‘But you left the cottage sooner than planned?’
‘Too right we did. There was no way we wanted to hang around.’
‘What was this job exactly?’
‘Now you promise we won’t be done for conspiracy or whatever it is?’
‘You never actually did anything, did you?’
Brian’s small grey eyes lit up. ‘That’s right, Mr Peterson. I mean, they can’t do you for thinking, can they?’
Wesley smiled. They could easily do them for conspiracy and hiring a car using a false licence but it was probably best not
to mention that for now. ‘So tell me what you were planning?’ he said.
‘Big store in Morbay. We’re getting near the run-up to Christmas now so the takings’ll be up. We were going to go in at closing
time just before the security van arrived and whip the lot. We had it timed to perfection we did.’
‘Were you using firearms?’
‘Replicas. I’d never touch the real thing, Inspector Peterson. Honest to God, shooters frighten the life out of me, they do.’
‘So where are these replicas now?’
‘Left luggage locker at Morbay station. And that’s where they’ve been since we arrived down here. We weren’t going to pick
them up till it was time to do the job.’
‘And the shooting of James Dalcott?’
Brian Carrack shook his head vigorously. ‘That had nothing to do with us. When the filth started crawling all over the place,
we scarpered as soon as we’d given them a statement and that’s the truth.’
Wesley knew Brian Carrack was a robber, an incorrigible
criminal and a liar. But something made him believe what he said.
‘Did you see anyone calling at James Dalcott’s house around the time of the shooting? Or maybe you saw someone hanging about,
or an unfamiliar car parked nearby?’ It was a long shot but he had to ask the question.
He’d expected the answer to be no but sometimes in life, you get a pleasant surprise.
‘Yeah. I did as a matter of fact. I just happened to be looking out of the window, doing the nosy neighbour bit, when I saw
Harry’s bird drive up in a neat little motor – hatchback. We’d never been introduced, like, but we’d visited Harry’s place
once and we’d had to hang round outside till she left. Bit older than Harry but still fit, if you know what I mean. Lucky
old Harry.’ He licked his lips in a way that would probably have made Rachel Tracey feel like landing a punch.
‘We know about her visit. How long did she stay?’
‘About ten minutes.’
‘And did you hear a gunshot at all?’
He shook his head. ‘I think I heard one but it might have been some farmer out after those bloody crows. You often hear shots
round these parts – like the bloody wild west at times.’
‘Was this around the time Harry’s girlfriend visited?’
‘Can’t remember. Don’t think so.’
‘Did Dr Dalcott have any other visitors after that?’
‘I’d gone into the back kitchen by then. But I did hear a car. A diesel engine.’
‘But you didn’t have a look to see who it was?’
There was a long silence. ‘I did go into the front and
have a quick peep. I couldn’t see a car but if they parked it down the lane …’
‘But you did see someone?’
‘It looked like an old bloke – all muffled up in a long coat and some sort of hat, I reckon.’
‘An elderly man?’ Wesley said. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.
‘I didn’t get a good look at him, mind. I wouldn’t know him again.’
Wesley switched off the tape and hurried from the room. This was something Gerry Heffernan would want to know as soon as possible.
When Gerry Heffernan heard about James Dalcott’s elderly visitor, he rubbed his hands together with glee and observed cheerfully
that this was the best lead they’d had all day.
Wesley took a deep breath. ‘Yes but who was it?’ He hesitated. ‘When I pressed him, he even said it could have been a woman.’
‘That’s a lot of help,’ Gerry said with a grunt, his sudden optimism squashed. ‘Could have been anyone then – might even have
been Mabel Cleary,’ he added, half joking.
Wesley raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Let’s face it, Gerry, anything’s possible.’ The myriad possibilities whirling in his head
were making him tired. He felt he needed a rest, just to gather his thoughts. But there were too many things to do.
‘What did you make of our two friends in the cells?’
Wesley considered the question for a few seconds. ‘They hardly look like Public Enemies Number One and Two but you never can
tell.’
‘All their clothing’s being tested for gunshot residue but there was no sign of a firearm when their place was searched.’
‘It’s not hard to fling a gun into the river,’ said Wesley.
Gerry ambled away just as the phone began to ring. Wesley picked up the receiver. They were still waiting for the warrant
to search the Podingham Clinic and he hoped that this would be the call to say it was ready.
But instead a female voice said hello. He recognised it at once.
‘Hello, Evonne. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, going over everything again and again in my mind.’ The words came out in a
rush, as though she’d been rehearsing what she wanted to say. ‘I’ve just remembered something James said to me the day before
he …’
‘What was it?’ Wesley sat up straight, listening intently.
‘It was something about a photograph. It was after surgery on the Friday and we’d been talking about the dinner party at
your sister’s. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying that much attention because I was thinking about everything I had to do at the weekend
and …’
‘Go on.’
‘Look, I can’t swear to it but I’m sure he said he’d come across an old photograph and he needed to ask someone about it.
I’d almost forgotten about it because it didn’t seem important at the time but since then I’ve been going over everything
and … do you think I’m just clutching at straws?’
‘A photograph? You’re sure it was a photograph?’
‘I think so. But before you ask, that was all he said. He didn’t say who or what was in the photograph. He did
seem a bit worried about it, looking back. Do you think it might be important?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Wesley replied.
What Evonne had told him was tantalisingly vague. But a nagging feeling in the back of his brain told him that it could be
the breakthrough he’d been looking for. Now it was just a matter of finding the photograph James Dalcott mentioned. And he
wasn’t sure where to start.
He ended the call and was just making for Gerry’s desk to tell him about the possible new development when the phone on his
desk started ringing again and he almost stumbled over a trailing computer cable in the race to answer it before the caller
rang off. He grabbed at the receiver and uttered a breathless hello. But when he heard the voice on the other end of the line
his heart sank. This was all he needed.
‘Hello again,’ said a confident and slightly flirtatious female voice. ‘You sound as if you’ve been having fun. Didn’t know
they went for heavy breathing down at the nick.’
‘I’ve been rushing to answer the phone.’ He felt a little annoyed with himself for not being able to think up a witty riposte
– Gerry Heffernan would have come up with something, no problem. ‘What can I do for you, Ms Johns?’
‘Ms Johns? We are formal today, Detective Inspector Peterson. I wondered if you fancied meeting up for a drink?’
Wesley picked up a pen and began to doodle on a sheet of paper on his desk, the result being a neat row of grinning skulls.
‘Er … if you’ve got some information for me, perhaps it would be best if you came to see me here or …’
‘Do you know the White Horse near the castle?’
The answer was a wary yes.
‘See you there at seven.’
‘I’m sorry. I can’t –’
The next thing he heard was the dialling tone and he cursed under his breath. The woman was so presumptuous. Did she think
he had nothing better to do than to be at her beck and call?
As the phone rang again he felt the pencil he was holding snap in his fingers.
This time it was Pam, asking what time he thought he might be in because her mother said she was calling round that evening
with some news. Pam sounded wary and Wesley couldn’t blame her. Her mother, Della, was in the habit of striking up relationships
with unsuitable men and the latest specimen was an unemployed musician who, according to Pam, was using what little energy
he could muster to milk Della’s bank account. He used to worry about Della, but now he was almost past caring. As he’d told
Pam many times, her mother was a grown woman.
Even though he knew Pam needed his support, he heard himself saying that he had to meet somebody – a possible witness – and
he might not be back till eight-thirty or nine. He heard her sigh and experienced an uncomfortable pang of guilt as she put
the phone down. But Gerry Heffernan’s arrival proved a welcome distraction.
‘We’ve got the warrant, Wes,’ Gerry said as he hurried into the office, rubbing his hands with anticipation. ‘I’m sending
Paul and Trish and a few uniforms. There’s nothing like the sight of a police uniform to put the wind up the guilty.’
Wesley felt a little disappointed. He’d been hoping to
take part in the search of the Podingham Clinic himself. The place intrigued him. But he knew his colleagues were more than
capable. Besides, he had an appointment with Nuala Johns.
‘I’ve just been talking to Evonne Arlis,’ he said, and quickly filled Gerry in about the photograph Dalcott had mentioned.
‘Did he seem worried about this photograph, or did he say what was in it?’
Wesley shook his head. ‘That’s all she can remember. I know Dalcott’s house has been searched but a photo probably wouldn’t
have been considered important so I’d like to have another look round myself. And we could ask Roz Dalcott if she knows anything
about it.’
Gerry sighed. ‘Tomorrow, eh?’
‘And I’ve discovered that Tony Persimmon who lives at Tailors Court used to work in London for Pharmitest, the drug company
that uses the Podingham Clinic for its trials. And Dalcott worked at the Podingham.’
Gerry hesitated. ‘If this Persimmon was based in London he wouldn’t necessarily have known Dalcott, especially as he was only
there part-time. But it’s worth checking out. You never know.’
They were moving towards the door when Trish Walton hurried into the incident room. ‘The TV people have been in touch about
tonight’s appeal: Mabel Cleary’s daughter Sandra’s quite happy to take part.’
‘Let’s hope it produces something useful,’ said Wesley with feeling.
While some of the team were at the Podingham Clinic with the newly obtained search warrant, Rachel Tracey
was going through some statements. Being left behind had irked her a little at first. But Gerry Heffernan told her that she
was needed in the incident room and, besides, it was a foul day outside so perhaps she was in the right place after all.
The phone on her desk rang and when she answered the voice on the other end of the line sounded vaguely familiar, although
for a few moments she couldn’t place it.
‘Is that Rachel?’
‘Speaking. Who’s that?’
‘It’s Nigel. Nigel Haynes.’
She felt her cheeks start to redden and she turned away from her colleagues, fidgeting with the pen in her hand. ‘Hello, Nigel.
What can I do for you?’ She tried to sound businesslike.
‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes, it has.’
Nigel cleared his throat. He sounded as nervous as she felt, which she found rather gratifying. ‘Er … I wondered when you
were planning to come to the farm, to have a word with Gran. Inspector Peterson rang earlier and I told him she’d just come
home from hospital but …’
‘How is she?’
‘That’s just it. She’s made a remarkable recovery and she’s saying she wants to talk to the police.’
‘That’s great,’ said Rachel, trying to focus on the investigation.
‘But … well, I think it might be best if she spoke to you alone. After all, she knows your family and …’ There was a long
pause. ‘Look, why don’t you come over?’
Rachel looked around the room. The only things she had to deal with on her desk were routine reports and they
could wait an hour or so. And Mary could be an important witness to whatever had gone on at Tailors Court all those years
ago. She might even have information that could help them put a name to the dead child.
‘I’ll be with you in half an hour,’ she heard herself saying.
There was a short silence on the other end of the line before Nigel spoke again. ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ he said as though
he meant it.
She took a deep, calming breath and looked round but Wesley was nowhere to be seen. She found a scrap of paper and scribbled
a note which she left on his desk. She was saving him a job, after all.
DC Paul Johnson straightened his back and presented the search warrant to Fiona Verdun like a ceremonial scroll. She examined
it and looked at the assembled officers.
‘And what do you hope to find?’ she asked with weary sarcasm. ‘We’ve already had a couple of detectives here asking about
Dr Dalcott.’
‘This concerns another matter, Miss,’ said Paul stiffly.
Fiona picked up the telephone on her desk. ‘The police are here, Dr Welman. They’ve got a search warrant.’
After a short silence she replaced the receiver and fixed her eyes on Paul, a businesslike smile on her lips. ‘He suggests
I show you around. As you’ll no doubt appreciate this is a clinic and we have patients here for minor surgery. There are also
volunteers undergoing drugs trials. Dr Welman says it would be inappropriate for your officers to wander round the place freely
but he’s keen to cooperate in any way he can. If you’ll follow me.’
She led the way down a long corridor, through several
sets of swing doors, until they reached what looked like a hospital ward with individual rooms each side. Nurses in starched
uniforms, no longer
de rigueur
in National Health establishments, bustled to and fro, throwing suspicious glances at the newcomers.
‘What kind of operations do you do here? Cosmetic surgery?’ Paul asked, earning himself a contemptuous look.