Mourn not your Dead

it might have happened.” Deveney nodded, not bothering to excuse him. “You get slow in CID. You lose your edge. You spend too much time writing bloody reports, sitting on your backside at a desk.”
    “I don’t think you’ll find that David Ogilvie’s gone soft at all,” said Kincaid.
     
    OGILVIE LOOKED NONE THE WORSE FOR WEAR, HE’D HUNG his anorak neatly over the back of his chair, and his white cotton shirt looked as crisp as if it had just come from the laundry. He smiled at Kincaid and Deveney as they came in and sat opposite him. “This should be an interesting experience,” he said as Deveney turned on the tape recorder.
    “I should think you’re about to have quite a few new experiences,” said Kincaid, “including a very long stay in one of Her Majesty’s finer accommodations.”
    “I’ve been intending to catch up on my reading,” countered Ogilvie. “And I have an exceptionally good solicitor, who is on his way here, by the way. I could refuse to say anything until he arrives.”
    And why doesn’t he? Kincaid wondered as he tried to read the expression in Ogilvie’s dark eyes. David Ogilvie was highly intelligent as well as experienced in the rules of interviews. Did he want to talk, perhaps even need to talk?
    Kincaid cast a warning glance at Nick Deveney—this was definitely an occasion when aggression wouldn’t get them anywhere. “Tell us about Claire,” he said to Ogilvie, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.
    “Have you any idea how lovely she was ten years ago? I could never fathom what she saw in him.” Ogilvie sounded incredulous, as if the years had not dimmed his amazement. “It can’t have been sex—she always came to me starved, and I think she must have kept up her ice-queen façade until after they were married. Maybe she sensed that was what he wanted... I don’t know.”
    So that had been the way of it, thought Kincaid. “I take it he didn’t know she was sleeping with you?”
    Ogilvie shook his head. “I certainly didn’t tell him.”
    “Not even after she told you she meant to marry him?”
    “Don’t insult me, Superintendent. I’d not stoop to that.”
    “Even though it might have botched things for Gilbert?”
    “To what end? Claire would have despised me for betraying her. And I think by that time he was so determined to have her that it wouldn’t have stopped him. She was his porcelain prize, to be shown off as his latest accomplishment. The phrase ‘trophy wife’ might have been invented for Gilbert and Claire, but he underestimated her. I’ve often wondered how long it took for him to realize he’d got a real person.” Ogilvie’s face had relaxed as he talked about Claire, and for the first time Kincaid could imagine what she might have seen in him.
    “You had no contact with her?”
    “Not until tonight.” Ogilvie sipped from the cup of water on the table.
    Kincaid sat forwards, hands on the table. “What evidence did Gilbert have against you?”
    “Trying to take me by surprise, Superintendent?” The mocking wariness returned to Ogilvie’s mouth. “I think that’s something I’d prefer to discuss with my solicitor.”
    “And the nature of the activities in which you were involved?”
    “That as well.”
    “Jackie Temple believed you were taking protection money from the big-time drug dealers. Is that why you had her killed?”
    “I told you before. I had nothing to do with PC Temple’s death, and that’s all I intend to say on the matter.” Ogilvie’s mouth was set in a stubborn line.
    Deveney moved restively in his chair. “Tell us about the day Commander Gilbert died,” he said. “What happened after you went to the bank?”
    “The bank?” Ogilvie repeated, sounding unsure of himself for the first time.
    Sweat, goddammit, thought Kincaid, and smiled at him. “The bank. The bank where you conned the manager into letting you see Claire’s file.”
    “How in bloody hell…” Ogilvie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.” He sipped at his water again and seemed to collect himself before continuing. “The problem with following Claire was that I couldn’t take a chance on her recognizing me, so I could never get too close. I’d seen her make stops at that bank several times, and I knew they did their personal banking at the Midlands in Guildford. For all I knew she was simply running errands for Gilbert’s mother, but I noticed that she always came from work and returned there, and