Cobweb by Margaret Duffy Page A

Gillard,’ she said – a statement of fact, not a question.
    Patrick inclined his head slightly by way of response and then said, ‘This is my assistant, Miss Langley, who, if you have no objection, will take notes.’
    â€˜Your sergeant?’ queried Mrs Giddings, giving me a hard look.
    â€˜No. SOCA personnel don’t necessarily have police rank. Miss Langley is a civilian.’
    She smiled coolly. ‘That’s fine. I just like to know exactly who is in my house. Do sit down.’
    We all sat, Honor Giddings perching herself on the edge of a sofa, and I took out my notebook and without staring at her wrote a short description of her, in shorthand in case anyone tried to read over my shoulder, in other words to enable me to be as rude as I wished. But I had to be honest and admit that she did not fit the mental image I had built up. Even keeping in mind that she had just lost her husband in ghastly circumstances, here was not the gaunt and tight-lipped harpy staring from the pages of the newspapers. Perhaps she just came out very badly in photographs. Wearing a very well-tailored black trouser suit with a white blouse relieved at the neck by a pale-pink silk scarf she looked every inch the professional woman, her dark shoulder-length hair glossy, her complexion fine and clear.
    Patrick offered her our condolences and she thanked him.
    â€˜I do realize that you’ve been interviewed already,’ he continued.
    â€˜This is the third time, actually,’ Honor Giddings drawled. ‘First by someone by the name of Harmsworth, then I think by an Inspector White – or was it Gray? – who arrived with a girl with red hair, and now you. No, there was someone else – a man who said he was from a department of Special Branch whom I found rather objectionable. It’s been a real circus, actually.’ The reproof was there.
    â€˜I’m only here because, tragically, the first two officers you mentioned are no longer with us,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘But, obviously, you’ve had other things on your mind.’
    â€˜You mean they’re
dead
?’
    He nodded slowly. ‘It would
appear
that Detective Chief Inspector Harmsworth was involved in an accident, but Detective Inspector Gray was murdered last week in similar fashion to your husband. My job is to discover if there’s a connection and ensure that no other police officers’ lives are at risk.’
    â€˜But that’s awful. Surely—’
    Patrick interrupted her with, ‘Had your husband ever met either of them, do you know? Had he – and I’m sorry to have to ask this – been in any kind of trouble with the law that might have resulted in a visit from the local police? A traffic offence, perhaps?’
    I found myself impressed that the lady did not get on her high horse. She reflected for a few moments and then said, ‘I think he had a few points on his licence, but everyone does these days, don’t they? There’s nothing else that I can think of.’
    â€˜Could he have met them socially? Was he a Mason?’
    Patrick told me afterwards that Gray had been, Harmsworth not.
    â€˜No. But he belonged to the local Round Table. And it’s perfectly possible that he could have met them at a constituency do. But I must point out that he had very little time for that kind of thing, what with being on committees and so forth. I simply can’t believe that there was any kind of real
connection
between my husband and these men.’
    â€˜I understand he was due home quite early that night as you were giving a dinner party.’
    â€˜That’s right. Just us and a few friends.’
    â€˜At what time were you expecting him?’
    â€˜Somewhere between six thirty and seven, but it was just an informal affair. There were no important debates that night. Our entertaining has – had – to be on the impromptu side, as I never knew when he