"No thanks.' Wesley looked at
their host. His left hand was expertly bandaged. 'How did you hurt your hand,
sir?'
'Oh, this? I cut it on some glass...
some kind person had put it on top of a wall. I was taking a short cut...
probably trespassing. Is that why you're here?'
'Not exactly. Did you go to Neston
Hospital on Tuesday night?'
'Yes. This thing was pouring with
blood ... had to get it seen to. The doctor there said it was nasty.' He tilted
his head enquiringly. 'How exactly can I help you. Inspector?'
'Can you tell me what happened on
Tuesday night?'
'Everything?'
'If possible.'
Ballantyne looked down and grinned
like a naughty schoolboy. His fine fair hair flopped over his face. "That
would be a bit embarrassing. There was ... er ... a lady involved.'
"What do you do for a living,
Mr Ballantyne?'
'I'm a student.,. at Neston Hall.. .
fine arts.'
With a rich daddy picking up the
bill, no doubt, thought Heffernan. He'd seen the type before. A few years of
the alternative lifestyle with no financial worries, then, when the Arcadian idyll
had palled, a place in Daddy's merchant bank. If only he. Gerry Heffernan, had
enjoyed such advantages. But be couldn't grumble ... his dad had put in a good
word for him with the shipping line when he had first gone to sea. Nepotism was
a wonderful thing... for some.
He continued, 'This lady ... could
you tell us her name?'
Ballantyne leaned forward with a
'we're all men of the world' expression on his smooth, unclouded face. 'I'd
rather not... she is married.'
'And she's a good deal older than
you?'
Ballantyne looked genuinely puzzled.
'A few years ... that's all. You've still not told me why you're here,' he
said, as if the fact had only just occurred to him.
'We'll come to that in a moment,
sir.' said Heffernan, wanting to keep the advantage of surprise. 'The lady went
with you to the hospital, didn't she, sir?'
For a moment Ballantyne looked
blank. Then, as realisation dawned, he began to laugh. "That wasn't the
lady I ... did you think? She was old enough to be my grandmother. Lovely lady,
mind. If she'd been forty years younger ... No, Inspector, that was my good
Samaritan. She saw me standing by the road with my hand pouring blood. She stopped
and offered to drive me to the hospital ... only her car conked out and she
managed to pull it over to a lay-by and we had to walk. I'm afraid I made a bit
of a mess of her front seat. I told her to send me the cleaning bill but she
wouldn't hear of it. Lovely lady. I thought she was American but it turned out
she was from round here ... went over to the States in the war.' He smiled
fondly. Sally Johnson had made quite an impression.
They showed Ballantyne her
photograph. He nodded. 'That's her.'
'We're trying to trace this lady.
She came over with her husband for a veterans' reunion and she's gone missing. Everyone's
been very worried about her.'
'There's no need. She was fine when
I last saw her.'
'When was that?'
'We went for a drink at the Seddon
and she slept in my spare room on Tuesday night. I drove her to Whitely on
Wednesday morning. She was planning to stay at the Wheatsheaf for a few days.
She lived in Whitely once. Did you know that? She had to
leave during the war because they were using it for target practice or
something.'
'But Mrs Johnson came from Maleton
... her family ran the village shop there.'
"That was later. They stayed in
Maleton when they were evacuated, then when the war was over they found their
house in Whitely had been shelled. They had to stay in Maleton
.
.. she told me all about it.'
Wesley and Heffernan looked at each
other. Why hadn't they enquired more closely into Sally Johnson's past? If
they'd known about the Whitely connection, they might have found her by now.
Gerry Heffernan resisted the
temptation to make Oliver Ballantyne feel uncomfortable. He was satisfied that
he was telling the truth. He was not there to judge the rights and wrongs of
the man's dalliance with a married woman. He had the information he came for. He
stood up. Wesley did likewise.
'Did Mrs Johnson seem worried about
anything. Mr Ballantyne?'
'Yes ... yes. she did. She didn't
seem too happy about going back to the States. In fad ...' He hesitated. 'Well,
she seemed to think she wouldn't go back ... not at all. She said she wanted to
stay here ... to die.'
Whitely was a large village about three
miles along the coast from Bereton. It too had been evacuated during the D-day
rehearsals, its inhabitants scattered to beg the hospitality of relations or
provided with temporary accommodation in Tradmouth or Neston. There was no sign
now of the scars of war. The village was neat and pastel-washed, and spring
flowers burst from its gardens and window boxes. They made for the Wheatsheaf,
an attractive inn with a fancy wrought-iron balcony which spewed forth tumbling
flowers.
'Nice place,' commented Wesley.
Heffernan nodded, looking appreciatively
at the floral display. He was no gardener himself, but that didn't stop him
admiring the handiwork of the more talented.
They went inside and asked at
reception for Mrs Johnson.
A woman - from her air of capable authority
they assumed her to be the landlady and from her Yorkshire accent not a local -
looked through the register and shook her head. 'We've no Mrs Johnson...
sorry.'
Heffernan showed the photograph. The
landlady took off her glasses and peered at it. 'That's Mrs Beesly ... I'm sure
it is.'
'American lady?'
'That's right,'
Beesly ... why hadn't they thought
of that? Beesly had been her maiden name.
'She went out this morning ... doing
a bit of sightseeing. She said she used to live round here. She seemed such a
nice lady ...you'd never think the police'd be after her.' She leaned forward confidentially.
'What's she done?'
'Nothing that we know of, love. Her
husband's just a bit worried about her, that's all.'
'I can give you a ring when she comes
in if you like ... always ready to help the boys in blue.'
That's very good of you, madam. We'd
be very grateful.'
The landlady nodded public-spiritedly.
In the licensed trade it was always wise to keep on the right side of the law
... even in such an irreproachable establishment as the Wheatsheaf,
They returned to the car.
'Do we tell the husband?'
'Not yet, Wes. Let's have a word
with the lady first After all. she might not want him to know where she is. Who
knows what goes on between husband and wife? I said I'd pop round to the mortuary.
Colin Bowman wants the pleasure of my company. You
coming with me, Wes?'
Wesley hated mortuaries. The very
smell caused the contents of his stomach to rise. If he had the choice, it was
a visit he'd avoid. 'I've got things to catch up on back at the incident room
... and I wanted a word with Rachel about this Wayne Restorick character
- see if she's managed to find anything out.'
'Fair enough. Just drop me off at
the hospital, then.'
Wesley was only too happy with this
arrangement and bid his boss a smiling farewell when he dropped him at the mortuary
entrance. Gerry Heffernan walked through the scrubbed corridors in search of
Colin Bowman. He tracked him down in his office.
'Glad to see I'm not the only one
buried deep in paperwork.' Bowman looked up and a warm smile illuminated his
face.
Gerry ... come in, sit down. I was
just about to have a coffee. Will you join me?'
'I never say no if it's free. Colin
... you know me.'
Colin Bowman went to the kettle in
the comer of his office and filled a cafetiere.
Heffernan sipped the expertly brewed,
delicious- smelling coffee appreciatively. 'You certainly know how to live down
at the mortuary. Colin. Our coffee tastes like last week's
washing-up water. What did you want to see me about?'
The pathologist was unprepared for
the discussion of business. He had to shuffle a few files on his desk to get
himself in the mood. 'Oh yes.. . the post-mortem results on that rat found by
the body. It had been poisoned . .. ordinary commercial rat poison available
anywhere. It'd be used on a lot of the farms round about, I should think,'
'Thanks. Any word on the knife yet...
the one that belonged to the suspect?'
"That's the main reason I rang.
When you've finished your coffee I've got something to show you.'
Heffernan hoped that whatever it was
it wouldn't be gruesome, but knowing Colin Bowman it probably would be. He was
led to the area where the bodies were stored. Bowman slid out the drawer
containing Norman Openheim's remains as casually as
Heffernan would have opened a filing cabinet. He pulled the sheet back from the
body. Norman looked surprisingly peaceful... the effects of being released from
a lifetime under the thumb of Dorinda. the Mighty Atom, perhaps.
Bowman unlocked a cupboard on the
other side of the room and produced the knife, still in its plastic bag.
'I understand from forensics that
there was no trace of blood found on the knife.'
'How come you know before me? I'll
have a word with Gwen…'
'I asked and Gwen told me ...
report's not typed up yet. I'm sure she hasn't forgotten you.'
Heffernan shrugged. Paperwork was
the blight of every profession... forensics would be as bound up with it as
everyone else.
Bowman leaned over Norman's body and
gently rolled him on to his side so that his wound was visible. He held the
knife against the body for comparison. 'Look at the width. Whatever he was stabbed
with was at least half an inch wider ... more like three-
quarters. And the depth of the wound suggests something much longer. Sorry,
Gerry. This isn't your murder weapon. I'd say something more like ... oh, let
me think ..." He closed his eyes, his face screwed up in concentration.
'A kitchen knife? One of those you
use for carving?' Heffernan suggested helpfully.
'No... wrong shape.' He looked at
the inspector triumphantly.
'A bayonet. It's just a possibility, of course... I wouldn't commit myself, but
that wound could have been made with a bayonet. I'll need one for comparison,
of course.'
'I'll try and arrange it'
'Tell you what. My wife and I have
been invited to dine by one of the commanders up at the naval college... I'm
sure to pick one up there.'
Heffernan smiled to himself. Colin
Bowman was a welcome dinner guest in the most unexpected places. Now, it
seemed, he had penetrated the hallowed ranks of the Royal Navy.
He said farewell to the pathologist
and decided, as he was on the premises, to pay a visit to Rat... show his face
and say a few words of encouragement to the constable given the tedious task of
guarding an unconscious man.
If Rat was innocent of murder - which
was starting to look like a possibility - he'd better start finding some new
suspects. The ones he had were proving sadly disappointing.