The Pursuit of Truth Page 12

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that, sir. Pity we didn’t …’

  ‘Didn’t what?’

  Teague looked embarrassed and said nothing. Healey, who knew perfectly well what Teague was suggesting, that they should have searched for the bat and diary days ago, didn’t press the matter but simply said, ‘And can you see what you can find out about the bat. What make. What colour the handle is. His wife isn’t likely to know, but ask her. And ask Wright. They played together on Friday. If you don’t get any joy there, ask other people in the side. University staff, they were.’

  Healey fell silent and appeared distracted. In fact he was thinking of what he had seen in Farrell’s garden the previous evening. A piece of what might have been red rubber. Could it have come from a bat handle? It seemed highly unlikely. But then, they were burning something that had smelled like wood. If he could get that piece of rubber and a sample of the ash. Did they still make cricket bats out of willow, he wondered. As he thought of these possibilities, he realised that, despite his new resolution, he didn’t particularly want to talk about them to Teague.

  ‘Is that OK then?’ he asked. Teague, who was making notes, nodded.

  Healey stood up and felt inside his jacket pocket. ‘Another thing I’d like you to do,’ he said, as he pulled the computer disk from his jacket pocket, ‘is see what you can do with this. There was a file on Crouch’s computer at home that was protected by a password so I copied it onto this. It may be nothing but I think it’s worth checking out. I was going to try and get into it myself but I’m sure you’ll be better at it than me. Would you mind having a shot?’

  ‘Of course not, sir.’

  ‘Thanks. Something else. Did you send that little tape recorder I gave you on Saturday to Forensics?’

  Teague looked uneasy. ‘Actually, no, sir. Didn’t seem much point, what with our fingerprints all over it.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Anyhow, it was in his briefcase. There was no cassette in it. Why not? Crouch doesn’t seem to me to have been the kind of man to go around with a tape recorder that he wasn’t going to be able to use.’

  ‘So somebody might of took the cassette?’

  Healey ignored this double lapse from standard English, tempted though he was to draw it to his sergeant’s attention. ‘They might, yes.’

  ‘For the same reason as they took the diary.’

  ‘It’s possible. Get them to look for that too when they’re searching. But something that has struck me though is that I saw a lot of tape cassettes in Crouch’s house but they were all the standard size. I didn’t see any that would fit this. I think I’m going to go back to the house and look again. It will be a chance to see if Mrs Crouch has anything new to say. I can ask her about the bat.’ Healey thought he saw the beginning of a smile on Teague’s face. If there was one, it was quickly extinguished.

  ‘About the search, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How far should it extend, do you think?’

  ‘I’ll leave that to your judgement, Teague,’ said Healey, uncertain himself as to how far it would be reasonable to search. Teague went off slowly, apparently deep in thought.

  Healey was consulting his notes again when he heard his name spoken. He looked round to see the Hall Warden striding towards him. ‘Good morning, Chief Inspector,’ she said. She gave Healey the benefit of a wide, yellow toothed, humourless smile. ‘I have someone in my office who is anxious to speak to you.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Miss Woods.’

  After he had said hello to Enid the secretary and Daisy the dog, Healey was ushered into her office by the Warden, who closed the door behind him. Miss Woods was sitting with her back to him, facing the Warden’s desk, which was again covered with papers. Healey put his hand on the back of her chair. ‘Miss Woods,’ he said, ‘you wanted to see me.’

  She turned towards him. ‘Yes, you see I’ve remembered something. But why don’t you sit down.’ She pointed to the Warden’s chair. ‘I can’t talk with you standing over me like that.’ Healey did as he was told.

  Miss Woods continued. ‘Yes, I’ve remembered that I did see someone when I was walking Daisy on Friday night. It was a man …’

  ‘Can you describe this man?’

  ‘If you give me a chance, I can. He was quite tall, he had a limp, and he was wearing a raincoat.’

  Healey smiled and almost laughed out loud.

  ‘Is there something wrong, Chief Inspector?’

  Healey was impressed that she had remembered his title. ‘No, nothing wrong, Miss Woods, but I wonder why anyone would be wearing a raincoat on such a warm night when there had been no rain for weeks and no sign of it then.’

  ‘I don’t know why he was wearing a raincoat. I’m just saying that he was.’

  ‘Can you say anything more about his appearance? Colour of hair? His build? His age?’

  Miss Woods hardly hesitated. ‘Dark. Medium build. Young.’

  ‘How young?’

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘A teenager?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In his twenties?’

  ‘He could have been.’

  ‘Thirties?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Forties?’

  ‘I said young.’

  ‘Where exactly did you see this man?’

  ‘At the corner of Marlborough Avenue and Elmhurst Road.’

  ‘What direction was he going in?’

  ‘He was coming from Marlborough Avenue and going towards the playing fields.’

  ‘Did he go into the playing fields?’

  ‘I think he did, yes.’

  ‘Did he pass close to you?’

  ‘Yes, we passed on the corner.’

  ‘Did you stop after he passed you?’

  ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘No reason. Well thank you Miss Woods.’ Healey stood up.

  ‘Don’t you need to write this down and get me to sign it?’

  ‘Not for the moment, thank you.’ Healey went to the door, opened it and found the Warden standing outside.

  ‘Finished already?’ she asked.

  As Healey went down the corridor, he thought he heard Miss Woods say, ‘I don’t think he believed me.’

  As he headed back to the incident room, Healey passed through reception, where he met a group of what he took to be course participants, twenty or more of them milling around and carrying cardboard lunch boxes. Presumably they were about to leave for Stratford. He felt a hand on his arm and looked round. It was the Italian woman, Silvia, smiling at him sweetly. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Off to Stratford?’

  She continued to smile at him, and hold his arm. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’

  ‘I only wish I could.’

  Slowly she released her grip. With a nod and a smile, Healey, looking decidedly flushed, left her and edged his way slowly through the throng. From behind the reception desk, Bird raised his hand to him but Healey wasn’t looking.

  Back with Teague, Healey told him briefly what Miss Woods had said. ‘It’s not only the fact she said he was wearing a raincoat, but from where she was, she couldn’t possibly have seen anyone going into the playing fields.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor old thing. She even seems to have forgotten she’s got Alzheimer’s.’ Teague’s chortling at this not very clever remark made Healey wish he hadn’t made it. Still, this was his be nice to Teague day and it wasn’t nine o’clock yet. He’d have to try harder.

  He looked at his notes. Opportunity. Actually, even with all the statements and apparent corroborations, any number of people could have got to Crouch at the time he died. Especially if there were two people involved and they gave each other alibis.

  ‘What I’d like you to do, though, Teague, is get someone to make a matrix with all the names down the left hand side, and all the names across the top. Including Crouch. Got me?’ Teague nodded, a little uncertainly, and Healey continued, ‘and then mark the cells to show who was accounted fo
r by whom. Look.’ He quickly drew a matrix of eight cells and wrote the letters A to D, one letter at the top of each column, then wrote them again, one against each row. ‘So B accounts for D, say. Find B on the left and D along the top. And in the cell where they meet, write in the place, time and date. Is that okay?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. That will give us a quick overview. And we’ll see what patterns there are. In the meantime, though, we’ve got Wright and Reyes to think of. Wright because of his dodgy alibi, Reyes because of his going missing, and both of them because of the Philippines connection. Have you got any thoughts?’

  ‘I agree with what you said about Wright, him not being likely to have done it. He doesn’t look as if he’s got it in him. He’d have to give Crouch a bang on the head, with the bat if you’re right, and then heave him out of the window. I can’t picture him doing that. But he’s got something to do with it, I’m sure.’

  ‘And Reyes?’

  ‘He might be a kung fu champion for all we know. Did you find out anything about him, sir?’

  ‘Not yet. The British Council is supposed to be getting back to me. And Peter Farrell is getting his form from Wright. What about motive?’

  ‘There’s that letter again. If we knew who wrote that.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Could be something personal, his wife maybe, had enough of him, got somebody else to do it, Wright for instance …’

  ‘But you said you couldn’t see Wright doing it. Sorry! Carry on.’

  ‘Or one of his colleagues, something to do with his work, I was thinking.’

  ‘That’s possible, yes, though I haven’t uncovered any animosity between him and anyone else. So far, at least.’

  ‘Then there’s those payments into the Isle of Man bank. Could be he’s been paid for doing something a bit naughty, do you think, and decided that he wanted more. The amounts did go up, didn’t they?’

  ‘They did, yes, but they weren’t very large amounts, even at the end. It wouldn’t seem that he was into anything very big.’

  ‘No, sir, but he could have known about something big. He might have been asking for more just to keep quiet.’

  ‘That’s true. And what could the big thing be?’

  ‘Drugs. The more I think about it … the Philippines, of course. Drugs do come in from there, don’t they?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Do they?’

  ‘Yes they do. I was reading about it the other week. Supposed to be on the increase. I think we’re onto something, sir.’

  Healey found himself reluctant to agree. But this was Teague’s day. ‘You could be right, Teague,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you find out the latest on that, anything known to be going on at the moment. As well as everything else I’ve asked you to do.’ He smiled and patted Teague on the shoulder. ‘Don’t forget this,’ he added, picking up the computer disk that he had already handed to his sergeant.

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ said Teague, taking it from him and looking inordinately pleased with himself. ‘I’ll have that file for you in no time.’

  Oh will you? thought Healey, but nodded as if in appreciation. Beaming, Teague turned on his heels and strutted to the door and out into the corridor. A busy man with important things to do.

  Going through the contents of his file again, Healey came across the bank statements that Teague must have put there after Farrell had interrupted their discussion of them at the pub the previous day. He put them into his pocket. He also found a paper that he had missed when he was looking earlier. Teague must have missed it too, or not looked at the file since the paper had been added.

  It was a report on the letter and the notice that he had taken from Crouch’s door. It had struck him when he saw the notice that the print or whatever it was called, looked similar to that of the letter. The report seemed to confirm this. In both cases, it said, the font was Courier 10 point and a dot matrix printer had been used. It went on to say that the same printer might have been used for both the letter and the notice, though it was impossible to say for certain, as it would have been if a typewriter with damage to particular keys had been used. It certainly wasn’t possible to say whether it had been written on the same computer. Thinking about this and a possible change in his plans for the day, Healey became aware of Peter Farrell approaching him, looking rather sheepish. ‘You won’t believe it,’ he said, ‘but Tim has mislaid that form. Can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘What! Where is he?’

  ‘He’s just left on the coach to Stratford.’

  ‘That’s handy.’

  ‘I’m sorry. How important is it to have the form? Is it urgent? Perhaps we could get a copy from the British Council.’

  ‘They say they haven’t got one. They were supposed to be getting back to me about Reyes anyhow. I’d better call them again.’ The room was stuffy, Healey was sweating, and he began to wonder if it was going to be such a good day after all. He picked up the phone and dialled the British Council, ignoring Farrell who stood behind him looking at a loss.

  ‘Yes,’ said Healey into the phone, ‘someone was supposed to call me about a participant on the Reading summer school, name of Reyes, from Manila.’

  Healey found a shady spot in the University of Berkshire car park, rolled down his window, and thought about what he had learned just a few minutes before. The British Council had told him that Reyes was in Manila. What is more, he had never left there. He hadn’t gone to Reading. By chance a member of the British Council staff had met him in the street only a couple of days before and asked him why he was still there when the course had already started. Apparently he had looked somewhat shamefaced but explained that a death in the family had prevented him leaving. He had been going to let the Council know, but what with the death and all that entailed (there was property to be shared amongst various members of the extended family and it was his responsibility to deal with the lawyers) he hadn’t got round to it yet.

  This news raised the interesting question as to who it was that was presenting himself as Reyes on the course, if indeed there was any such person. But of course there was. He had been interviewed. And Wright had spoken about him. Yes, Wright had certainly spoken about him. But Wright knew Reyes – at least he said he did – so why hadn’t he exposed the man as an impostor? When Healey’s call to the British Council had ended, Farrell had still been standing beside him. Healey immediately asked him to tell him anything he could about Reyes, what he looked like, how good his English was (Healey had in mind the letter to Crouch), but Farrell was unable to tell him anything. It was slowly dawning on Healey that Farrell, pleasant and willing as he seemed, wasn’t very much concerned with the day-to-day running of the course of which he was director. He couldn’t imagine having such a hands-off approach to the job himself.

  Now, sitting in his car, he realised that it was going to be a long day. They wouldn’t be getting back from Stratford until one in the morning and he would have to wait until then to talk to Wright. He certainly wasn’t going to give him the opportunity of finding out that he knew about Reyes and possibly taking off before he could question him. No, he’d be waiting for him when the coach arrived.

  As he got out of the car, it occurred to him that if Peter Farrell had told him a bit sooner about Wright not having the form, he could have asked him to stay behind and find it. Why hadn’t Farrell asked him to stay anyhow? What the hell was Wright doing swanning about Stratford when he should be here helping with a murder enquiry? Swanning around. Sitting in a pub, the Dirty Duck perhaps.

  Carter wasn’t in his office when Healey knocked but he appeared a moment later with a mug that smelled of strong coffee. He greeted Healey, sat down at his desk, and proceeded to put several teaspoonfuls of sugar into the mug. ‘Bags of energy,’ he said. ‘Know the reference?’ Healey admitted he didn’t.

  ‘The L-Shaped Room. Lynn Reid Banks,’ went on Carter. ‘She used to do news reports on ITV. Don’t you remember?’

  Healey said he did va
guely, before saying, ‘Look, I want to print something out on the printers in the Department. Is that possible?’

  ‘But of course. Let me have it and I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘I don’t have it yet, I’m afraid. It’ll have to be word processed first.’

  ‘No problem.’ Taking a quick sip from his mug, Carter went over to his computer. ‘Fire away,’ he said.

  From his pocket, Healey pulled the copy he had made of the letter that had been in Crouch’s room in the Hall and handed it to Carter. ‘Good God,’ said Carter. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘Real enough,’ replied Healey.

  Carter set about the task, pausing only to confirm that he should copy it exactly as it was. ‘That’s it,’ he said, in what seemed no time at all. ‘Do you want me to print it?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘On my printer?’

  ‘Could I see it on that first, if you don’t mind.’

  Carter printed it out and handed the page to Healey. It looked very similar to the original. ‘What font is this?’ he asked.

  ‘Courier ten point.’

  ‘And the printer is called a dot matrix, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who else in the Department has a printer of this kind?’

  ‘Just me and … Neville … did. Because he was the Departmental Administrator.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Because I bought it myself.’

  ‘That seems a bit hard. Having to buy your own printer.’

  Carter shrugged. ‘Not much money around this department. It was worth buying it not to have to wait for something to be printed by the secretary.’

  ‘Her printer is different?’

  ‘It’s a laser.’

  Healey asked if they could print the letter on Crouch’s printer.

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll just copy it onto a floppy and then get the key to his room.’