I Can’t Explain

For the third time in as many weeks, Brian faced Gordon Struthers across a table. Only this time the table was bolted to the floor.

He ran through the formalities for the tape: date, officers present – Sharon was at the hospital, so he’d been paired with Douglas Dunn.

He served the caution. Then, in the awkward silence that followed, mentally ran through the interview plan they’d agreed beforehand. After the couple of black marks he’d earned from the boss, he’d have to run this one by the book.

‘Tell me about your marriage,’ he began.

‘I answered that at our last meeting.’ Gordon Struthers’ eyes darted to his solicitor, who nodded imperceptibly. Then he looked back at Brian.

Brian smiled. ‘Humour me.’

‘As I already informed you,’ Struthers said stiffly, ‘our marriage has not been without its…’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Difficulties.’

‘Minor difficulties, I think you described them.’

‘That is correct.’

‘And might these “minor difficulties” extend to the bedroom?’ Brian fished.

Startled face. ‘Sex, do you mean?’

‘I do.’

‘That’s hardly relevant.’

‘In your situation, Mr Struthers,’ Brian replied, ‘it is incumbent on me as interviewing officer to decide what is relevant and what is not.’

Struthers stole another look at his solicitor, who sat impassive. ‘Our sexual interaction has always been healthy. More than that. Robust, I’d say.’ He gave a satisfied smirk.

Christ. Brian wondered if their sex life was as clinical. ‘So can you explain to me, please, the pornographic images we found on your computer?’

Behind the spectacles, Struthers’ eyes widened. His gaze flickered from Brian to Dunn to his solicitor and back to Brian.

‘Lots of men look at porn,’ he said, at last, his tone defiant.

‘Domination? Degradation?’ Brian interjected. ‘I don’t think so.’ He consulted his notes. ‘You’ve told me there are no difficulties in that department. Sex, I mean.’

Gordon’s lips pursed. ‘That’s not what I said. If I must spell it out,’ he broke off, a look of distaste on his pasty face. ‘Sheena – my wife – is at an age where there is a certain dryness in the vaginal walls. Discomfort on penetration. Need I elaborate?’

Brian shook his head. ‘Have you looked for…’ He hesitated. ‘Comfort elsewhere? Other than online,’ he added, for wickedness.

Gordon Struthers sat upright. ‘Certainly not, Sergeant. My wife and I are devoted to one another. As you’re no doubt aware, we’ve been married for over twenty years.’

The two detectives exchanged a glance. That would square with Dunn’s report. Brian moved swiftly on. ‘So, other than the “minor difficulties” you’ve described, you would have no grounds on which to wish your wife harm?’

‘Of course not.’

‘We believe otherwise,’ Brian said quietly. He fixed Struthers with a steely look. ‘Now is your opportunity to tell us the truth.’

From Gordon Struthers there was an obdurate silence.

‘Moving on.’ Douglas took over. ‘Your home, am I correct in saying it’s in your wife’s name?’

Behind the horn-rimmed spectacles Struthers’ eyes bulged. ‘I…’ He looked up at the camera. ‘I…’ He looked down again.

‘Answer the question, please.’

‘Yes. But that’s not unusual.’ Gordon Struthers looked to the lawyer for reassurance. ‘Not in my profession anyhow. It’s a question of tax planning.’

‘Ah.’ Douglas nodded sagely. ‘And talking of tax planning…’ He let this hang in the air. ‘When our technical department examined your laptop computer, they threw up a number of loan applications.’

Behind his spectacles, Struthers blinked. ‘What of it?’

‘I understand you may be liable for your – sadly – late partner’s equity payout.’

‘I’ve long made provision for that,’ Struthers snapped.

‘My apologies, sir.’ Brian assumed his fall-back expression. ‘And sincere condolences.’ He allowed a respectful interval, then: ‘The loan applications?’

‘Were made by me on behalf of…’ Struthers loosed the knot of his tie. ‘Another party.’

Gotcha! Brian’s nerve-endings tingled.

‘Would you be happy to divulge this person’s identity?’

‘Indeed. My godson. I’m assisting him with a business venture.’ Gordon Struthers offered a knowing smirk. ‘He’ll happily confirm the details.’

‘Right.’ Brian slumped back in his seat, deflated.

‘If that’s all,’ the solicitor intervened. ‘These are spurious grounds for detaining my client. For the record,’ he cast a scathing glance at the camera, ‘I intend to file a complaint.’

‘There is just one more thing,’ Douglas jumped in. ‘When we had a look at your search history, in addition to the distasteful pornographic images you,’ he looked Gordon Struthers straight in the eye, ‘appear to consider normal, it threw up some additional surprising results.’

He flipped open a folder, lifted the topmost sheet of paper, turned it around and slid it across the table. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

The man sitting opposite ran his eyes down the data. He looked up, first at Douglas, then at the camera, then at his solicitor and back to Douglas. He seemed to shrivel in his seat. Behind the round spectacles, the blue eyes blinked an SOS.

The words, when they came, were scarce more than a whisper. ‘I can’t explain.’