on an upright chair opposite him.
‘Now, Mrs Davison,’ he intoned, ‘what is it you want to tell me?’
‘Nothing,’ she whimpered. ‘I thought you’d come to tell me about Reg…Mr Davison.’
‘Tell you what about him?’
‘I don’t know… That you’d found him…’
‘No, Mrs Davison. I’m just making routine enquiries of all owners of blue Volvos. You may have read about it in the papers. We’re trying to trace one that was involved in a hit-and-run accident several weeks ago. I think you’d better start at the beginning. Why should we have found Mr Davison?’
She looked confused. ‘He…he didn’t come home last night,’ she stammered.
‘I see. Has this ever happened before?’
‘No. He often works away; he’s a sales managerand has to stay overnight sometimes, but he always lets me know.’
‘Have you reported him missing?’
Mrs Davison shook her head. ‘No. I thought he was doing it to hurt me. Things have been…strained between us these last few weeks.’
‘Strained? In what way?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s hard to say. He’s seemed so touchy lately. It’s his job; he has a lot of responsibility.’
‘I see.’ The PC was enjoying this. He was amazed how compassionate and responsible his own voice sounded, and Mrs Davison did have rather shapely legs. ‘When did you last see your husband?’ he continued.
‘Yesterday morning. Tuesdays I have an evening class in word processing; I have a part-time secretarial job but I’d like to try for something a bit more permanent. I left Reg a meal ready to warm in the microwave, like I usually do, but he never came home for it.’
‘What frame of mind was he in when you saw him last?’
‘Annoyed. We were arguing. He stormed out in a mood.’
‘Right. Well, my guess is that he’s just cooling down somewhere and will come back when he’s ready. You can formally report him as missing, but I have to tell you that the police will take littleaction. I’m afraid the law regards it as a person’s privilege to go wandering off if they so wish. As there is no suspicion of a crime, our hands are tied.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ she sniffed.
‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon,’ he added comfortingly, as he watched her uncross her legs. ‘Now, about the car. I presume your husband does still own a blue Volvo?’
‘Yes, well, it’s the company’s.’
‘I see. And he’s taken it with him?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Does he normally keep it in the garage?’
‘No, out on the drive.’
‘Right. In that case I will have to call back in a few days to see Mr Davison, presuming he returns home.’ And if he hadn’t? Well, in that case she’d need a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, wouldn’t she? He’d always fancied older women.
The PC got to his feet and started towards the door. He was hoping that he would be offered a cup of tea, but perhaps the circumstances were too fraught for that. Next time, perhaps. He hesitated, trying to second-guess the sergeant he would have to answer to when he returned to the station after a fruitless mission.
‘Have you checked to see if the car is in the garage, Mrs Davison?’ he asked, after a rare burst of inspiration.
‘Why, no.’
‘In that case, do you mind if I have a look now?’
‘If you insist, but I can’t imagine Reg putting it away and then going off somewhere – he drives everywhere.’ She took a key from a hook just inside the kitchen door and handed it to him. ‘This fits the side door. Just leave it in the lock when you’ve finished.’
The side door to the garage evidently wasn’t used much. It was seized with paint, and some gardening tools were leaning on the inside of it. He pushed and the tools fell over as the door creaked open and the evening sunlight spilt in.
The blue Volvo was there. So too was Reg Davison. He was hanging from a roof joist by a length of electric flex. It had bitten so deep into his flabby neck that the skin
‘Now, Mrs Davison,’ he intoned, ‘what is it you want to tell me?’
‘Nothing,’ she whimpered. ‘I thought you’d come to tell me about Reg…Mr Davison.’
‘Tell you what about him?’
‘I don’t know… That you’d found him…’
‘No, Mrs Davison. I’m just making routine enquiries of all owners of blue Volvos. You may have read about it in the papers. We’re trying to trace one that was involved in a hit-and-run accident several weeks ago. I think you’d better start at the beginning. Why should we have found Mr Davison?’
She looked confused. ‘He…he didn’t come home last night,’ she stammered.
‘I see. Has this ever happened before?’
‘No. He often works away; he’s a sales managerand has to stay overnight sometimes, but he always lets me know.’
‘Have you reported him missing?’
Mrs Davison shook her head. ‘No. I thought he was doing it to hurt me. Things have been…strained between us these last few weeks.’
‘Strained? In what way?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s hard to say. He’s seemed so touchy lately. It’s his job; he has a lot of responsibility.’
‘I see.’ The PC was enjoying this. He was amazed how compassionate and responsible his own voice sounded, and Mrs Davison did have rather shapely legs. ‘When did you last see your husband?’ he continued.
‘Yesterday morning. Tuesdays I have an evening class in word processing; I have a part-time secretarial job but I’d like to try for something a bit more permanent. I left Reg a meal ready to warm in the microwave, like I usually do, but he never came home for it.’
‘What frame of mind was he in when you saw him last?’
‘Annoyed. We were arguing. He stormed out in a mood.’
‘Right. Well, my guess is that he’s just cooling down somewhere and will come back when he’s ready. You can formally report him as missing, but I have to tell you that the police will take littleaction. I’m afraid the law regards it as a person’s privilege to go wandering off if they so wish. As there is no suspicion of a crime, our hands are tied.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ she sniffed.
‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon,’ he added comfortingly, as he watched her uncross her legs. ‘Now, about the car. I presume your husband does still own a blue Volvo?’
‘Yes, well, it’s the company’s.’
‘I see. And he’s taken it with him?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Does he normally keep it in the garage?’
‘No, out on the drive.’
‘Right. In that case I will have to call back in a few days to see Mr Davison, presuming he returns home.’ And if he hadn’t? Well, in that case she’d need a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, wouldn’t she? He’d always fancied older women.
The PC got to his feet and started towards the door. He was hoping that he would be offered a cup of tea, but perhaps the circumstances were too fraught for that. Next time, perhaps. He hesitated, trying to second-guess the sergeant he would have to answer to when he returned to the station after a fruitless mission.
‘Have you checked to see if the car is in the garage, Mrs Davison?’ he asked, after a rare burst of inspiration.
‘Why, no.’
‘In that case, do you mind if I have a look now?’
‘If you insist, but I can’t imagine Reg putting it away and then going off somewhere – he drives everywhere.’ She took a key from a hook just inside the kitchen door and handed it to him. ‘This fits the side door. Just leave it in the lock when you’ve finished.’
The side door to the garage evidently wasn’t used much. It was seized with paint, and some gardening tools were leaning on the inside of it. He pushed and the tools fell over as the door creaked open and the evening sunlight spilt in.
The blue Volvo was there. So too was Reg Davison. He was hanging from a roof joist by a length of electric flex. It had bitten so deep into his flabby neck that the skin
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