pikestaff that as his mother had said he had been driven to it. With the right judge and jury he would get only a very light sentence. In his better moments he even saw himself as some kind of hero.
It was not one of his better moments one day when his solicitor came to see him. It was pouring with rain outside and everything to Peter seemed gloom and doom. His solicitor spoke briefly about the case. There wasn't all that much to say since Peter had been caught in the act.
“You knew Derwent Mollosey,” said Tom Wenner, the solicitor.
“Yes,” replied Peter with little interest.
“Mmn,” murmured Wenner, “I knew you said something in your statement about him. You got a letter from him saying he had slept with your wife.”
Peter felt impatient. How often had he gone over this? Six of us were asked to dinner after Derwent had died. We were all given a card. I don't know what it said on the other five, but mine said he'd slept with my wife and gave the date.”
Wenner started to shuffle some papers about. Peter looked at him, suddenly wary. “Is this important?”
“Well, I think I had better tell the prison authorities.”
“What's it got to do with them?”
Wenner avoided his question. “Do you know what Derwent Mollosey died of?”
“At the time of his death it was given out that he had died of leukaemia, but now there's a rumour going round that it was Aids.”
“We can use this in your defence perhaps. You're told your wife has slept with Mollosey; you then hear a rumour that he died of Aids – well.”
“I get your drift,” murmured Peter.
When his mother next came to see him, Peter told her about the Aids rumour. He'd been tested and the test had proved negative, but the chance that he might have had it was more fuel to add to the fire of Mrs Dewey's indignation. When she got home her four daughters all heard about it in turn and so did their husbands and families. Mrs Dewey, like the mother of many murderers before her, had long since forgotten the horrendous crime her son had committed and thought only of his suffering, and, of course, her own as his loving mother.
When Peter saw his solicitor entering his cell with a tape recorder, he wondered what was going on. Was every word he said going to be recorded?
“Hello, Peter, how are you?” asked Tom Wenner as if he was greeting someone just back from holiday.
How the devil does he expect me to be, thought Peter sullenly? He merely grunted in reply.
“What have I here?” said Wenner, whisking the cassette recorder from under his arm. “One recorder, one tape.”
“Going to play me some music, are you?” asked Peter insolently.
“What I have is a message from the dead!”
“Derwent again,” groaned Peter.
“Now, now, don't be like that. This might help you.”
“How?” Peter visibly brightened. It didn't take much to cheer him, but similarly it didn't take much to put him in the doldrums.
“Listen,” said Wenner, putting his fingers to his lips as he started the tape.
Derwent's unctuous voice filled the room. “Hi, Peter, old friend. Didn't expect to hear from me again, did you? Well you know how I like giving little surprises, don't you? Still up to your eyes in debt, are you?” Peter stiffened. “You were never much good with the old finances, were you, old boy?” Peter rose to his feet.
“Just listen,” whispered Wenner. Peter sat down again and listened while Derwent, in no uncertain terms listed his loans to him and Peter's failure to make any headway in paying him back.
“I knew I had very little hope of ever seeing my money again. I just kept lending you more because I liked the hold I had over you and I really enjoyed it when you came to beg. The lies you told. I've never heard anything like them! You have such a wonderful imagination; you should have been a writer. However, since you were unlikely ever to repay me, I decided I'd take payment in my own way.” There was a pause. “Did you like the little joke about my having been in bed with Bianca? I knew that would make you riproaring mad. You've always been so jealous. What of, I don't know because no man in his right mind would want to get in bed with that harpy.”
Peter shot a quick glance at Weedon. Derwent was saying how awful his wife had