Close Call by J.M. Gregson Page B

wouldn’t survive a week in this game.
    Game! His lips wrinkled in silent derision at the absurdity of that word. But it was coming up to ten thirty. He walked over to the phone as he watched the seconds tick towards the half hour. Then he tapped in the number and took a deep breath, preparing himself to voice the absurd mantra in a flat voice, without the inflexion which might convey his disdain for such tactics.
    The phone was picked up at the other end of the line. He said with perfect clarity, ‘The River Wye is a beautiful river.’
    He heard breathing at the other end of the line, but no words of acknowledgement came back to him. There was a clink, which might have been glass, or might have been something else entirely. Then there was a sharp click, as the phone was replaced and the contact was broken.

Seven
    C arol Smart said, ‘We should really agree what we’re going to say before we talk to them, you know.’
    Her husband was immersed as usual in the morning paper. Philip Smart said absently, ‘Yes, I suppose we should.’ Then what she had said got through to his brain and he looked up at her over the top of his
Telegraph
. ‘Why do you say that?’
    Carol turned away from him, fiddling with the flex of the toaster, trying to sound casual. ‘I don’t know, really. I was just thinking that neither of us is used to dealing with the police. So it would be sensible for us to be careful about it, wouldn’t it?’
    Philip laid his paper down on the table and looked at her seriously. ‘Got things to hide from the fuzz, have you, darling?’ He decided that he would tease her a little about this. Too often the boot was on the other foot in their marital dealings, with him defending himself after some sexual peccadillo. No sense of proportion, women. Well, wives, anyway.
    â€˜Of course I haven’t got things to hide!’ She had come in too vehemently. She realized that immediately. What chance was she going to have with the police, if she couldn’t even carry things off with Phil? ‘If you’re not going to be serious, there’s no point in us talking about this.’
    Phil thought how attractive Carol was when she was a little flushed. She was eight years younger than him, pleasantly plump rather than running to fat. She looked to him wholly bedworthy this morning in the pink blouse and filmy scarf she had adopted for the police. Sometimes, as in moments of sudden tenderness like this, Philip Smart knew what a fool he was for playing the field as he did.
    He said a little ponderously, ‘But I
am
serious. Perfectly serious, my dear. Each of us is quite innocent in this, so neither of us has anything to worry about, surely? Unless you’re about to tell me that you slung a cord around Robin’s neck and throttled the life out of him!’ Phil laughed, knowing that was in bad taste. He never meant to show bad taste, but his tongue often ran away with him.
    â€˜How do you know that he died like that?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I was talking to Ron Lennox and Lisa this morning, whilst we were all still so shocked. When all those police cars were around. One of them must have told me. I expect Ally Durkin’s sister must have told them: I think they’d been talking to her before I spoke to them. What a funny question to ask me, Carol Smart!’
    He used her full name when he was trying to make jokes with her, as if by invoking that formula he could go back to the early, happy days of their marriage. She brushed a strand of fair hair which had fallen across her face angrily away, as if like him it was trying to divert her. ‘It’s not a funny question at all! It’s the kind of question the police will ask, isn’t it? They wouldn’t have asked us to put off going on to work if they didn’t think we were important, would they? You’re very naïve at times, Phil.’
    â€˜I don’t believe