater from my jacket.

  ‘Not a whisper,’ she shook her head. ‘I hope I’m not being a nuisance.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I assured her, then asked, ‘Are you alone?’

  She nodded and produced another of those wan smiles before adding, ‘Did you expect Ken to be here?’

  ‘It was the drink,’ I said. ‘I wondered if you had company.’

  ‘No, I needed something strong. How about you? Wine? I’ve red or white?’

  ‘I’ll have one glass of dry white, thanks, but no more. I’m on duty and I’m driving.’

  She led me into the comfortable lounge where a coal fire was burning. Topped with logs
, it produced deep shadows which flickered about the room to produce a most welcoming and warming effect. The light dancing from the oak beams above created deep contrasts between the far corners and the clip rug spread before the fireplace. She indicated the settee and I settled upon it while she poured my wine.

  ‘You’re probably thinking I’m making too much of a fuss much too early.’ She sat on the floor, curling her trousered legs beneath her as she basked in the glow of the fire. ‘He’s late home from work, that’s all.’

  ‘You know him better than anyone else,’ I sympathized. ‘You’d not call me without good cause. It is a shocking night.’

  ‘I am worried, Nick, truly,’ and she paused now, gazing into the flames and fiddling with the glass in her hands. ‘He knows, you know, about me and Ken. I think that’s behind it.’

  ‘How did he find out?’ I asked.

  ‘He became suspicious; that’s not surprising is it? He began to check up on me, check my story every time I went out, every time I did something different. And he followed me sometimes.’

  ‘He’s known a long time,’ I told her. ‘He did talk to me about it, he wanted my advice.’

  ‘Did he?’ There was a momentary flicker of anger in her eyes as I revealed this.

  ‘I told him nothing, Deirdre,’ I added quickly. ‘I did not mention the night I found you with Ken. I knew about your affair but I never told Gordon, I know how to keep a secret but I might have been influenced by Ken’s assurance that it was all over.’

  ‘It was, for a time. We didn’t see one another for ages. I was desperately worried about Gordon so me and Ken decided to end it . . . well, we tried, we really did. He moved out, as you know, and I changed my job . . . but, well, we couldn’t give one another up, Nick. It all started again with a lot more care about where we met. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be dragged into all this.’