three.
‘Mr Priest,’ Turner began. ‘My client strenuously denies these charges. We suggest that if you have any evidence then you present it so we can refute it. Otherwise, you must let him go. The word of a woman with a known reputation for sleeping around who is disappointed at my client’s lack of commitment towards her is hardly grounds for making such serious allegations.’
So that was it. Straight out with the big guns. Maggie’s chin was resting on her arms, folded acrossher bosom. A muscle in her cheek was twitching.
‘Tell me about Christmas Eve,’ I said.
‘What’s to tell?’ Buxton replied. ‘I took her home and we had it away. That’s all. She consented to everything that took place.’
‘Who do we mean by she?’
‘Janet, the barmaid at the Tap and Spile.’
‘How well did you know her?’
‘Only to talk to, up to then.’
‘What did you talk about?’ I invited.
He took a few breaths, sorting his thoughts, wondering how much he ought to say. Turner was sitting askew, facing him, rotating a pencil in his fingers, ready to pounce should Buxton overstep the mark and give too much away.
‘We’d chatted, that’s all. I could tell she fancied me, but, to tell the troof, she wasn’t my sort. I knew she’d been about a bit …’
‘How did you know that?’ I asked.
‘It’s common knowledge. The landlord of the Tap was knocking her off, for one.’
I felt Maggie flinch. ‘Anybody else?’
‘Well, no, no one I could name.’
Turner chipped in with: ‘My client already said it was common knowledge, Inspector.’
‘We don’t accept common knowledge in any court I’ve ever attended, Mr Turner,’ I told him, tersely. ‘Let’s stay with the so-called facts, however fanciful. Go on, please.’
Buxton said: ‘I bought her a couple of drinks. Like I said, I didn’t fancy her, but any port in a storm, eh? I’d had a few myself and she was getting better all the time. Know what I mean? So I asked her if she wanted a lift home.’
‘And she accepted?’
‘No, not exactly. She didn’t want it to look obvious. She told me where she lived and said come down in a few minutes, so I did.’
‘Where did she say she lived?’
‘Marsden Road, at the end. There was a light outside, she said.’
‘What number?’
‘She didn’t tell me no number.’
‘That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?’
Turner jumped straight in with: ‘It seems perfectly. sensible to me, Inspector. The street light might be more easily located than the house number.’
‘Perhaps,’ I admitted. ‘We’ll have it checked.’
I sat back and looked at Maggie. She unfolded her arms and placed her fibre-tipped pen neatly on her pad. So far she hadn’t written anything. ‘Tell us what happened when you got there,’ she said.
‘What’s to tell? We had it away, that’s all. Twice.’ ‘Twice?’
‘Yeah,’ he smirked.
‘Before that,’ Maggie said. ‘Didn’t you have a coffee?’ ‘No, we didn’t bovver.’
‘So what happened? You’re not telling me that youand this woman you hardly knew simply took your clothes off and got on with it, are you? There must have been some preliminaries.’
‘Yeah, well, just a few. We had a bit of a snog and suddenly she said she needed a shower. I asked her if she wanted her back scrubbing and she said: “Why not?” So we went upstairs and that’s where we had it the first time.’
‘In the shower?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘How?’
‘How? How d’yer fink?’
‘I’m asking you. Did you have it standing up or lying down? I’m a novice about these things.’
‘Standing up, of course.’
‘Against the wall?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Isn’t that uncomfortable?’
‘Uncomfortable! ’Course not.’
We let the image solidify in our minds for a moment before Maggie took up the questioning again.
‘So where did you have it the second time?’ she asked. ‘On the bed.’
‘On it or in it?’
‘On top of it.’
‘Wasn’t that a bit
‘Mr Priest,’ Turner began. ‘My client strenuously denies these charges. We suggest that if you have any evidence then you present it so we can refute it. Otherwise, you must let him go. The word of a woman with a known reputation for sleeping around who is disappointed at my client’s lack of commitment towards her is hardly grounds for making such serious allegations.’
So that was it. Straight out with the big guns. Maggie’s chin was resting on her arms, folded acrossher bosom. A muscle in her cheek was twitching.
‘Tell me about Christmas Eve,’ I said.
‘What’s to tell?’ Buxton replied. ‘I took her home and we had it away. That’s all. She consented to everything that took place.’
‘Who do we mean by she?’
‘Janet, the barmaid at the Tap and Spile.’
‘How well did you know her?’
‘Only to talk to, up to then.’
‘What did you talk about?’ I invited.
He took a few breaths, sorting his thoughts, wondering how much he ought to say. Turner was sitting askew, facing him, rotating a pencil in his fingers, ready to pounce should Buxton overstep the mark and give too much away.
‘We’d chatted, that’s all. I could tell she fancied me, but, to tell the troof, she wasn’t my sort. I knew she’d been about a bit …’
‘How did you know that?’ I asked.
‘It’s common knowledge. The landlord of the Tap was knocking her off, for one.’
I felt Maggie flinch. ‘Anybody else?’
‘Well, no, no one I could name.’
Turner chipped in with: ‘My client already said it was common knowledge, Inspector.’
‘We don’t accept common knowledge in any court I’ve ever attended, Mr Turner,’ I told him, tersely. ‘Let’s stay with the so-called facts, however fanciful. Go on, please.’
Buxton said: ‘I bought her a couple of drinks. Like I said, I didn’t fancy her, but any port in a storm, eh? I’d had a few myself and she was getting better all the time. Know what I mean? So I asked her if she wanted a lift home.’
‘And she accepted?’
‘No, not exactly. She didn’t want it to look obvious. She told me where she lived and said come down in a few minutes, so I did.’
‘Where did she say she lived?’
‘Marsden Road, at the end. There was a light outside, she said.’
‘What number?’
‘She didn’t tell me no number.’
‘That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?’
Turner jumped straight in with: ‘It seems perfectly. sensible to me, Inspector. The street light might be more easily located than the house number.’
‘Perhaps,’ I admitted. ‘We’ll have it checked.’
I sat back and looked at Maggie. She unfolded her arms and placed her fibre-tipped pen neatly on her pad. So far she hadn’t written anything. ‘Tell us what happened when you got there,’ she said.
‘What’s to tell? We had it away, that’s all. Twice.’ ‘Twice?’
‘Yeah,’ he smirked.
‘Before that,’ Maggie said. ‘Didn’t you have a coffee?’ ‘No, we didn’t bovver.’
‘So what happened? You’re not telling me that youand this woman you hardly knew simply took your clothes off and got on with it, are you? There must have been some preliminaries.’
‘Yeah, well, just a few. We had a bit of a snog and suddenly she said she needed a shower. I asked her if she wanted her back scrubbing and she said: “Why not?” So we went upstairs and that’s where we had it the first time.’
‘In the shower?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘How?’
‘How? How d’yer fink?’
‘I’m asking you. Did you have it standing up or lying down? I’m a novice about these things.’
‘Standing up, of course.’
‘Against the wall?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Isn’t that uncomfortable?’
‘Uncomfortable! ’Course not.’
We let the image solidify in our minds for a moment before Maggie took up the questioning again.
‘So where did you have it the second time?’ she asked. ‘On the bed.’
‘On it or in it?’
‘On top of it.’
‘Wasn’t that a bit
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