‘I’m afraid we can’t entertain singles. It upsets the balance, you see.’
‘We’re police officers from Scotland Yard, madam,’ I said, and gave the woman our names.
‘Oh my God!’ The woman grasped the edge of the door for support, her face blushing scarlet with embarrassment. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong, Officer.’
‘I think it might be a good idea if we were to come inside, madam,’ suggested Dave.
‘Yes, yes, of course. Come in. I’ll fetch my husband. I think it would be better if you spoke to him. Oh dear! I don’t know what he’ll say. I suppose we’ll have to cancel.’
We entered the hall just in time to see a naked man rush out of a room, slam the door and run up the stairs.
‘Was that your husband?’ asked Dave.
‘No, of course not. I’ve no idea who that was.’ Mrs Simpson started to cross the hall. ‘I’ll fetch Jimmy now.’
But she had not gone more than a couple of paces when another man emerged from a different room. He too was in his sixties, but was fully dressed in red trousers, a short-sleeved yellow shirt and sandals.
‘What’s going on, Laura?’ said the man, glaring at Dave and me.
‘These gentlemen are from the police, Jimmy.’
‘Oh Christ!’ said the man. ‘It’s all above board, what we’re doing here. It’s just a bit of fun. All consenting adults and that sort of thing.’
‘Perhaps we’d better start with who you are, sir,’ said Dave with a smile. He had obviously worked out what was happening in this overtly respectable Surrey house and had difficulty in suppressing his amusement.
‘I’m James Simpson and this is my wife Laura.’
‘And what exactly is this bit of fun that you host here?’
‘Well, it’s a sort of club for couples,’ said Simpson hesitantly. ‘We provide an opportunity for like-minded people to meet others with similar interests and to get to know them.’ But he didn’t sound at all convincing.
‘With no clothes on presumably?’ queried Dave mischievously. ‘Or is dress optional?’
‘I really don’t know what you mean,’ protested Simpson, blinking at Dave through finger-marked spectacles and tweaking at his toothbrush moustache.
‘Unless my eyes deceived me,’ continued Dave, ‘I saw a naked man legging it upstairs just now.’
‘You’ll have to tell them, Jimmy,’ said Laura Simpson, resigned to what she believed would be a prosecution and a heavy fine. If not worse.
‘It’s not illegal,’ said Simpson, trying desperately to avoid what he too believed to be his imminent arrest. And doubtless wondering what the neighbours would think if they saw him and his wife being escorted from their house in handcuffs. ‘It’s all very discreet.’
I decided to put Simpson on the spot. ‘You’re running a club for swingers, aren’t you? And not licensed by the local authority, I imagine.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Simpson quietly, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
‘Well, we’re not here about that,’ I said.
‘You’re not?’ Simpson greeted that statement with obvious relief. ‘What then?’
‘Not unless the neighbours complain, but that would be a matter for the Surrey Police and the council,’ I said. ‘I’m investigating a double murder.’
‘Murder!’ exclaimed Laura Simpson, gasping and putting a hand to her mouth, convinced that their already precarious situation was getting even worse. ‘Not here, surely?’
‘No, Mrs Simpson, not here, but I need to know if a Mrs Muriel Reed was here last Monday evening. That was the twenty-ninth of July.’ I deliberately didn’t mention Julian Reed; I still had reservations about the story that his wife had told.
‘I’m afraid our clients’ names are confidential, Chief Inspector,’ said Simpson, regaining some of his pomposity now that he believed himself to be in the clear.
‘Are you a medical practitioner, a lawyer, or a clerk in holy orders?’ Dave inclined his head, giving the impression that he was genuinely interested in Simpson’s reply.
‘No, of course not. I’m a retired bank officer. Why d’you ask?’
‘In that case, you can’t claim that such information is privileged. Of course, we could get the local police to obtain a warrant and seize your records, if you have any. And there’s no telling what else they may find. Or for that matter what interest Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs may take in your activities. You do pay tax on your enterprise, I imagine?’