the telly or to have a kind-hearted au pair.
I had a few sips from the mug he'd pushed across to me. It was coffee, with milk but no sugar. 'Mmm, just what I needed,' I lied. 'Now, what do you want to show me?'
He produced two ten-by-eight photographs from a folder. They were black at the bottom and white at the top, with a jagged line between like a badly sharpened saw-blade.
'What do you think of those?' he said, triumphantly.
I studied them for a few seconds, then said: 'You've taken up minimalist photography and want my opinion. Is that it?'
He peered over the tops of the pictures. 'You're holding that one upside down,' he replied.
I asked him to explain. When he'd finished I borrowed his sugar and put four spoonfuls in the coffee champagne would have been more appropriate, but this would do.
'Well done, Prof,' I said, trying to hide the hotchpotch of emotions that was bubbling over inside me. 'Well done!'
I used his phone to ring Luke's home number. He was about to go out, as soon as he'd decided which earrings to wear.
'Luke, how long would it take to run off copies of all my reports of interviews with Miles Dewhurst?'
'Oh, about five minutes.'
'Good. Any chance of you calling in at the station and doing it, please?'
'What, now?'
'Mmm.'
'Er, yeah. No problem, Charlie.'
'Thanks. Leave them on my desk, I'll collect them in a couple of hours.'
On the way back I saw a fish and chip shop and swung into a vacant parking place. I was about to order when I remembered where my hands had been earlier in the day, and didn't feel hungry any more.
'Er, I'veer changed my mind,' I said to the bewildered lady, and left empty-handed.
The reports were on my desk, as arranged. I took them home to read in bed, but not before I'd had a hot shower and a bowl of cornflakes, consecutively.
Ashurst Construction have premises on a bustling new trading estate in Stockport, Greater Manchester. Mr. Black, their managing director and chief designer, welcomed me into his office at nine o'clock on Tuesday Morning. I'd made the appointment earlier by ringing him at home.
'Sit down, Inspector. Can I order you a coffee?' he said.
'No thanks, Mr. Black, I'd rather get straight on with it and I'm sure you're very busy.'
'Busy's the word. Still, it's preferable to the alternative. How can I help you?'
'First of all, could you tell me in a sentence what you do here and how well you know a company called Eagle Electrical.'
The genial expression slipped from his face. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'The little girl. I read that you'd found her body. Dreadful. Dreadful.'
'Eagle Electrical…' I prompted.
'Yes, well, to answer your question, we are in the business of renovating property. Trading estates like this one, nursing homes, blocks of flats. We do a lot of work for local authorities. Eagle Electrical have supplied us with materials, and sometimes we've found it more expedient to subcontract the labour to them, too. Smaller jobs, though; we have our own teams of craftsmen. We use Eagle and others in preference to losing a contract.'
'So how well do you know Mr. Dewhurst?' I asked.
'Miles Dewhurst?' He pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. 'I … know him, that's all. He comes in here about once a month looking for business. They haven't had a substantial order from us for quite a while. We try to put some stuff their way, to keep them floating. It's not in our interests for them to go under.'
'You think it might have come to that?'
'I really don't know. We're OK, but a lot of smaller firms are still failing in spite of all the talk of a recovery.'
'Could you tell me when you last saw Miles Dewhurst, Mr. Black?' I asked.
'Yes. The morning his daughter disappeared. I'd presumed that was why you were here.'
'It is, but I need to hear it from your mouth. Is there any documentary proof that he was here that morning? You know what we say, sir: to eliminate him from our enquiries.'
He appeared quite eager. 'Well, yes, there is. It just so happened that he had a puncture in our yard. Very embarrassing for him he drives one of those macho off-road vehicles. Something had gone through one of his sidewalls; ruined the tyre. Our mechanic took it round to ATS Tyres and had a new one fitted.'
'Took the wheel there or the whole vehicle?'
'The vehicle. He put the spare on and drove it there. Miles stayed in here with me. Only took half an hour. We put it on our account, so it's in the books, somewhere.'
'Good. Thank you. When it's convenient would you mind making a recorded statement in a local police station — everything you've just told me?'
'No, not at all' 'I'll fix something up, then. Now, could I possibly have a word with the mechanic who took Dewhurst's car to the tyre depot?'
Nigel and Sparky were in deep conversation when I entered the office.
Nigel was saying: 'So why was Prince Charles wearing this ginger hat with the tail down the back?'
Sparky rolled his eyes in a so-help-me gesture.
'Because,' he said, emphasising with a stab of the finger, 'because the Queen said: 'Where are you going, Charles?' and he replied:
'Heckmondwike,' and she said: 'Wear the fox hat.'
'Don't let Mr. Wood hear you telling royalist jokes, David,' I said, endeavouring to keep a straight face.
'No, boss, it's not a joke. It's a true story.'
'So what's a fox hat got to do with Heckmondwike?' Nigel asked.
'Never mind that,' I interrupted. 'Where is Mr. Wood?'
'Summoned to Division,' said Sparky. 'Apparently we've overspent on handcuffs.'
'So that means…' I stretched my arms wide, 'that I'm in charge. OK, boys and girls, gather round and Uncle Charlie will tell you a story.'
When I'd finished, there were smiles all round. I slid my diary, open at a list of phone numbers, across to Nigel and pointed at the phone.
'C'mon, Nigel, do your stuff,' I said.
He drummed his fingers on the handset for a moment, gathering his wits, then picked it up and dialled. After a few seconds he gave us a nod and settled back in his chair.
'Mr. Dewhurst?' he asked. 'Oh, good. It's DS Newley here, from Heckley CID. Is it convenient for you to speak? You're not doing eighty on the motorway, are you?… Fine, fine. You've heard the latest developments, I presume? Yes… we've mixed feelings here, too.'
Nigel placed a hand over the mouthpiece. 'He's at home,' he hissed. He resumed the conversation; 'The fact is, Mr. Dewhurst, we'd like to do a formal interview with you here at the station. As you know, it's a sad fact that in a case like this the closest members of the family always fall under a certain amount of suspicion. We need a taped interview describing your movements on the weekend in question; tie up a few loose ends, so to speak… Yes… Yes, I suppose it does seem rather pointless to you… How does four thirty, here, sound?… Oh, good. We'll see you then, Mr. Dewhurst. Thank you for your cooperation. Oh, there's just one other thing. It's normal procedure for a solicitor to be present. Would you like me to arrange the duty solicitor or will you bring your own?'
Nigel replaced the phone and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. 'He's bringing his own solicitor,' he sighed.
Nigel had managed to squeeze all the key words into the conversation: under suspicion; taped interview; solicitor present. I said: 'Well done. Now, let's go to the pub and discuss tactics over a Steinberg's pork pie. I'm famished.'
These days we can't afford to have anybody manning the front desk. The public are expected to ring the bell for attention. We were looking out for Dewhurst, though. He arrived fifteen minutes late, in the Toyota, accompanied by Mr. Wylie, his solicitor. The arrogant sod parked in the spot marked HMI again. They were shown
