said, ‘I have to ask you a few questions, Amy. So that we can get on with the business of finding out who did this to him, you see.’ And so that I can officially eliminate you from the enquiry and leave you to your grief.
She nodded, turning her ravaged face directly towards him for the first time. ‘He was giving you information, wasn’t he? We never mentioned it, and he thought I knew nothing about it. But I knew.’
‘I think he was, yes. But not to me. It was Superintendent Lambert he used to speak to.’
‘Good man, he is. His wife taught my children, you know.’ Bert’s experience of bereavements made him used to such inconsequential statements. They were sometimes the first steps towards an accommodation with the world which had to go on.
‘Did Charlie come home yesterday evening?’
‘Yes. He had his meal here. We watched Coronation Street before he went out.’ She sounded surprised that he should not know such things.
‘So he left here at about eight.’
‘Yes. Perhaps just after eight. He said he was just going to the local pub in the village.’ Her face clouded with pain, whether at the deception or the thought that he might have been safe there he could not tell. ‘He took the van. He wouldn’t have done that to go down to the village.’
‘We found his van, Amy. Near where he was found in Gloucester. He seems to have gone to a pub there. Have you any idea why he would have gone there rather than to the village?’
She thought for a minute. Her round face was distorted by grief, her eyes hollowed and sore with crying, but her forehead wrinkled now like a child’s, as if she was showing him the honesty of her mental effort. ‘No. I don’t think it was anything to do with the business. He’s gone independent now, you know, with his joinery building work.’ She produced the familiar phrase with a little flash of pride, then realized that the present tense would never again be appropriate for it. The tears they both hoped had finished gushed anew down the cheeks that were sore with their passage.
Hook said, ‘And when did you expect him back, Amy?’
‘About ten, or half past. But I didn’t worry until after eleven. I thought he’d just got talking to his pals and stayed on.’ She smiled bleakly. Even the weaknesses of a loved one became attractive with his passing.
Bert put the key question as gently as he could. ‘But you didn’t report him missing until this morning, Amy. Why was that?’
She did not seem to feel threatened. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I just didn’t think anything horrible could happen to him. I went to bed eventually, sometime after twelve. I just thought he’d come creeping up to bed at some point during the night.’ Again that picture seemed to give her a little painful pleasure.
‘You didn’t think he might be in danger?’
‘No. Not at first, anyway. I was more worried when I looked out for him about midnight and saw the van was missing.’
‘But you didn’t give the station a ring, even then.’ He looked at the telephone on the sideboard in the corner of the room, and she caught his glance and followed it.
‘No. I — I didn’t know who he’d gone to see, did I?’
Hook nodded, understanding the whole world of the Peggs’ existence which lay beneath those simple words. Charlie was a jailbird, branded as such forever in police eyes, even if his reformation had been achieved a long time ago now. And the process was two-way: he would never quite trust the police, and neither would his wife. There was a reluctance in Amy to associate with the forces which had put Charlie away all those years ago, even though it was she who had insisted that he should not transgress again. The instinctive fear of the police was the rule rather than the exception in Charlie Pegg’s world.
‘Can you think of anyone who would have wished to harm your husband, Amy?’
‘No. Would it be someone he was — was grassing on?’ She brought out the word
She nodded, turning her ravaged face directly towards him for the first time. ‘He was giving you information, wasn’t he? We never mentioned it, and he thought I knew nothing about it. But I knew.’
‘I think he was, yes. But not to me. It was Superintendent Lambert he used to speak to.’
‘Good man, he is. His wife taught my children, you know.’ Bert’s experience of bereavements made him used to such inconsequential statements. They were sometimes the first steps towards an accommodation with the world which had to go on.
‘Did Charlie come home yesterday evening?’
‘Yes. He had his meal here. We watched Coronation Street before he went out.’ She sounded surprised that he should not know such things.
‘So he left here at about eight.’
‘Yes. Perhaps just after eight. He said he was just going to the local pub in the village.’ Her face clouded with pain, whether at the deception or the thought that he might have been safe there he could not tell. ‘He took the van. He wouldn’t have done that to go down to the village.’
‘We found his van, Amy. Near where he was found in Gloucester. He seems to have gone to a pub there. Have you any idea why he would have gone there rather than to the village?’
She thought for a minute. Her round face was distorted by grief, her eyes hollowed and sore with crying, but her forehead wrinkled now like a child’s, as if she was showing him the honesty of her mental effort. ‘No. I don’t think it was anything to do with the business. He’s gone independent now, you know, with his joinery building work.’ She produced the familiar phrase with a little flash of pride, then realized that the present tense would never again be appropriate for it. The tears they both hoped had finished gushed anew down the cheeks that were sore with their passage.
Hook said, ‘And when did you expect him back, Amy?’
‘About ten, or half past. But I didn’t worry until after eleven. I thought he’d just got talking to his pals and stayed on.’ She smiled bleakly. Even the weaknesses of a loved one became attractive with his passing.
Bert put the key question as gently as he could. ‘But you didn’t report him missing until this morning, Amy. Why was that?’
She did not seem to feel threatened. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I just didn’t think anything horrible could happen to him. I went to bed eventually, sometime after twelve. I just thought he’d come creeping up to bed at some point during the night.’ Again that picture seemed to give her a little painful pleasure.
‘You didn’t think he might be in danger?’
‘No. Not at first, anyway. I was more worried when I looked out for him about midnight and saw the van was missing.’
‘But you didn’t give the station a ring, even then.’ He looked at the telephone on the sideboard in the corner of the room, and she caught his glance and followed it.
‘No. I — I didn’t know who he’d gone to see, did I?’
Hook nodded, understanding the whole world of the Peggs’ existence which lay beneath those simple words. Charlie was a jailbird, branded as such forever in police eyes, even if his reformation had been achieved a long time ago now. And the process was two-way: he would never quite trust the police, and neither would his wife. There was a reluctance in Amy to associate with the forces which had put Charlie away all those years ago, even though it was she who had insisted that he should not transgress again. The instinctive fear of the police was the rule rather than the exception in Charlie Pegg’s world.
‘Can you think of anyone who would have wished to harm your husband, Amy?’
‘No. Would it be someone he was — was grassing on?’ She brought out the word
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