by K. J. Frost
He leans down and kisses her cheek and she gives him a weak smile in return, blinking rapidly, as though she’s holding back her emotions.
Turning away from her, Hodge allows himself to be led to our waiting car, more meekly than I’d anticipated, and I give Adams a nod, upon which he and Wells get into their vehicle and drive away, leaving Thompson and myself to deal with the reverend.
“You’ve got the wrong man, you know,” he says as I climb into the back seat beside him and Thompson starts the engine.
“I dare say,” I reply, taking a glance down the street to my left when we pull out of the driveway and smiling to myself, as I notice the black Wolesley, parked fifty yards or so further along, two men just about visible in the front seat.
All I have to hope now is that they don’t lose sight of Mrs Hodge, because I’m fairly sure she’ll make her move soon. Very soon.
Back at the station, Thompson hands the reverend over to Wells, with the instruction to place him in interview room number one, where we leave him to stew while Thompson makes the two of us a cup of tea and we drink it in my office.
“I assume from the fact that we’re having our tea in here and not with Reverend Hodge, that you don’t intend going easy on him,” Thompson remarks, taking a sip from his steaming cup.
I look up at him. “You assume correctly.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
“Follow my lead, and whatever I do and say, just go along with it.” He nods his head slowly, thoughtfully. “Harry, if you think my methods in this interview are going to bother you, then you can sit this one out.”
“No, it’s not that,” he replies, quickly.
“Then what’s wrong?” I ask. “I can tell something is.”
“It’s just, like I said earlier, I hate dealing with rapists. They tend to bring out the worst in me. I always find myself thinking… ‘what if that had been Julia?’. And I know that’s all wrong and we’re not supposed to make it personal, but somehow I can’t help it.”
“I understand exactly how you feel,” I say. “And if it gets too much, just give me a nudge and we’ll take a break.”
He agrees and we finish our tea, before making our way to the interview room. We both take a noticeably long breath before I open the door and walk in. Wells is standing just to one side of the door and he steps aside, looking at me, awaiting my instructions as to whether he should stay in the room, or vacate. I nod my head and closes the door behind us, guarding it, his hands behind his back, his presence calming – for me, that is, not for Reverend Hodge, who glances at him, looking worried. With three such large men in a very small room, all facing him, I’m not that surprised.
“What’s going on here?” he asks, glancing back at me again as I take a seat opposite him, with Thompson sitting beside me.
“We need to ask you some questions.” I repeat my earlier statement and the vicar gazes at me for a moment.
“I know,” he says eventually. “You’ve already told me that. What I want to know is, why here?”
“Well, the nature of our questions means that it’s better if they’re asked here… where it’s more private.”
“More private?” he queries.
“Yes.”
“Why is privacy so important?” He looks confused, almost sulky.
“Because I’d like for you to tell me about your affairs.”
“My affairs?” he repeats again.
“Yes… I mean your mistresses.”
His cheeks turn a rather silky grey colour, but he rallies more quickly than I would have expected. “I don’t have any mistresses, or any affairs, for that matter,” he blusters.
“That’s not what we’ve heard,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “We’ve been given this letter…” I pull the blue envelope from my jacket pocket, watching his face, which has turned almost green now. Removing the letter from inside, I unfold it. “It appears to be from someone who refers to you as ‘Poochy’, and who calls themselves…” I check signature at the bottom of the other side of the page, “… ‘your little teddy bear’.” I glance up at him again. “You’re not going to try and tell me this was written to you by one of your parishioners, are you?” I look down at the letter again, raising my eyebrows. “Because if you are, I have to say, the content is extremely unusual.”
He lets his head rock forward into his hands and groans, “Oh God.”
“This… this affair between you and the person who calls themselves ‘your teddy bear’, it’s not your first, is it?” I ask. He doesn’t respond, other than to start rocking slightly. “Reverend,” I say, raising my voice slightly, forcing him to look up, and enabling me to see the despair in his eyes. “I strongly advise you to start talking, and to tell me exactly what happened between you and Mildred Ryder… because I have to tell you, at the moment, things aren’t looking too good for you.”
Chapter Twelve
I stand by the closed front door after the inspector and his men have gone, taking Neville with them, waiting for a few minutes, in the still silence, just to be sure that they’re not going to come back for some reason, and then I run up the stairs and straight into our bedroom.
I take the small suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and start packing, smiling to myself at the ease with which my plan is falling into shape. I can’t believe everything is going so smoothly, but then I suppose, it is my plan, after all, so why shouldn’t it work?
I pick up the silver framed photograph from the chest of drawers and turn it over, removing the back and dropping it and the photograph itself onto the bed, an image of myself and Neville on our wedding day, smiling at the camera. Oh, if only I’d known then what I know now…
I don’t need any reminders of my wedding, but I will take the frame, which I know to be solid silver and quite valuable. For a moment, I wonder about leaving my wedding and engagement rings, but they will probably fetch a few pounds too, so I hang onto them and close my case, carrying it downstairs and leaving it by the front door, while I go out to the back lobby and collect my hat and coat.
I check that everything is locked and switched off, and make my way through to the front door, putting my hat and coat on the hall table next to my handbag, before pausing, taking a breath, and going into Neville’s study, where I open the desk and pull out the envelope of money, checking the contents one last time. It’s not enough for me to call myself rich, but it is more than sufficient for me to start again, and I’m sure it won’t take me long to find gainful employment… or failing that, a suitably rich husband. After all, it’s not like I’ll need to worry about divorcing Neville. He’ll be hanging from the end of a rope before long…
I must say, it’s very satisfying to be able to take my husband’s money, after everything he’s put me through… all the deceit, the lies, the betrayal. It feels only too right that he should finance the beginning of my new life in Scotland, which is now just a train journey away.
I take a glance around his study, picturing once again, that scene when I caught him in here with Annie Jennings. But then I shake my head. I’m not going to think about that – or him – ever again, and instead I go back into the hallway and place the envelope in my handbag, snapping it shut. As I put on my hat, checking my reflection in the mirror, I chuckle to myself, recalling the inspector’s subterfuge in getting me to hand over the letter without Neville seeing it. He seemed to think he was very clever in doing that, but stupid man that is, he forgot about taking the money…
Well, more fool him, because by the time he remembers, the money will be long gone. And so will I.
***
Reverend Hodge stares at me for what seems like a very long time, and then lets out a loud sigh, before leaning forward and letting his hands fall to the table.
“Very well,” he says, sounding resigned. “I’ll admit I’ve strayed a couple of times, but that’s not against the law, Inspector.”
“Did you ‘stray’ with Mildred Ryder?” I ask.
He hesitates, and then says, “Yes, I did,” his voice a soft whisper, “but you saw her. You saw how beautiful she was. No sane man could resist her… and, in any case, you’ve met my wife. Surely you can understand. I mean, the contrast is just so great.” I raise my eyebrows and he leans even further forward, with a conspiratorial air. “What I’m trying to say is that Eileen enjoys her role as my wife; and she’s very good at it, but she has a tendency to go too far, to be too high-handed, too prim and proper, if you get my meaning.” He winks at me, but I remain stoney faced and he blushes, but then continues, “She… she forgets, you see, that, under the dog collar, I’m still a man, and that I have a man’s needs and desires, just like we all do. But I’m afraid Eileen can be a bit… well, dull, in the bedroom department.”
“Dull?” I query.
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming her. I don’t think it’s her fault. I think it’s just the way she was brought up. That and the fact that she made the assumption that my role within the church would be more important to me than anything else.” He smiles. “We had different expectations of marriage, Inspector,” he adds, by way of explanation, when I don’t respond. “Sometimes young women today just aren’t prepared for the realities of life away from their mothers,” he adds. “I often have to offer words of advice, when they come to me to arrange their weddings.”
“Oh, do you now?” I’m not sure his idea of ‘advice’ would tally with most people’s.
“Yes. I’m sure you understand.” He stares at me, and his smile broadens. “Oh, but then, you probably don’t, do you?” he says. “Not with a wife like yours.”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to imply, being as his knowledge of my wife is limited to their five minute meeting in Walton Road, but I do know that he’s trying to goad me, and that he’s most of the way towards succeeding. There’s something distasteful in his tone of voice which makes every muscle in my body tense, my fists clenching involuntarily on the table in front of me.
I’m aware of Thompson sitting forward, right before he says, “Why did you lie to us, Reverend?” and I’m grateful for his intervention, sitting back for a moment, to take a few deep breaths and calm down.
The vicar averts his gaze from me to Sergeant Thompson, his smile fading. “I haven’t lied to you,” he says, defensively.
“Yes, you have.” Thompson flips back through his notebook, in which he’s taking down every word of the reverend’s statement. “When we first came to see you, you denied having any kind of relationship with Miss Ryder, outside of the choir.”
The vicar shakes his head. “What? You wanted me to admit to having an affair with Mildred in front of my wife? She’d already caught me out once, a few years ago, and believe me, Eileen is a very unforgiving woman.”
I sit forward myself once more. “Did you know about Miss Ryder’s pregnancy?” I ask, taking over the interview again.
“Of course not,” Reverend Hodge replies. “I had no idea.” The smile returns to his lips. “Mind you,” he adds, “judging from how much she enjoyed her time with me, I very much doubt that I’m the only man in the picture for paternity. I certainly don’t believe there was nothing going on between Mildred and Sam, however much he might cry innocence… and you could try having a word with Norman Wharton too, while you’re about it. I know for a fact that he was more than interested in Mildred.”
I stand, my chair scraping on the floor, startling Reverend Hodge, who jumps and only just manages to stop himself from gasping out loud.
“You may be a man of the church,” I growl, leaning over the table, “but I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” He opens his mouth. “Shut up.” I raise my voice. “Whatever you were going to say, just don’t.” And he clamps his mouth closed again, clearly disconcerted by the change in my tone.
I turn to Wells.
“Take Reverend Hodge down to the cells, will you?”
Wells steps forward, just as the vicar gets to his feet.
“The cells?” he mutters, stunned by my request. “What for? I mean, I haven’t done anything wrong…”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I interrupt.
“You can’t keep me here.” He leans towards me, just as Wells claps a burly hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.
“Yes, I can.” I nod at Wells, who steers Reverend Hodge towards the door. “It’ll do you good to sit and think for a while. Then perhaps the next time we talk, you’ll tell me the truth.”
“I have told you the truth,” Hodge calls over his shoulder, but Wells is already guiding him from the room.
I sit back down and turn to Thompson. “Thank you for intervening,” I say, smiling at him. “I was in danger of losing my temper with him.”
“I noticed,” he replies, shaking his head and studying his notebook. “Nothing he’s said adds up, really, does it?”
“No. One minute he’s telling us that he and his wife are trying to start a family, and the next he’d like us to believe she’s not being very forthcoming in bed.”
“He can’t have it both ways,” Thompson says.
“That’s the problem with lying,” I point out. “You need to have a very good memory.”
“How long are you going to leave him down in the cells?” Thompson asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “As long as it takes. Certainly long enough for you to get me another cup of tea.” I grin at him and he gets to his feet, just as there’s a knock on the door and we call out, “Come in,” together.
Constable Pearce appears in the doorway, a little out of breath.
“Are you all right?” I ask him.
“Yes, sir. I just came to report to you that PC Beresford and I have picked up Mrs Hodge.”
“She’s here?” I ask, standing myself now.
“Yes. She’s in the other interview room.”
“What happened?”
He steps inside the room, closing the door. “I’d already taken a look around when Beresford and I had first arrived at the scene, and had noticed that there were several routes Mrs Hodge could take to get away from the vicarage, so once you drove away from the house, Beresford and I left the car and split up, with him watching the front of the house, and me the rear.” He pauses for a second, and then continues, “I suppose it was about ten minutes later that Mrs Hodge came out of the front door. Beresford noticed her, of course, but she didn’t go down the driveway. Instead, she went around the side of the house and through the churchyard, almost walking straight into me, as it happened.”
“What did you do?” I ask him.
“I hid in a bush,” he explains. “And then, when she’d gone past, Beresford came by and we followed her together.”
“Where did she go?”
“She carried on down Church Lane, all the way to Speer Road, and then at the end, she crossed over…”
“To the station?” I interrupt and he nods his head.
“We stopped her just as she got to the ticket office, and then I waited with her while Beresford went back for the car. He’s with her now,” he explains. “She’s… she’s not very happy.”
“I can’t imagine she is,” I reply. “But you and Beresford have done very well. Very well indeed.”
He blushes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Are we going to talk to her now?” Thompson asks from behind me and I turn, glancing at the clock on the wall, which tells me that it’s five to eight.
I smile at him, and then my smile becomes a grin. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired, and I’d like to go home and see my wife.”
“I’m not going to disagree with that,” he says, smiling back.
“We’ll just go and tell Mrs Hodge our plan, shall we?” I suggest and Thompson chuckles.
“This should be fun,” he says, and Pearce opens the door, stepping to one side to allow myself and Thompson to exit, then closing it behind us all.
We go down the corridor to the next door on the left, which I open withou
t knocking, to find Mrs Hodge pacing the floor.
“Sit down,” I say harshly.
She stops and glares at me.
“How dare you?” she bellows, walking over and standing just an inch or so from me. Thompson and Beresford take a step nearer and I’m aware of Pearce, right behind me, so close I can hear him breathing. “Who do you think you are?” Mrs Hodge’s voice is a shrill wail. “I helped you. I told you—”
“Shut up!” My shout drowns her out and she steps back, stunned into silence. “Thank you,” I say, more softly, and then I turn to Beresford. “Please can you take Mrs Hodge down to the cells?” I ask him and he nods his head. “It’s too late to begin the interview tonight. We’ll make a fresh start in the morning.”
“You… You’re going to keep me here overnight?” Mrs Hodge is outraged by my statement.
“Yes.”
“How dare you?” she shouts, for the second time. “Do you know who I am?”
“I think I have a pretty good idea, yes,” I reply, staring down at her.
“You can’t treat me like this,” she says, as though she hasn’t heard me. “If you didn’t need to see me until tomorrow, why have you had be brought here now?”
“Because you were about to abscond, Mrs Hodge.”
“Abscond?” she scoffs.
“Yes. You were attempting to escape, trying to make a getaway… call it what you will. If I’d waited until tomorrow, I’d have called round at the vicarage and found the nest empty. As it is, I’ll know exactly where to find you when I want to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m not staying,” she says, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.
“It’s not optional, Mrs Hodge,” I point out. “You’re being held here on suspicion of murder.” Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t comment. “Now, I suggest you spend the night thinking about what you’ve done, and we’ll see you again in the morning.”
“I’ve got no intention of doing any such thing,” she says, raising her voice again. “I’m not some flighty little thing, you know, Inspector. I know my rights, and I also know that I’m innocent.”