them. I had a can of Newcastle Brown, showered and went to bed early. In the shower I did my Leonard Cohen sings Placido Domingo act. In bed I didn't dream about a little girl; not for a long while.
'I like the tie, boss,' Nigel told me as we congregated in my little office.
'Thank you. It is rather nice, isn't it?'
'Jumble sale?' suggested Sparky.
'Actually, it's a Hockney. Bought it at his exhibition in Saltaire.
We'll hang on a bit because I've asked Mr. Wood to join us. No point in repeating everything.'
'Did you go to college with him?' asked Maggie.
'Mr. Wood? No, he was educated by the Jesuits. Or was it the Innuits?'
'I think Maggie meant David Hockney,' explained Nigel.
'Heck, no. He's six or seven years older than me. And our art schools were about two hundred miles apart. And severial light years.'
Severial was a local pronunciation, for Nigel's benefit.
'What sort of painting did you speciali se in?' he enquired.
'Nudes,' Sparky chipped in. 'That was the only way he could get women to take their clothes off for him. Am I right?'
'As always, Dave,' I replied.
He warmed to his theme: 'He was a pubist. You might not know it, but Charlie founded a school called pubism. Spent his formative years painting hairy mots.'
Dave had rekindled some fond memories for me. I smiled and replied:
'Actually, in those days they were always shaven.'
The Super walked in and saved the conversation from further degeneration. 'What were always shaven? Good grief, where did you find that tie, Charlie?' he demanded as he sat down.
'It's a long story, boss. OK, Maggie, take it from the top.'
She coughed and flicked open her notebook. 'Right,' she began. 'I've spent much of the week talking to Mrs. Eaglin and Mr. Dewhurst. He's been busier than ever. I've spoken with him on the telephone twice a day, but only managed to catch him face to face once.'
'What's his excuse?' asked Gilbert.
'Just busy, sir; trying to catch up, throwing himself into his work, that sort of thing.'
'Mmm. And his attitude? To you, I mean?'
'Tolerant, but strained. When I meet him his face falls for a moment, then he smiles. He says he appreciates our concern, but it doesn't show. Except about his mother-in-law. He seems genuinely grateful for the time we're spending with her.'
'I see. Go on.'
'Well, the gist is, so far he hasn't heard anything more from the kidnappers. That's up to eight o'clock this morning.' Maggie paused for a drink of coffee. She turned the page and went on: 'Charlie, er, Mr. Priest, asked me to do some probing with Mrs. Eaglin. It wasn't very pleasant. She's opened her heart to me over the last few weeks, regarded me as a friend, so it seemed dishonest to put the policewoman's hat back on, without telling her.'
'Yes, I can imagine,' said Gilbert. 'But it's kinder than inviting her to the station to answer a few questions. At least I hope it is.'
'Probably. Well, here's what I've found, for what it's worth. Eagle Electrical was founded by George Eaglin, Georgina's grand ad Miles Dewhurst was the chief sales engineer. After a whirlwind courtship he married Janet, their daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Eaglin weren't very pleased about it at the time, but when Janet gave birth to a daughter six months later they decided it had probably been for the best. And Dewhurst did well for the company. Built it up to what it is today Mrs. Eaglin gave him full credit for that. Old George Eaglin died of a brain tumour just after Georgina was born. In his will he left Eagle Electrical to Janet, his daughter, with a few provisions for Mrs.
Eaglin. That's about it.' She closed her book and had another drink of coffee.
Gilbert didn't have any questions, so I thanked Maggie and invited Nigel to speak.
'I've had a long conversation with Mr. Wylie,' he told us. 'He's a partner at Dean and Mason, solicitors for the Eaglins and also the Dewhursts. I told him that it was off the record, but we believed that Dewhurst was trying to raise the ransom money himself. I told them what we were doing and that we were worried that he might try to act unilaterally.'
Gilbert winced. 'On his own?'
'Yes, sir. They were sympathetic. Apparently Dewhurst has asked them to arrange the sale of his house and the company. They're trying to resurrect the offer that was made a while back. Meanwhile they have heard, unofficially, that he's borrowed heavily against the properties from his business contacts.'
'How do you hear something like that unofficially?' asked Gilbert.
I shook my head.
'Talk at the golf club,' suggested Sparky. 'Or at the lodge. They all urinate in the same receptacle.'
'Oh, no,' groaned Gilbert. 'Not the Freemasons. Don't start Charlie off about them again.'
'That wasn't me. It was Wassock Willis,' I protested. Willis was one of my sergeants, now moved on.
Sparky leaned back in his chair, his face bearing a satisfied grin.
He'd succeeded in goading Gilbert and myself into bickering. I kicked his shin under the table.
'Nigel.' I turned to him, scratching my ear with my pencil, to create a diversion. 'We need to find out what was in Janet Dewhurst's will; who she left the company to. Do you think your Mr. Wylie will tell you?'
'Don't see why not. Shall I ring him?'
'Or would you rather see him in person?'
'No, I'll ring him. I'll use my own phone if you don't mind, the number's in my desk.'
When he'd gone I said: 'Nigel has a flair for dealing with people like solicitors. He gets more cooperation from them than I ever can.'
'It's called being polite,' said Gilbert. 'You let it be known that you don't like them because they're better off than you, so you get their backs up.'
'Thank you for putting me straight,' I replied.
'Any time. What's the shirt and tie for?'
'Er, I have a luncheon appointment.'
'Anywhere special?'
I was saved by a knock at the door and Geoff Caton poked his head in.
'Scuse me, Mr. Wood. It's Van Rees on the phone, boss. Shall I say you'll ring him back?'
'No, transfer him in here please.'
After a few seconds the phone rang. 'Hello, Professor, it's Charlie Priest here. Have you anything for me?'
'I'm not sure, Inspector. First of all, I've just received these dirt samples from you. We're having a quick look at them and cataloguing them for further reference. Is that all you wanted?'
'For the time being, Professor. It's just material that we might want to do a comparison with, one day. It's a long shot.'
'I see. Now, this blood sample. It's from a Miles Dewhurst.'
'Yes.'
'Presumably he's something to do with the little girl who vanished.'
'Yes, he's her father.'
'The SOCO brought us samples of hair from her hairbrush when she first went missing.'
'I know.'
'Was she adopted?'
'I don't think so. No, she wasn't. Definitely not.'
'Well, Inspector, statistically there's a chance that you are her biological father. There's even an extremely remote chance that I am her biological father although I have to confess to having no recollection of the encounter. But this sample proves that Miles Dewhurst is no blood relation to her whatsoever.'
'Well, well,' pondered Gilbert when I relayed the message to the others. 'Mr. Dewhurst becomes interestinger
