by Graham Ison
“What about her?”
She looked up sharply, staring at Tipper as if resenting his sudden intrusion.
“What do you mean: what about her?”
“Are you suggesting that she was wholly to blame?”
“Huh!” There was derision in the exclamation. “Well you don’t think it was my fault, do you?”
“I’m not suggesting it was,” said Tipper, uncharacteristically gentle for him. “But was it your husband’s?”
“Ex-husband! Late husband now, I suppose. Of course it was.” She thought about that. “Men are so damned stupid,” she said vehemently. “That trollop came along, flaunted herself at him and he went.”
“How did you know?”
“How did I know? Everyone knew; it was an open secret in the village.”
“But did you know they were having an affair? I presume they were.”
She gave a short laugh. “Oh yes, and I have the best evidence there is – these.” She pointed a finger towards her eyes, and Tipper noticed that her nails were bitten. She leaned back in the chair as though savoring the moment again. “I got a phone call – from a woman, needless to say…” The voice faded.
Tipper prompted her. “Yes?”
She sat up slightly. “This woman, whoever she was – I never did find out, which is a pity, really; I’ve never known whether to thank her or scratch her eyes out – just rang me and said that if I cared to go over to Julia Simpson’s cottage I’d find my husband there.”
“And?”
“She put the phone down.”
“But you went?”
“Oh yes – I went. Didn’t knock – just went in through the back door, which unwisely she’d left unlocked – or he had. Never very good at planning and taking precautions was Geoffrey. They were in bed – well on it, actually, which left nothing to the imagination.” She hesitated again, as if seeing it all in her mind’s eye once more. Then she laughed. “It was just the wrong moment for him – he was almost there. I said, “Hallo Geoffrey.” I shall never forget the panic on his face. The fool waved an arm about as if trying to find a sheet or something to cover himself up with.” She lay back in her chair and started to laugh, a low chuckle that gradually increased until the tears were running down her face. Gaffney was afraid that she would start crying next – a sort of hysterical torture that she must have been through a hundred times.
But she didn’t. She stopped as suddenly as she had begun, looked around for her handbag and took out a tissue, dabbing her eyes with it. She made no apology, just carried on talking. “But it was that woman. She just lay there with her hands behind her head and her legs apart and said, ‘Hallo Elizabeth’ – just that, ‘Hallo Elizabeth’.”
“And that was that?” asked Gaffney.
“You could say that, yes. We slept in separate rooms until I found this place, and the divorce went through. He didn’t oppose it – couldn’t very well, could he? Next thing I heard was that they were married and the bitch had moved into our house.”
“Did you see anything of him again, after the divorce?”
“Occasionally. He had access to the children – one day a month. They were… what?” She pondered on that. “Ten and twelve at the time of the divorce. He would come over here and collect them – take them out for the day, I suppose; I don’t think he ever took them back to her: children weren’t her scene. But that stopped when they were fourteen and sixteen. They stopped it – the children. Just happened not to be here when he came. He was quite annoyed about that – thought it was me, doing it deliberately, but it was them. They didn’t want to see him any more. Jim went off to merchant navy school about then, and a couple of years later Petra got a job – they became independent very quickly.”
“How long had you known Julia Simpson?” He avoided referring to Hodder’s second wife by her married name. “I presume you did know her?”
“In a village that size you knew everyone. About a year, I suppose. That’s when she moved in.”
“Where had she come from, d’you know?”
“No idea. I never particularly liked her anyway – none of the women did. Pretty, single woman; in her mid-twenties, I suppose she must have been. Most married women see a woman like that as a threat.”
“Did she have an affair with anyone else that you know of?”
“I don’t know; wouldn’t surprise me if she had.”
“Why d’you suppose she picked on your husband?”
“Because he was there and he was willing.” She spoke in flat tones, objectively, as though she had been asked to comment on a liaison between two people whom she knew only casually. “He was weak, you see – Geoffrey. Always had an eye for a pretty woman; couldn’t resist them.”
“Had there been others, then?” Gaffney asked.
“Probably. It’s a big advantage, having a job like his. Everyone, including his wife, accepts that he can’t talk about it. It’s a good excuse; you never know whether he’s at work or at play. He wasn’t much of a father and husband, that’s for sure. Always morose and tired. The only thing he ever did for us was to provide the money; nothing else. More often than not he would come home, eat his meal in absolute silence, and then sit in his armchair, staring at the television. Then he’d go to bed. The next day it’d start all over again – nothing!”
*
“What d’you think, Harry?”
“If she looked like that when they were married, I’m not surprised he played around. Couldn’t exactly describe her as sexy, not with the best will in the world, could you, sir?”
Gaffney laughed. “Yeah, but she’s been divorced ten years. That means she was only thirty-three…”
“Got nothing to do with it,” said Tipper dismissively. “I’ve met birds of twenty-two with no sex appeal, and I’ve met women of fifty who’re never short of a man. I’ve not met many of them, though – unfortunately.”
“This Julia sounds a bit of a man-eater, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah – and cool with it. ‘Hallo Elizabeth’ indeed.” Tipper laughed.
“We’d better go and see her, I suppose,” said Gaffney. “Where’s this place she lives?”
“Just off the Hog’s Back – ‘bout five miles from Guildford.”
*
“That’s worth a few bob,” said Tipper as they turned into the driveway of the late Geoffrey Hodder’s house.
“He probably picked it up quite cheap when he bought it,” said Gaffney. “It was over twenty years ago.”
It was a neat house, predominantly white. White walls, white paint on windows and garage, and round the door was an enclosed glazed porch. The grass needed cutting, and the drive was thick with weeds, but there were one or two pleasant trees in the garden. Two dormer windows projected from the steep roof.
“Yes,” said Tipper, nodding, “Not a bad little drum.”
“Not so little, either,” said Gaffney. He looked for a bell-push, couldn’t find one, and lifted the heavy brass knocker. The bang it made seemed to resound through the house.
“Christ!” said Tipper. “Sounds like the opening to one of those Dracula films.”
The woman who answered the door was very attractive. Tipper reckoned that she was about five feet seven, probably in her mid-thirties; and her breasts were definitely meant to be noticed. Her short blonde hair was curly and tousled, and her ready smile revealed teeth that were white and even. “Hallo,” she said.
“Mrs Hodder?”
“Yes…” She said it hesitantly, as though there were some doubt about it.
“We’re police officers,” said Gaffney, and showed her his warrant card.
She smiled again. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. “I haven’t put my contact lenses in yet. I suppose you’ve come about Geoffrey?”
They followed her into the sitting room and gazed round. “This is a pleasant room,” said Gaffney. It was white, like the outside of the house, and the furniture was low, giving a feeling of relaxat
ion.
“It is now. You should have seen it when I moved in. But Geoffrey let me go right through the house, redecorating. It took time, of course, and it cost quite a lot of money.” She shrugged her shoulders as though it was something excessively naughty to have done.
“I’m very sorry about your husband’s death, Mrs Hodder.”
He had decided against telling her that he had known Geoffrey Hodder, had worked with him in the past. If she wasn’t aware of his precise job it wouldn’t mean much anyway, and Gaffney had always worked on the principle that you told no one that you were from Special Branch if you didn’t have to.
“It was a terrible shock– terrible.” The smile vanished but she remained dry-eyed, thank God; Gaffney never quite knew what to do with weeping women, usually pretended it wasn’t happening.
“You were Mr Hodder’s second wife, I understand?”
“Is that relevant?” she asked. Strange that. Exactly the same response as Hodder’s first wife had made when they had asked her about the divorce.
“It may be. We are making enquiries about his death.”
“I thought he had committed suicide.”
“What makes you think that?”
She looked genuinely surprised, and for the first time. her composure seemed to slip. “But surely… I mean, what else… you’re not suggesting…”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs Hodder. I’m investigating. But supposing, for a moment, he did take his own life, why should a reasonably successful man, happily married…” He let the sentence fade so that it sounded like a question.
“Very happily married,” she said rather haughtily as though they were impugning her in some way.
“Why should such a man want to take his own life?”
She twisted her broad wedding ring and looked straight at Gaffney. “It’s a question I’ve been puzzling over ever since it happened,” she said.
“Did you come up with an answer?”
“No. No, I didn’t. It’s a complete mystery.”
“Would it have been anything to do with his work, do you think?”
“He never said so, never complained about problems or overwork, nothing like that. He was a civil servant, you know?”
“So I believe. In London, I think, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. The Ministry of Defence. He never spoke about it. I think it must have been a bit hush-hush.” She laughed infectiously. “Actually it was probably something quite silly like keeping lists of how many nuts and bolts went into an aircraft-carrier, but you know what men are like – they always want to seem important, even in their wife’s eyes – particularly in their wife’s eyes.” She laughed again, girlishly, but Gaffney sensed that the brittle gaiety was artificial.
Gaffney looked round the room. It was not opulent, but it seemed above what he estimated an officer of Hodder’s grade could have afforded, particularly as he was paying maintenance to his first wife, and supporting the children of that marriage – or had been in their earlier years. “Did your husband have any money worries, Mrs Hodder?”
“No – well yes.” Gaffney put his head to one side, quizzically. “Doesn’t sound right, does it?” she said with a smile. “What I meant was that he had his first wife to support, but I’ve money of my own.” She swept an elegant hand round the room, the chunky bracelet on her wrist jangling as she did so. “I paid for all this, for instance.”
“Oh!” said Gaffney.
“You sound vaguely disapproving,” she said, “but if a husband and wife share a home I don’t see why she shouldn’t put money into it as well.”
“I don’t disapprove, Mrs Hodder. It’s just that most wives can’t afford to. So you can’t think of anything that might have been playing on your husband’s mind?”
“No, I really can’t.”
“If you’ll forgive me for asking, did the divorce upset your husband very much?”
“D’you mean did he have any regrets?”
Gaffney nodded slowly. “More or less.”
“None – none whatsoever.”
“That sounds pretty emphatic.”
“Well of course. I did live with him, you know. His first wife was a bit of a dragon – no, that’s not quite fair. She was domesticated – a mouse. Always worrying about keeping the house clean and tidy. Houseworked to all hours apparently. Left no time for the physical side of the marriage.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Oh, yes – a few times. The first time I met Geoffrey she was with him. It was a party at the Harrises’ – Dick and Tina – just after I arrived here.”
“Where did you arrive from, Mrs Hodder?”
“Africa – does it matter?”
“Not really. What on earth were you doing out there?”
“I worked for a charity. My family were old Africa hands
-I think that’s the expression.”
“You were friends of the Hodders – Geoffrey and Elizabeth, I mean?”
“In a manner of speaking – well to start with. Elizabeth was a very uninteresting person – flat.”
“And one thing led to another and you and Geoffrey…”
She smiled. “Yes – me and Geoffrey. Actually it wasn’t meant to come to a divorce. To be perfectly frank I was quite happy with our arrangement; it could have gone on like that, as far as I was concerned. Funnily enough, I found Geoffrey a bit stodgy to start with. I think if anyone had said that I’d finish up marrying him, I’d have had a fit. Just goes to show, doesn’t it. But I’m afraid it got out of control. Not to mince words, Elizabeth, er – ‘caught us at it’ is the phrase, I think.” She didn’t lower her eyes or look embarrassed, she just laughed. “That was a day to remember. Poor Geoffrey – he was so upset…”
“I can imagine that Elizabeth was too,” said Tipper mildly.
It was the first time he had spoken apart from greeting her when they had arrived, and she looked at him with interest, as though she hadn’t really noticed his presence before. It was an intense look; a look of appraisal that he found surprisingly discomforting, and he felt like telling her that he was married. Women like her worried him. One half of him fancied her; the other half said that she was bloody dangerous, particularly to a policeman, and particularly to a policeman who was married.
She ran her tongue round her top lip. “Actually no – not at the time. She was very English. She just said ‘Hallo Geoffrey,’ and looked at me as though I’d just crawled out of a piece of cheese. So I said ‘Hallo Elizabeth.’ Then she left.”
“Mrs Hodder – Elizabeth Hodder that is – said that she had had a phone call telling her where her husband was. Did you know that?”
“No – no, I didn’t. It doesn’t surprise me though. I’m afraid that in a village this size there’s always someone willing to blacken a young woman’s name – I think it’s a cross between malice and envy.”
“Does that concern you?”
“You learn to live with it.” She leaned back in her chair so that her breasts strained against the satin of her blouse, and held Tipper’s gaze long enough to make him feel uncomfortable again. “I’m not being very much help to you, am I?”
Gaffney waved a deprecating hand. “It takes time,” he said. “I’m sorry that we had to intrude at all.”
At the front door she paused. “There was one thing,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t know whether it means anything, but about six months ago Geoffrey mentioned someone at work he was worried about…”
“Can you remember the name?”
She furrowed her brow. “No – no, I’m afraid I can’t.” She held her chin with one hand, cupping the elbow with the other.
“Would it have been Selby by any chance?” asked Tipper, mentioning that name only because Hodder himself had done so when they had interviewed him at Scotland Yard.
She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the floor. “No,” she said. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
“What concerned him abou
t this person?” asked Gaffney.
“I’ve no idea.” She looked at him, dropping her arms to her sides. “He just mentioned him one evening – said he was a bit concerned about him, but then clammed up, almost as if he regretted having mentioned it at all. P’raps someone had stolen the tea money,” she said and giggled.
*
They don’t call them village policemen now, probably because villages don’t have a policeman to themselves any more. These days they call them home-beat officers, or community constables, or some other grandiose title that those in authority hope will excuse the economy-driven reduction in operational manpower.
Consequently, Gaffney and Tipper had to drive a mile to the neighboring hamlet. The police house was on the main road, but the constable himself was out.
“I’m Mrs Bates, his wife.” She was a youngish woman, perhaps thirty, no more. “Can I help?” She was neat and tidy and had the confidence and probably the competence that went with the largely unrecognized but indispensable role of being the local policeman’s unpaid assistant. It was a post that encompassed first-aider, midwife, counselor, guide and secretary, and that was usually in addition to bringing up a couple of children of her own.
She led them through into the sitting room and, unimpressed by their rank, sat them down and made tea.
“Frank shouldn’t be long, Mr Gaffney,” she said. “He’s only gone over to the farm about the shotgun certificate. Is it anything that I can help you with?”
“We are making enquiries about the death of Geoffrey Hodder, who lived at—”
“I know where he lived,” she said. “It was Frank who took the message.”
“Did you know him?” Gaffney asked.
“Oh yes; him and his wife. Funny chap, he was. Bit antisocial. Friendly, mind you – always passed the time of day – but never seemed to mix: well not at first. Come to that, not at the end either.”
Gaffney smiled. “You’ve lost me a little there, Mrs Bates.”
She laughed. “Yes, I would have. It was the bit in the middle when he was different, when the scandal happened. That was a few years ago now, before we were stationed here.”
“Oh,” said Gaffney, “I rather gathered you were here at the time.”