The Kill Call

defences,’ said Headon. ‘That September, our Chief Observer had a letter asking him to arrange the clearance of the post, and return the equipment and keys. It was adding insult to injury. Frankly, we told them “sod that”. They could collect the stuff themselves. And that was the last we heard from the ROC.’
       
    Diane Fry took Deborah Rawson into a vacant interview room. The woman looked more nervous today, which was what she’d been hoping for. Nervous people were more likely to tell the truth. They found it difficult to concentrate on maintaining a lie. All she needed was one slip, one flaw in Deborah’s story.
    ‘Mrs Rawson, you said earlier in the week that you didn’t get involved in your husband’s business, you didn’t even know exactly who he dealt with.’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Well, I have to tell you, I don’t believe that’s entirely true.’
    ‘Oh, don’t you? Well, I’m not lying.’
    ‘Why should we believe you, when you lied to us before?’
    Deborah smiled. ‘I only tell lies when I’ve got something to gain by it.’
    Fry studied her thoughtfully. She still didn’t trust Deborah Rawson, but her last answer sounded pretty much like the truth.
    ‘You must know that your husband was supplying horses to an abattoir, for meat.’
    ‘Meat.’ She pulled an expression of disgust. ‘Do people really eat horses?’
    ‘Yes, lots of them.’
    ‘Not in this country, though, I bet. It would be the French.’
    ‘Did your husband sometimes travel abroad on business?’
    ‘Yes, sometimes.’
    ‘To France?’
    She hesitated. ‘Yes. He flew to Paris from East Midlands Airport three or four times a year. Brussels, too, now and then. So he said.’
    Fry looked at her curiously, detecting a change of tone in her last comment. Watching Deborah Rawson’s face, she saw a faraway look in her eyes, as if at a memory or a recurrent, familiar thought.
    ‘Mrs Rawson, did you have any reason to think that your husband might be having an affair?’
    The woman’s eyes focused sharply on her again as she tried to rearrange her expression. ‘What makes you say that? I’ve been following your logic so far – that Patrick went up to Derbyshire to meet either a seller or buyer, and they had an argument of some kind, and Patrick got hurt. I can understand that. I can live with it. But why are you asking me this question about him having an affair? What has that got to do with anything?’
    It was the longest speech Deborah Rawson had made during Fry’s visit, by quite a long way. In relative terms, it amounted to an emotional outburst.
    ‘We have to keep our minds open to all the possibilities,’ said Fry. ‘In this case, it might not have been a business contact he was meeting. The Derby horse sale isn’t until Saturday, yet he went up a few days early. What he was planning to do, we don’t know. You never asked your husband who he was meeting, and he never felt the need to tell you, did he?’
    ‘No.’
    Deborah regarded her stonily as she waited for Fry to explain further.
    ‘So the possibility is there. He definitely had the opportunity. In fact, you practically gave him free rein, if you showed so little interest in his movements. Are you really telling me that you never once had the slightest suspicion about those days away here and there, the trips he took to Paris …?’
    ‘I wouldn’t be human if it hadn’t crossed my mind.’
    ‘Of course. And I imagine you must have checked up on him at some time?’
    The woman sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I can’t deny it, I suppose.’
    ‘What made you think your husband might be in trouble?’
    ‘Patrick? Anyone with such a short fuse was bound to end up in trouble one day.’
    ‘And he did.’
    ‘It seems so.’
    Fry let a few moments pass in silence as she read her notes, allowing Deborah Rawson to wonder what question was coming next.
    ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘we’ve talked to Naomi Widdowson and Adrian Tarrant this afternoon. They’ve told us about the arrangement you had with them.’
    Now it was Deborah’s turn to be silent. Fry could see the mental calculation going on. It was written all over her face. Deborah was running a few scenarios through her head, deciding how much Fry knew, what the best response would be, deciding on the least incriminating thing to say. The woman wasn’t a very good actress.
    ‘They were only supposed to give Patrick a scare,’ she said finally. ‘To