Evans murmured: ‘You may find lawyers a little difficult, man.’
Gently produced the critical photograph, but he held it with its back towards Kincaid. The latter immediately fixed his eyes on it, regarding it with a tremulous sort of fascination. Gently waited. Kincaid’s emotion grew with each added moment; till finally, unable to bear it longer, he gave a little sob and reached out his hand.
‘Is that my w-wife you’ve got there?’
‘How would you recognize her, Kincaid?’
‘I’d know — I would. Oh please let me see her!’
‘She had grey eyes, hadn’t she?’
Kincaid’s own eyes opened wider.
‘She used to dye her hair, didn’t she? Her complexion was pale and clear?’
Kincaid’s hand flew to his mouth. His breath came in a ragged gasp. He stared idiot-like at Gently, his teeth were cutting into his fingers.
‘Isn’t that how you’d know her?’
Kincaid gave a strangled cry. ‘Yes… yes!’ He went on repeating it in a hysterical gabble.
Gently reversed the photograph and thrust it into Kincaid’s hand. The man seized it, bent over it, twisting himself away from Gently. Then the tension seemed to snap in him and he began to laugh uncontrollably. He dropped the photograph on the floor, a smear of blood on it from his hand.
‘Is that your wife, Kincaid?’
He only laughed the more. Though they waited for half an hour, they could get nothing sensible out of him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alas for Evans’s confidence! It was to have very little to bolster it, and by the time they called it a day all his original gloom had returned. No sudden solution was round the corner, no neat tying of the ends, rather the indications were that they were getting further away from the mark.
Dutt was waiting in Gently’s office when they returned to the Yard. They found him immersed in an evening paper in which Kincaid still rated the headlines. Gently took it from him. The headlines ran: FRESH MOVES IN KINCAID SAGA Supt. Gently Visits Bow Street Surprise Enquiries at Hendon
‘That’s one in the eye for our friend, Mr Stanley.’
Evans snorted. He was reading the item over Gently’s shoulder. He was much intrigued by the accompanying picture, which showed himself and Gently alighting from the Wolseley. Gently gave him the paper and sat down. He’d seen too many of these things.
‘Was the lady on record?’ he asked Dutt.
‘Yessir.’ Dutt drew out his notebook. ‘But she wasn’t under the name you gave me, though.’
‘Wasn’t she then? So how did you get on to her?’
‘What you might call coincidence, sir. One of the maids there used to work for her, and I chanced to catch her at the desk.’
‘Good for you.’
Gently nodded congratulations and Dutt looked pleased. Evans tore himself away from the picture to stare interrogatively at the sergeant. Dutt continued:
‘She gives the name of Mrs Sterling, sir, but the maid knew well enough that she was Arthur Fleece’s missus. Said she lived at Thames Ditton and was wife of the bloke what was murdered — about forty, a smart sort of woman, wears her hair dyed black.’
Evans groaned. ‘That’s her, man.’
Dutt turned over a page. ‘She booked in at the Suffolk on 16th September and left again last Monday. She was in a bit of a hurry.’
‘September 16th?’
‘Yessir. That’s correct.’
Gently met Evans’s eye. ‘So she was there for three weeks… Was she absent during that time?’
‘No sir. She never went out much. Just shopping and such-like, and once or twice to a show. She used to write a lot of letters and she used the phone quite a bit, but it was always the paybox in the hall, so I couldn’t trace the calls.’
‘What about visitors?’
‘Yessir, I made a note of them. She had her kids there the first weekend; twins they are, about eleven or twelve. Then there was an elderly, professional bloke who called to see her a couple of times — a grey-haired geezer, on the tall side, wore a black suit and carried a briefcase. That’s the lot, apart from a bloke who drove her home once or twice. But he never got out of his car so I couldn’t get his particulars.’
‘Did you get a description of the car?’
‘Yessir. A sports job.’
‘A green and cream Austin-Healey?’
‘The porter didn’t notice, sir.’
‘That’s a pity. What happened on Monday?’
‘She got a trunk call, sir, from Llanberis. It came in around half-past five when she was having tea in the lounge. She took the call at the hall desk and the clerk moved off so’s not to look nosey, but from the way she behaved he’s pretty certain what it was about. She turned as pale as a ghost and ordered a double brandy. Then she went up and packed, and she was off by half-past six.’
‘Any other details?’
‘She had a letter on most days, sir. The address was typewritten, to Mrs Sterling, and they were posted in the London area.’
‘Thanks, Dutt. You’ve done a nice job.’
‘Just a bit of routine, sir.’
‘Tell them to send us up a snack, will you? We’re going to wait here for a call.’
Dutt departed, leaving his paper as a souvenir for Evans. But the big Welshman was no longer enthralled by his front-page billing. He said mournfully:
‘It either means something or else it does not — and either way I can’t see it helping Myfanw Evans.’
‘How do you read it?’ Gently asked.
Evans laid a finger to his nose. ‘A divorce, man, large as life. Fleece was preparing to give her the push.’
‘But if she happened to be Paula Kincaid?’
‘Stop rubbing it in. I can see a barn door. If she happened to be Paula Kincaid then the marriage was probably void in any case.’
Gently shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure. It’s a legal point worth settling. But his reason for divorcing her seems plain enough. She has a boyfriend in the offing.’
‘And he could be an Everest Club member.’
‘That’s almost certain on the facts. The call from Llanberis didn’t come from the police — unless your Welsh police happen to be psychic. They had no reason to contact a Mrs Sterling staying at the Suffolk Hotel in Knightsbridge.’
‘Glory be, that never struck me! Of course, it has to be one of the members.’
‘And if you’re thinking the way I’m thinking…’
Evans looked sick. ‘Raymond Heslington,’ he said.
‘He was the one with the opportunity. He may not be the one with the car.’
Gently opened a drawer of his desk and fetched out the file on Kincaid. Inside it, prominent amongst the statements, was that of Heslington, containing his particulars. Gently rang Information:
‘Note this name and address. I want a description of his car; just the make and colouring will do.’
While they waited Evans’s face seemed to grow sadder and sadder and not even the advent of coffee and sandwiches served to relieve his dolour. He munched largely but unfeelingly, a steady mechanical champ, and took big mouthfuls of coffee without looking at his cup. He was either up or down. There were no half-measures with
