An hour and a half later, two fingerprint experts had grunted and crawled over the cottage. Edward's binoculars were greeted with whoops of satisfaction as they yielded apparently perfect specimens of the fingers of both his hands. My prints were taken and then they left to visit Mrs Parsons. I warned her by telephone that they were on their way to see her. Her involvement at this stage made any call to the press unnecessary. By midnight the whole of Lambourn would know that something serious was up in the Pryde household. I had already telephoned Ralph Elgar and told him the barest details of what was happening. He was shocked, and reassured me that Freddie was quite all right with him until I could get back. He insisted that we continued staying there until everything was cleared up. After the fingerprint men and Garnier had left, I telephoned Amy Frost in London. I was relieved when she answered the phone, as I thought she might be away for the weekend. I recounted everything that had happened.
'Where are you now?' she asked.
'At the cottage. Why?'
'I'm coming down, if you don't mind waiting there for an hour or so for me.'
I looked round the room. It suddenly seemed extremely eerie. 'I think I'll be okay, but hurry up all the same.'
By the time Amy arrived, I had drunk a quarter of a bottle of whisky, and heard footsteps in every part of the house, except the downstairs lavatory. She was dressed in a leather cat suit. Amy wasn't classically good looking, but she made the most of herself and I think men were attracted to her because of her bubbly personality. She was almost three inches taller than I was and quite well built with dark hair and hazel eyes, her face liberally covered with freckles.
'Amy, I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?' I asked, grinning at her.
'Well, I was just warming up with some champagne when you called!'
'I'm sorry.'
'Don't apologise. I was beginning to have second thoughts anyway. Those barristers do know how to bang on about themselves! If I have to hear once more about what he told the judge…'
'At the rate I'm going, I'll be appearing in front of one myself, soon. What am I to do if those are Edward's remains in the boot of the car?'
'Co-operate and tell them everything you know.'
'Everything? Even about the fight and Freddie and the blackmailing?'
'All of it. They probably won't believe the blackmail bit and even if they do, there's no way they're going to drag old man Pryde into this.'
'Do you think they'll want to see me again?'
'They're bound to, and next time it won't be in the cosy warmth of your sitting room. Who saw you today, by the way?'
'An Inspector Wilkinson and a young constable. Wilkinson was a bit too smooth for my liking, but he's plainly on the ball.'
'I'll have him checked out. This is the kind of case that a policeman can make his name on. Identify the body, quick arrest, speedy trial and unanimous conviction. Result: instant promotion and gratitude of nation.'
'They've got to identify the body first. From what I could gather, they've only the charred bones to work on. And, oh yes, the Inspector mentioned a pool of dried blood near the car, too.'
'I don't know about the bones, but the blood will be enough to provide a positive identification provided they have something else to match it with.'
'Positive identification? I thought that all you could tell from blood was the individual's group, which could be the same as millions of other people's.'
'Haven't you heard of DNA?'
'Well, vaguely.'
'It's this new process that is revolutionising everything from the detection of rape to the determination of paternity. It works like this, or at least I think it does. Every one of us has our own individual blueprint. Once you have a piece of an individual's skin or some semen or blood for example, you can detect from that the chromosomal ingredients unique to that person, his or her blueprint, as it were. They can then be matched up to another sample of blood or semen or skin or hair root, it doesn't even matter which, and hey presto, you have positive identification.'
'So if I told you that there was still some of Edward's blood on that bronze they took away…'
'It would be a major breakthrough for them. If that pool of blood they found is human, they will now be able to tell you for certain whether it's Edward's or not. In other words, they'll have both halves of the jigsaw.'
I frowned.
'Do you think it might not be Edward's then?'
'No, not really. I'm just worried that if it is, suspicion's going to fall on someone I know.'
'May I ask who, and perhaps even more importantly, why?'
She looked extremely concerned when I gave her the answers.
I returned to spend the night at Ralph Elgar's. Freddie was fast asleep, still blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding around him. Not surprisingly, I couldn't sleep. I looked back on my life with Edward and tried to pinpoint a time when things had started to go wrong. There was no doubt that some of the blame for the failure of our marriage lay on my shoulders. I had become consumed by my ambition to make it as a jockey and expected him to understand that ambition too, as well as giving it his whole-hearted support. It never occurred to me that he might have different goals for himself; indeed he never gave any indication of having any goals. I suppose on reflection that we married because at the time we enjoyed going to bed together and liked having fun. Unfortunately, marriage requires a commitment of a different nature. And now Edward was dead.
I wondered what was going to happen, just how much was going to come out. I thought about what Inspector Wilkinson had said about lying low for a couple of weeks and rejected the idea. There would no doubt be a lot of gossip on the racecourse and no shortage of pointing fingers. On the other hand, if I gave up riding, even for a short while, it would seriously damage my prospects. After all, someone still had to pay the bills and the mortgage and buy Freddie's clothes. I compromised by deciding not to ride for a week and to do my best to shelter Freddie from the turbulence that lay directly ahead. If Edward was dead, I wouldn't be able to go back to riding six days a week as I had been. I would have to spend a lot more time at home with my son.
The police arrived to collect me just before lunchtime. I can't say I was surprised. I had tried to phone Tom earlier that morning, only to be told by Mrs Drummond that he had been taken away for questioning shortly after breakfast. She sounded perplexed and upset and said that the police had been extremely brusque in their manner.
It was a curious sensation sitting in the back of a police car with an officer on either side. Like ambulances, police cars may be part of our everyday life but somehow they always seem reserved for somebody else, never you.
After arriving at the station I was shown into a bleak and depressing interview room, which contributed even more to my sense of foreboding. The walls needed a good coat of paint and I could not help wondering what sordid details they had heard over the years. Waiting to greet me was Inspector Wilkinson and he in turn introduced me to an overweight, morose gentleman, a Superintendent Pale down from Scotland Yard. It appeared that Wilkinson was to conduct the interview under Pale's watchful glare.
'Firstly, Mrs Pryde, I must warn you that this interview is being recorded on video camera
I looked over and spotted the camera in the ceiling.
'… and that everything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Is that clear? You are, of course, entitled to say nothing and if you wish, you may contact a solicitor.'
Neither course appealed to me. The last thing I wanted to do was to appear in any way embarrassed or as if I had something to hide.
'No, thank you,' I answered. 'I'm perfectly happy to answer your questions.'
'Good. You told me yesterday that the last time you saw your husband alive was three weeks ago on Friday, that would be the nineteenth.'
'Yes, that's right.'
'You had a row, following which you walked out on him taking your son with you.'
I nodded.
'And since that time, you have had no contact with him?'
'Correct. That's just what I told you yesterday.'
'You know, of course, that Mr Radcliffe claims he saw your husband the next day, in the evening?'
'I've no reason to doubt Mr Radcliffe's word.'
'Can you remember what Mr Radcliffe said about that meeting?'
I chose my words carefully. 'Only that he had asked my husband to meet him at the Crown and Anchor pub on the Marlborough road, that they had a row and that the next thing Mr Radcliffe remembers is waking up in his car, still in the car park, in the early hours of the following morning. He was unable to explain why he had passed out.'
'And you have no idea why your husband and Mr Radcliffe met?'
I had a very good idea, but saw no reason to tell Inspector Wilkinson.
'Is it true to say that you and your husband didn't see eye to eye?'
'You might as well know, Inspector, that my husband didn't see eye to eye, as you put it, with a lot of people. He was capable of being very charming to some people and rather vicious towards others.'
'Didn't he and Mr Radcliffe fall out about a horse?'
'That started it, but it was all over years ago. Tom, I mean Mr Radcliffe, wasn't in the least to blame but you couldn't tell Edward that. He wouldn't hear a good word about him.'
'But you wouldn't describe your marriage as a happy one? Surely the truth is, Mrs Pryde, that your marriage was on the rocks, wasn't it?'
I saw no point in lying. 'Things were going very badly. You've probably heard it all from Mrs Parsons anyway. I no longer loved my husband, Inspector, and I very much doubt if he had the slightest bit of affection for me.'
'Did you consider divorcing him?'
'I did, but I was worried about losing custody of our son.'
'Did you fight?'
'Do you mean just argue, or actually come to blows?'
'Come to blows.'
'He often hit me. The cut above my lip was his work at Cheltenham races, as are these burn marks.'
'Do you know how the blood came to be on that bronze we found at the cottage?'
'It was Edward's. I hit him with the bronze on Friday.'
'Tell us about it.'
I told him about Friday's fight, embroidering it in such a way as to divulge nothing about Freddie's involvement.
'Are you sure your husband was only concussed that evening?'
'If you're accusing me of murdering him, you're wrong. If I had done, how could he have met Mr Radcliffe for a drink on Saturday night?'
'We've only Mr Radcliffe's word for that.'
'What about the landlord and anyone else who saw them in the pub?'
He didn't pursue that train of thought. 'Did you go and ride out at Mr Radcliffe's yard that morning?'
I nodded.
'When you arrived, did you have a long conversation with him in the yard before you started schooling?'
'Not that long, about five minutes.'
'What did you talk about?'
'My ride in the Gold Cup, that sort of thing.'
'Did you mention your husband, what had happened the night before?'
I could see where this line of questioning was leading. Tom's head lad, Jamie Brown, had a sour tongue inside a big mouth, as well as a great aversion to women jockeys.
'If you're referring to the end of our conversation, when Tom said he'd like to get his hands on my husband, that was just talk. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Did he also tell you I said I wanted Edward dead?'
This time it was the Inspector's turn to nod.
'Well I meant it, but that doesn't mean I killed him.'
'Are you sure you don't know what your husband and Mr Radcliffe discussed in the pub, why they became involved in such a heated row?'
I shook my head. 'Positive.'
'They were discussing you. Your husband was telling Radcliffe to stop seeing you. Just how long have you and Radcliffe been lovers, Mrs Pryde?'
'Can I see my solicitor now?'
Amy's appearance was a good deal more sombre than the night before. Leather had given way to a conventional black suit and she behaved more like a solicitor than a friend from the moment she arrived. After a brief discussion in private it was agreed that I would continue to answer questions provided she was present.
Wilkinson went straight back on the attack. 'You don't deny, then, that you are lovers?'
I looked to Amy sitting beside me and she indicated I should answer.
'I was, but am no longer, Tom Radcliffe's lover. Our relationship began over a year ago and lasted for about eight months, after which I put an end to it.'
'Were you in love with him?'
'Yes. But I realised that so long as I was still married to Edward I couldn't continue the affair, and that it wasn't going to make anyone happier in the long term. I was particularly worried that if Edward found out, he would use it as grounds for taking Freddie.'
'How did Mr Radcliffe react to your ending the relationship?'
'He was disappointed, but understanding. He thought I ought to leave Edward and fight him for custody.'
'And you didn't want to do that?'
'You know who my father-in-law is, don't you? What's more, that wouldn't have been in Freddie's interest. He would be the one to suffer most.'
'But you continued to see Mr Radcliffe?'
'On a professional basis only. He had always supported me as a jockey and he saw no reason to stop doing so.'
'Perhaps he hoped you would go back to him?'
'I made it clear that would have been impossible.'
'As long as Edward was alive.'
'If you're seriously suggesting that Tom killed Edward, you're making a grave error of judgement. It's ludicrous. You don't even know that it's Edward's body yet.'
'We're very confident that the blood found near the car will match the blood found on the bronze.'
'And if they don't match?'
'We still have a murder enquiry, and until he is found your husband becomes a missing person again. But don't pin any hopes on it. That body is your husband's and what's more, we believe that Tom Radcliffe murdered him. What we don't know is whether you were in it with him. Were you?'
'Of course I wasn't. I was up all night looking after Freddie. I think you ought to know that there are many people who wanted my husband dead. You see, he was a blackmailer.'
I could have sworn the Inspector grinned.
'That's a very serious allegation to make, Mrs Pryde, particularly about a man who's in no position to defend himself.'
I proceeded to tell them all about the diary and our conversation that Friday afternoon. It was obvious from their reaction that they didn't believe me.
'Where is this diary, then?' asked the Inspector.
'I presume it was burned with him. I didn't know it even existed until the day we found it. He must have carried it about with him.'
'And why didn't you mention this before?'
'Because I hoped it wouldn't be necessary. It's not the nicest thing, you know, for my son to be brought up with his father's wrongdoings exposed in this way.'
'Very thoughtful of you. And also a very convenient explanation for what I regard as a seriously unhelpful attitude. Are you really asking us to believe that your husband was blackmailing his own father?'
'That's what I said.' I was beginning to become angry at his supercilious manner.
Wilkinson looked despairingly over at the Superintendent, who now spoke for the first time.
'The initials JP2 weren't also there by any chance were they?' he sneered.
'I'm sorry, I don't follow you.'
'Pope John Paul the Second. Quite frankly, your allegations are ridiculous and do you no credit. If your motive is to help Mr Radcliffe, you're not going the right way about it.'
Amy intervened before I could let fly. 'There's no need to be rude to my client. I expect you to follow up this particular line of enquiry. Unless you intend to charge my client, I must advise her not to answer any more questions.'
The officers looked at each other and shook their heads. 'No, that's all right. You can go for the moment, Mrs Pryde, after you sign the statement that we'll now prepare. I must warn you not to talk to anyone about this case or to try and get in touch with Mr Radcliffe. We'll have to check up about Saturday night.'
'You mean, talk to Freddie?' I started to panic.
'Unless someone else can corroborate what you've just told us.'
'Ralph, Ralph Elgar. He got up a couple of times and asked if he could help.'
'That should be all right, then.'
'Can't I see Mr Radcliffe, just for five minutes?'
'That's impossible.'
'Where is he?'
'He's still here helping us with our enquiries.'
'Will he be released today?'
'I'm afraid I'm not in any position to answer that.'
That night Amy phoned to say Tom had been charged with Edward's murder. The dried blood found near the car had matched precisely the blood sample taken from the bronze. It seemed that DNA was a truly reliable form guide. As far as the police were concerned Tom had both motive and opportunity to kill Edward. Although they couldn't pinpoint the precise time of death – bones and blood yield no such clues – they firmly believed that Tom had killed Edward after leaving the pub and that his memory block was a convenient fabrication. The final irony was that as I had admitted we were lovers, the police were intending to call me as a witness for the prosecution. According to Amy I was lucky. I had been a short head away from joining him in the dock as an accessory or accomplice. She ended the call by telling me that in the morning the police were going to apply for a warrant to search the cottage.
'Is there anything you don't want them to see?' she asked.
'Of Edward's? Nothing I can think of. They're welcome to it all.'
I lay in bed and thought of Tom. When I was an amateur, and he first started giving me rides, I thought his interest was solely platonic, a kind of peace gesture in the light of Edward's antagonism towards him. Unlike Edward, he obviously enjoyed any success I had. He was fun to be with and I found his good humour and enthusiasm a welcome antidote to Edward's ever-increasing depression and short temper. Our affair just blossomed one day.
We had driven down to Devon and Exeter where I was riding a horse for Tom in a handicap chase. When we arrived at the course, there was thick fog and racing was abandoned. Tom suggested that we went for lunch in a nearby hotel just on the edge of Dartmoor. It was cold outside and there was an enormous log fire burning on one side of the restaurant. We both had a bit too much to drink, and during lunch, Tom reached across for my hand and told me how much he loved me. I hadn't really known what to say. I wasn't certain whether I loved him but at that moment knew that I wanted to go to bed with him.
Ten minutes later, after having booked a room, we were upstairs in a warm bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Tom pulled me gently towards him. He then took my face in his hands and kissed me softly on the lips.
'I've been wanting to do this for months.'
I didn't say anything but pulled him back against me and we began kissing again. Our tongues darted in and out, exploring and licking. He then moved his hands gently down my neck and began to undo the top buttons of my blouse. Once he had undone them far enough, I almost stopped breathing with excitement as he moved his hands slowly inside. As he began caressing my breasts, he moved his head lower, his tongue exploring the inside of my ear, and then started to kiss my neck. From being almost breathless, I was now breathing heavily and my nipples began to ache as they hardened. I hadn't felt so good in ages, and moved my hand under his jumper and began to unbutton his trousers. As I slipped my hand under the elastic of his boxer shorts and started to run my fingers gently over his smooth skin, I could hear his breathing quicken. From then on, we had all but torn the clothes off each other and had made wonderful love on the carpet.
I hadn't felt any guilt at all, and after that we had made love as often as possible, and wherever possible, until I realised that it had to stop because I had been putting my own interests above my son's. If Edward found out, he'd make sure we both suffered: I couldn't live with myself if Freddie was hurt because of my infidelity.
I had at least kept Tom's letters and now and then I used to take them from their hiding place and recall our times together. The letters! I shot up in bed. They were hidden in the cottage and their contents would be extremely damaging to Tom if the police were to find them. I had no option but to go and recover them. I dressed and slipped out of the back door of the house.
It was well past two in the morning when I arrived at the cottage. I drove past to make sure the police weren't watching it and parked the car a hundred yards down the road. I was terrified as I pushed open the front door and tiptoed across to the stairs. I didn't want to turn on the lights and decided to fetch a torch from the kitchen. I then went up to the spare room. I put my hand up the chimney of the fireplace in the corner, which we never lit. There was a small alcove inset into the wall; I'd discovered it by chance a couple of years previously. I felt about for the small package of letters. It was a month since I had last taken it out. I fumbled around on the edge of the ledge but could not feel anything. Just as I began to panic, my fingers brushed against the package. I heaved a sigh of relief. I must have pushed it further back than usual on the last occasion. I shone the torch on the packet and opened it. One last nostalgic look through before I burned them. But instead of the bundle of envelopes, I found only a few newspaper cuttings and a photograph, taken on holiday some years before, of me – naked from the waist up. I was smiling at the camera but it was Edward who had had the last laugh.