10. Superintendent Knott's Wife, Amelia

THE ACCUSED Part 10

There could be no doubt about it: Superintendent Knott knew that he was in a tight corner. Had he not been so convinced of his own infallibility he might have seen a glimmer of it before he made decisions that not only bordered on being foolhardy but were likely to see the end of his distinguished career. And in such ways can the egos of men crumble and fall when they nudge against the hard wall of reality.

His wife was little comfort. Amelia Knott had only married him because he offered her all that she wanted in life irrespective of whether it served him or not: a man to support her if one seemed advantageous yet one who made no demands of his own on her. As a human being it seemed she might have been stripped of most of the instincts peculiar to the female sex and left with a version that had nothing to do with being female. Nor was she prone to masculine quirks either. No, she was all woman yet emotionally without any hint of gender. She saw nothing specifically fascinating with her husband’s more manly flesh, nor did she harbour desires for a female bedmate.

And she could be loud when she felt she had to be.

“You’ve been stupid lover this Baur business,” she told her husband at medium volume when the subject cropped up as it had to once the television company broadcast the close-up film of a struggle on the prison roof and hailed the consequent bravery of Warden Rick Parfitt for his valiant attempt at struggling to resolve the issue before it became a problem. His face was everywhere and interviews with him showed a man of huge courage even though the man he’d been trying to help had died of a pierced heart on the gaol roof.

Even the deceased man’s cell mate with his penchant for praying and attributing his own failures to an unsuspected cruel streak in the god that he worshipped gained a little unwanted philosophic coverage. Thed local radio station had a late-night show with distinguished local dignitaries airing their views. In fact, everyone except the dead man became some sort of hero. He couldn’t because heroes rarely die.

“I did the thing anyone would have done!” he snarled, “the woman was there, God-damn her, and one of her own blades severed a couple of very important arteries in a poor widow mourning for a dead love.”

“I thought you said the Griffins were a nasty couple who would have been ripe for the hangman in less liberal times,” she chewed at him, “I remember quite clearly! And you said that the dead woman’s pants were none too clean when you visited her cold flesh in the morgue, made you feel sick noticing them.”

“But the Baur b***h shouldn’t have killed her!” rasped the Superintendent, “she should have controlled her baser instincts! If everyone behaved like that, I ask you, where would we be? Knives flashing and plunging into flesh on every street corner…”

“So why is the officer in the prison such a hero?” asked Amelia, hitting a metaphorical nail on its head, “his story being so similar?”

“It’s a different case!”

“But I’ve seen it, man, on the television exactly as it happened! I even recorded it to play back to you any time you needed to be updated on the story! And don’t forget I read and re-read your evidence against the Baur woman back when it was on the top of your fidget-list! I didn’t particularly like it then.”

“So what?” He wasn’t usually so brusque when talking to her but something at the back of his mind told him they were tackling a dangerous subject, one that might see him being diminished in the eyes of the world if his own prejudices were spotted. The pathologist, damn him, had spotted it and rubbed it in, but then the man’s a doctor, and what do doctors know?

“Aren’t the two cases virtually identical?” she asked him, and that was the question that had been teasing his mind ever since he’d seen footage of the drama on the roof.

“Of course not! Baur killed a woman, for goodness sake, with her own knife!”

“And the famous Rick Parfitt killed the prisoner on the roof with his own blade!”

“It’s totally different!”

“And how might that be?”

“Because Baur is a woman, d****t, and Parfitt is a bloke. And a handsome young one at that.”

“And that’s the crux of the matter,” she said, a hint of triumph in her voice, “a good looking you man wearing smart trousers with creases turns your head and makes you forget to be rational and methodical! From what I’ve heard Rosie Baur is the best officer your station has had in years, but she’s female, so heaven help her!”

“And foreign! Don’t forget that!”

“Oh your useless racist pig! She’s as British as you or I! For goodness sake, start thinking or you’ll find yourself going down the drain, and I won’t be coming with you.”

She was interrupted by the ringing of their doorbell followed by a rat-a-tat on their door.

“Now who’s that?” growled the Superintendent.

“For once I’d like to go and see,” smirked his wife, guessing from the suggestion of urgency in the knock that it would be a heap more bad news and rather welcoming it. If her problem existed at all, it was one of rather enjoying seeing the discomfort that reality brought her husband’s way rather than taking it for her own. She’d never loved him, never even liked him, and if there was going to be some fun at his expense she was going to enjoy it.

The two men who stood by the door looked sepulchral in dark grey suits, and it crossed her mind that her husband would be quite happy to gaze upon them. He liked smart trousers on a fellow’s legs.

“Mrs Knott?” asked one of the men, “we’d like to ask your husband a few questions, if you don’t mind…”

“Come in please,” she said, “I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to see you…”

© Peter Rogerson 23.04.21

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