A Clubbable Woman

It was, after all, Sunday.

‘Sorry to get you out of bed, Mrs Fernie,’ said Detective-Constable Edwards.

‘Don’t apologize,’ interjected Fernie. ‘I told her this might happen last night.’

‘Last night? Why was that, Mr Fernie?’

‘Well, I happened to notice your cars pull up outside Connon’s house …’

‘Happened to notice!’ sneered Alice Fernie, pulling her nylon housecoat closer round her. ‘You must have been stood at that window for half an hour or more.’

Fernie started to reply but the constable interrupted them.

‘The important point to ask both of you is, did you notice anything earlier on?’

‘Anything? What kind of thing? How much earlier?’ asked Alice.

‘Anything at all concerned with the Connons or their house. Any time yesterday.’

‘Well, no. I was over there in the afternoon …’

‘Over there?’ The constable leaned forward.

‘Did you know the Connons well, then?’

‘Mary Connon, I know – knew her very well. We were friends,’ said Alice; then, ‘We were friends,’ she repeated softly to herself, as though the import of the comment was just beginning to sink in.

‘And how did Mrs Connon seem to you then?’

‘Oh fine, fine. Just the same as ever. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Did she say anything that struck you as unusual?’

‘No.’

‘Were there any phone calls? Any callers?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘Shortly after four. I don’t know exactly. I came back to get Dave’s tea ready.’

‘What were Mrs Connon’s last words?’

‘Last words?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound … what did Mrs Connon say as you left?’

‘Well, nothing really. Cheerio. And something about getting Mr Connon’s tea ready, if he got home in time for it.’

‘What did she mean by that?’

‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘I’m not sure …’

‘Come off it, Alice,’ said Fernie. ‘She meant that if he didn’t get home on time he’d get his own tea. She was a stickler for that, you’ve often told me. And he didn’t get home on time either.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw him. About half past six. And I’ll tell you something else.’

‘Dave!’ said Alice with real annoyance in her voice.

‘What’s that?’

‘He was drunk. Could hardly stand.’

The constable scribbled assiduously in his notebook.

‘You’re certain of that?’

‘Dave!’ said his wife again.

‘Oh yes,’ said Fernie, looking at his wife. She ignored his glance.

‘If you’re finished with me, I think I’ll go back to bed,’ said Alice, standing up so that her housecoat fell open revealing her thin nightdress.

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Fernie,’ said Edwards. ‘You’ve been most helpful. We might want to see you again.’

‘I’ll be ready.’

She went out, leaving the constable smiling and her husband scowling.

‘Now, Mr Fernie. What exactly happened when you met Mr Connon last night?’

‘So that’s all you can tell me, Mr Connon?’

‘That’s right, Superintendent.’

‘You got home about half past six. How positive is that time?’

‘I don’t know. Pretty approximate.’

‘That’s a help. You say the television was on when you stuck your head into the lounge?’

‘That’s right. I see what you mean. There was some variety show. Dancers, girls, not much on. Dancing behind a singer. Big youth, rather Italianate, singing something about flowers.’

Dalziel smiled sardonically.