‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Julian. But did you murder her?’
‘Of course not.’ Reed stared at his wife in disbelief before switching his glance to me. ‘She knew all about Sharon,’ he said. ‘I told Muriel everything. She knew where I’d been.’
Despite what Muriel Reed had said previously – that she rather liked having Julian around – I detected a distinct lack of warmth in the relationship. And I’d noticed that neither Julian nor Muriel ever used terms of endearment when speaking to each other.
‘Your wife has just told us that you and she were at a swingers’ party in Dorking the night that Sharon was murdered, Mr Reed,’ I said.
There was but a moment’s hesitation before Reed clutched at the lifeline that had been extended to him by his wife. ‘Yes, we were.’
‘We both enjoy having sex with other people, Chief Inspector,’ said Muriel, clearly relieved that her husband had confirmed her story. ‘It livens up our own sex lives. Julian is always on the lookout for an attractive and willing girl and I simply love getting laid by a younger virile man.’ She lifted her chin as if defying me to criticize her behaviour. ‘I suppose I’m what you might call a cougar.’
Once again I was surprised at the woman’s willingness to discuss her sex life quite openly with a complete stranger. But I also got the impression that Muriel Reed now found herself in a corner and was trying desperately to find a way out of it.
‘I thought you preferred playing tennis, Muriel,’ said Reed sarcastically, continuing to stand up to his wife. He looked at me. ‘She’s got a wicked forearm smash, Chief Inspector.’ He paused before adding what, for him, was an unusually subtle remark. ‘Especially when she’s playing with new balls.’
‘I think that’s all for the time being,’ I said. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’ I decided that Julian Reed would have to be questioned further, but not in the presence of his wife.
Dave and I hadn’t reached the front door before we heard a monumental screaming match breaking out between Julian and Muriel Reed.
On the way back to the office, I mulled over the claim by Muriel Reed that she and her husband had been to the Dorking swingers’ party with friends. But despite her candid admission as to what she was doing there, I was intrigued that she refused to tell us who the friends were. She must’ve known that it would be simplicity itself to discover their identity. More to the point, she probably feared that they would not support her story.
When we arrived at ESB, I asked Dave to come into the office.
‘Give the Simpsons a call, Dave, and persuade them to shed some light on the identity of the people who Muriel Reed claims that she and Julian met there on the twenty-ninth of July.’
‘Are the Simpsons likely to know the names of these people, guv? I got the impression that anyone could turn up there and use any name they liked.’
‘Yes, I realize all that, but they might’ve heard one of the Reeds use their names.’
Dave did not seem at all enamoured of the idea, and probably wondered whether discovering the Reeds’ friends identity would help our investigation.
‘But we’ve got Julian Reed bang to rights, sir.’
‘Maybe,’ I said pensively, ‘but it’s the only way to break his alibi. I can already hear defence counsel asking if we’d identified these other people, and if not why not. They might’ve been more than just swinging partners; they could be implicated.’
With a certain element of bad grace, Dave retired to the incident room to make the call.
Fifteen minutes later he was back.
‘You were right, guv,’ he said, somewhat grudgingly. ‘The Reeds weren’t there at all.’
‘How did you get that out of them, Dave?’
‘I spoke to James Simpson. He wasn’t very forthcoming to start with until I threw in a few threats about conspiracy, perjury and perverting the course of justice. I also explained the penalties that went with them, and hinted that if peers of the realm and MPs could get done for it, he stood no chance.’
‘And I presume that had the desired effect, Dave?’
‘Oh yes.’ Dave laughed. ‘He couldn’t admit fast enough that on reflection he didn’t think that Julian and Muriel Reed were there that night. He said it was a much younger couple who came in the Lexus, and that the man paid by credit card. His name is Adrian Curtis, and Simpson described the woman as being in her early twenties with a good figure and short blonde hair. I got Adrian Curtis’s address from the credit card company and he lives in Effingham, eight miles from Dorking.’