DS Brett pulled out his notebook. ‘There are a few things that we need to discuss with you, Mrs Smiley.’
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘The first is your husband’s mobile phone. When you filed a Missing Persons Report at Brighton Police Station yesterday, you said that you had rung his number many times since Monday evening. Do you remember saying that?’
Joan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. ‘Yes, yes, I do.’
‘Well, we have obtained his mobile phone records from Vodafone. There is only one call from your mobile number to his. There is none from your landline. This call was yesterday evening. Can you explain that?’
Her head was spinning. She felt clammy all over. Then her eyes darted to the open doorway. She was certain she had seen something moving. Both police officers turned and looked in the same direction too. But there was nothing there.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘The thing is—’ She fell silent for a moment. Then she went on: ‘You see, there must be a mistake. I’ve called him – I don’t know – I don’t know how many times. The phone company must have made a mistake.’
DC Badger was looking back at the doorway again now. She resisted the temptation to look as well. She did not want to appear anxious. Then, a little distracted, he turned back to her. ‘Is there anyone else in the house at the moment, Mrs Smiley?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes, there’s no one.’ She shot another glance at the doorway.
‘Does he have another mobile phone, with a different number, perhaps, that you’ve been calling?’
Again she was silent for a moment, trying to think what to say. Her stomach felt as if it was plunging down a lift shaft. ‘No, there’s no other phone. I just don’t understand this.’
DS Brett made a note on his pad, then flipped back a page. ‘When the two uniformed police officers were here last night, they asked you about a white van that was parked in your driveway. You told them it belonged to your plumber. Is that correct?’
Her stomach felt as if it was plunging even faster now. She was starting to feel that everything was coming undone around her. ‘It belongs to my plumber, yes.’
The detective sergeant studied his notes for a moment. ‘The van belongs to a business called Mile Oak Electrical Supplies. They do plumbing as well, do they?’
‘I believe my plumber borrowed the van,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘That’s why he was working late, of course. His van had broken down, so he came late.’
She felt the sweat popping on her brow. Relief surged through her. Her lie had sounded okay, she thought.
The DS made another note, then glanced at his colleague and back at Joan. ‘Right. Mrs Smiley, I’m afraid the next thing I have to ask may be a little distressing for you.’ He fell silent and glanced at his colleague again. DC Badger looked at him with a serious expression.
‘Oh?’ Joan said.
The DS went on, ‘Were you aware that your husband, Victor, was having an affair? Did you know that he was planning to leave you?’ Both men were studying her face carefully.
Joan sat very still, in shock. After some moments, she said, ‘An affair? My Victor?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it! Not Victor. I mean, who on earth would—?’
She stopped in mid-sentence.
DC Badger was looking at the doorway again.
‘Do go on,’ the DS said.
‘I’m sorry, I just don’t believe that.’
‘Does the name Kamila Walczak mean anything to you?’
‘Should it?’
‘She rang your husband’s mobile number last night.’
‘So?’
‘She withheld her number and left no message.’
Now Joan remembered the call that had come in on Victor’s phone. There had been no number in the display and no message. Was that her?
She said, a little acidly, ‘Well, I’ve never heard of her. Who is she?’
‘She works as a hostess at a club in Brighton,’ the detective sergeant said.
‘The lady is mistaken. Victor doesn’t go to clubs.’
The two detectives looked at each other before Brett spoke again. ‘I don’t know how best to put this to you, Mrs Smiley. To be blunt, it is a sex club. This young lady is a sex worker.’
‘A prostitute? Is that what you mean? A call girl? A tart?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
‘My Victor seeing a prostitute? He couldn’t! For a start, where would he have got the money?’
‘I can’t answer that for you, Mrs Smiley. All I can tell you is that Miss Walczak came in to see us just a short while ago. She is very upset. She told us that she and your husband were planning to start a new life together.’
Joan shook her head. ‘She’s made a mistake. Mistaken identity.’
DC Badger was looking at the doorway again. Then he said, ‘We showed her a photograph of your husband. She identified him, without any doubt.’
‘Maybe she’s hiding something,’ Joan said. ‘Could she have harmed Victor, do you think?’
‘That will certainly be one of our lines of inquiry.’
‘My Victor with a hooker? I can’t believe it! I – I just can’t believe it.’
‘We’re mentioning it, Mrs Smiley, because it is possible he has other lady friends as well. He could perhaps be with one of those at the moment.’
‘ABSOLUTELY NOT!’ Joan said loudly. The shock of this news was still spinning in her head. Victor seeing a prostitute. How many years had this been going on? Bastard! How dare he?
‘You are really sure, Mrs Smiley?’ the constable asked.
Something in his voice made her think for a moment. Suddenly, Joan realized that she was being given a gift by the police! She had the perfect reason for Victor to disappear. He had another woman.
She put on a false smile and dabbed her eyes with her fingers again. ‘How well do we know anyone? I thought I knew Victor. I thought he was very happy. Clearly, I must have been wrong if he’s gone running off to tarts. Yes, you’re right, there could be others. There could be loads! Maybe even in other countries? No wonder he kept me so short of money!’
‘Did you check to see if he had taken his passport with him, by any chance?’ DS Brett asked.
She nodded and then lied again. ‘Yes, actually I did. He had taken it. Yes, it was gone from his desk! It was one of the first things I checked.’
‘Why didn’t you mention that in your report to PCSO Watts?’
‘I was in such a state,’ she said. ‘I must have forgotten! Can you imagine what it is like to lose the person you love?’
She began to sob.
The detectives left a short while later. They seemed to spend a long time sitting in their silver Ford Focus outside, talking to each other. Finally, they drove off.
It was ten to one. Joan needed to hurry or she would be late for work. Instead, she stood still for some minutes, staring out of the window. Anger was boiling inside her. Victor had cheated on her. He had been going to a tart! For how long? How much money had he spent on this tart?
She marched over to the internal door to the garage and unlocked it. She opened it and stared down at the smooth cement screed covering the floor.
‘YOU BASTARD!’ she shouted.
Chapter Twenty-One
DS Brett drove the Focus. They were heading back towards the police station. DC Badger stared at the photograph of Victor Smiley on his lap. It was the one that had been circulated, and was being put on Missing Persons posters in police stations around the county.
‘It didn’t feel right to me. What about you?’ the detective sergeant said.
‘She was nervous about something. She kept looking at the doorway,’ Badger replied. ‘The feeling I got is that she has something to hide. If she’s reported her husband missing, and he was lurking in the doorway all the time we were there, someone’s having a laugh at us.’
‘So what do you think
she’s playing at?’ the DS asked him.
‘Could it be an insurance scam? We should check to see if there are any life insurance policies on him. There was a couple who did that a while ago. What were they called? Darwin. The husband faked his death in a canoe and they got a life insurance payout. He hid in the attic for five years.’
‘Why didn’t you ask her about it?’
‘I didn’t want her to think I was suspicious. She said there was no one in the house, right?’
Brett nodded. ‘So you think her husband might be alive and well, and hiding in the house?’
‘Possibly, chief. We know she’s been lying to us about the phone. What else has she been lying about?’
‘I see where you’re coming from,’ DS Brett said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shortly after six o’clock that evening, Joan edged the purple Astra into her driveway and stopped in front of the garage. She had two bottles of wine in the boot, which she had bought from the supermarket. She also had several packets of biscuits, some prawn cocktails at the end of their best-before dates, and two steaks.
Don was coming over. He said they had to drink a toast. She wasn’t really keen to see him at the moment, but she didn’t want to be alone in the house. She had decided to make him supper. It was strange, she thought, that he had exactly the same taste in food as Victor. She had read that when a man leaves his wife for a younger model, he often chooses someone who looks like his wife. Maybe a woman chooses a new man who has the same tastes as her old one?
She was thinking about all the police she had seen in the past couple of days. She was trying to work out if she had said the right things. It had been tricky. But she felt she had kept calm. She would talk through it all with Don tonight. They should check to see what they had missed and what they needed to do.
As she got out of the car in the fading light, a strong wind was blowing. She noticed several of her neighbours’ curtains twitching. They were watching her. She decided it would be safest to put the car in the garage, so they would not see her unloading the bottles.
Don had told her not to drive on the new garage floor for a few days to let it harden. But it seemed pretty hard now.
She lifted the door, stared at the smooth cement and tested it with her feet. It was fine! Hard as rock!
She drove in and pulled the door shut behind her. It closed with a clang that seemed to echo for ever. Then she carried everything through into the kitchen. She put the wine straight into the fridge. Then she switched on the television and all the lights in the house, because she was nervous that Victor’s ghost might suddenly appear again. After that she went upstairs to the bedroom and stepped out of her work clothes. She freshened up, sprayed herself with the perfume that Don liked, and laid out her short black cocktail dress on the bed.
At that moment, the front doorbell rang.
She frowned. It was only a quarter past six. Don wasn’t due until seven.
Dressed only in her knickers and bra, she hurried into Victor’s den and looked out of the window. Her throat tightened. There were two marked police cars out in the street, and a white van with police markings on it. The two detectives who had come round earlier were standing at the front door.
The bell rang again.
‘Coming!’ she called out, trying not to sound anxious.
She took a deep breath and hastily put her work clothes back on. Then she hurried back downstairs.
As she opened the door, Detective Sergeant Brett held up a sheet of paper. A group of police officers in yellow jackets stood behind him and Detective Constable Badger.
‘Mrs Smiley,’ DS Brett said, ‘we have a search warrant for your house.’ He showed it to her.
She was shaking as she looked at it, but it was just a blur. ‘A search warrant?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘What is this about?’
Half a dozen policemen walked past her, followed by the two detectives.
‘Would anyone like tea or coffee?’ she asked. Then she added, ‘I’ve got some biscuits now!’
No one replied. Suddenly, every room in the house seemed to have a police officer in it.
‘Expecting company, are you?’ DS Brett said, looking at the two raw steaks on the kitchen drainer.
‘Just me and the cat,’ she said.
‘Lucky cat. Prime rib steak!’ he replied, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
‘He’s very fussy,’ she answered lamely.
‘Have a seat,’ DS Brett said, pointing to a kitchen chair. ‘We’re going to be a while.’
Upstairs, DC Badger pushed open a door into a tiny room that looked like a spare bedroom. There was a cold draught, and a strong smell of fresh paint. There was also a fainter smell of bitter almonds, which he did not notice.
He switched on the light. The room looked like it had been freshly decorated. The walls were painted a deep blue colour. A crisp white blind flapped in the wind that was howling in through the wide-open window. He noticed a single bed with a cream candlewick counterpane. The bed was made up but not slept in. There was a bedside table with a lamp, and a small chest of drawers. He began to check through them.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Joan stared blankly at an episode of Poirot on the television. She switched channels. It was another Agatha Christie, this time a Miss Marple. Hastily, she switched again. John Thaw, in Morse, was standing at a grave being opened. She switched once more. Now it was the actor Basil Rathbone playing Sherlock Holmes.
‘Stop it, you bastard!’ she mouthed silently. She switched to BBC 1. It should be the end of the six o’clock news.
Instead, she saw Victor’s face smiling out at her from the screen. She was about to change channels again when she heard the voice of a newscaster saying, ‘Sussex Police are gravely worried about Victor Smiley, a diabetic who has not been seen for several days.’
She switched the television off.
Her heart was crashing around inside her chest.
Moments later, DC Badger entered the kitchen still wearing the latex gloves and holding a small, dark-red booklet. ‘This appears to be your husband’s passport. I found it in a desk in the front bedroom, which I presume is your husband’s office.’
‘Well done!’ she said. ‘What a relief! I searched everywhere for it.’
‘Not hard enough,’ he said.
Before she had time to reply, another officer came in. He was wearing a black vest with the letters POLSA on a badge on his chest. He was holding Victor’s mobile phone. ‘This appears to be your husband’s mobile phone, Mrs Smiley. I just checked the number.’
‘Amazing! Where did you find it?’
‘In a drawer in the hall table.’
‘I – I looked there,’ she said quietly.
‘Not hard enough?’ he said.
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Well done!’
DC Badger was staring at her. She felt her innards squirming. It was as if her intestines had turned into restless snakes.
Then Detective Sergeant Brett came back into the kitchen. ‘We’d like to move the Vauxhall Astra out of the garage. Do you have the keys, please?’
They were in front of her, on the kitchen table, beside the carrier bag containing the prawn cocktails.
‘I think my husband may have them with him,’ she said. Then she saw the detective looking at them. ‘Ah! No. What a surprise! Here they are!’
‘What a surprise,’ he said.
She stood by the internal door to the garage and watched the DS open the swing door. He reversed the car out. Joan stared in shock at what she saw.
The cement had sunk where the wheels of the car had been. A mound had risen in the centre of it. It was like a fat pot-belly sticking up through the floor. It was like Victor’s belly. Cracked cement lay all along it and on either side of it.
She watched in dismay as four police officers appeared with shovels. A fifth officer had a pick-axe. They removed their yellow jackets and began to dig.
Suddenly, she heard a humming sound in her ears. The Dam Busters theme tune. It was Victor’s favourite sodding tune.
It was the tune he always hummed when he was happy.
He continued to hum it throughout the next hour as she stood and watched.
He was humming it as the police steadily unearthed him. Bit by bit by bit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Four days later, at six o’clock on Sunday evening, Joan was released on police bail. This was after three nights in custody and an endless series of interviews with different detectives.
She took a taxi home. It was not Don’s taxi, of course. He had not been so lucky. He was remanded in custody, charged with Victor’s murder.
Joan felt pretty pleased with how she had handled it all. She had given a performance worthy of an Oscar! The detectives seemed to believe her version of events. She told them that Victor had come home and had found Don there. He had attacked Don, and Don had hit him with a hammer. Then Don had threatened to tell the police that she had killed him, unless she kept quiet.
Don had buried him under the garage floor. That bit of the story was partly true, at least.
It had seemed quite true to the police. After they discovered Victor’s body, they raided Don’s house at dawn. There they found the bloodstained hammer in Don’s toolbox, with his fingerprints on it.
Her solicitor told her that she was still in trouble. It was almost certain that she would be charged as an accessory to murder. This was likely to happen at some point in the next few weeks. However, he knew a good barrister. She would go to jail but, with luck, it would be a short sentence if the jury believed her story. Her solicitor could see no reason why they would not.
But for now, at least, she was free.
There were plenty of other men in the world, she thought, as she let herself in through the front door. It seemed likely that Don was going to be locked away for life. Well, too bad for him! There were dating agencies she could sign up to, dancing classes she could join. But the biggest joy of all was that there was no more Victor.
If his damned ghost persisted, she would call in a medium to get rid of him!