to proceed further, and recommend that no charges be made.’
I’d considered dropping the whole thing myself, there and then, but decided that this way we would keep the coroner happy, if he asked any questions about the bump on the head.
Neither of them moved, apart from a slight sinking motion. Joan appeared not to comprehend that she was a free woman. Mrs Bannister recovered first. ‘This is all highly irregular, Inspector,’ she declared. I think she’d have preferred a murder-one rap.
‘Mmm, it is, isn’t it?’ I agreed, amiably. ‘But at no time have we said that this was anything other than a suspicious death. Mrs Eastwood has admitted to an assault, but she has aptly demonstrated that she was provoked, and that her intentions were not unduly malicious. As the victim was already dead…’ I upturned my palms.
‘In that case… You said my client is free to leave.’
‘Yes. At no time has she been under arrest.’ I turned to the tape recorder. ‘Interview terminated at…eleven thirty-two.’ I clicked it off and extracted the tapes.
Joan smiled for the first time in a week. ‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ she mumbled.
‘How about “Goodbye”?’ I suggested with a grin.
Mrs Bannister grabbed her briefcase and jumped to her feet. She had an urgent appointment to attend.
‘Before you go,’ I said, ‘do you mind if I have a quick word with Joan in private?’
She hesitated, and a look of panic flickered across Joan’s face, as if she expected me to make a dramatic denouement and tell her that she was under arrest.
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured her. ‘It’s nothing to do with Goodrich’s death.’ I handed a copy of the tape to Maggie, who led Mrs Bannister to the front desk to sign for it.
When they’d gone I said, ‘It must be a great relief to know that you didn’t kill Hartley.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I…don’t know if I’m supposed to thank you, or not.’
‘I doubt it,’ I told her. ‘I’m afraid I did lead you on a bit, but the truth came out, eventually.’
‘Yes, and I wasn’t very honest, was I?’
‘You’re not a very convincing liar,’ I told her.
She blushed, saying, ‘I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you, Mr Priest. And ashamed of myself for being so devious. At one time…before…’
She let the rest of it hang in the air. She was going to say that at one time, before she met Goodrich, she wouldn’t have known how to tell a lie.
‘Joan,’ I began, ‘the conversation you had with Hartley about K. Tom Davis and the Hartog-Praat robbery. That’s what I want to ask you about. Is there anything at all you can remember him ever saying about the gold?’
But there wasn’t. He talked about it once, then warned her never to mention it again, and she hadn’t. It looked as if the trail petered out with him. I walked Joan to the foyer, where we met up with Maggie and Mrs Bannister again. The solicitor asked Joan if she was all right, and she nodded and smiled.
‘There’s just one final thing, Mrs Eastwood,’ I said.
The three women gave me their attention.
‘When we searched Goodrich’s car,’ I told her, ‘we found a packed suitcase in the boot. It looked as if he was about to go away for a few days. Just thought you’d like to know.’
She smiled briefly, and her eyes filled with tears. It was drizzling outside, which must have felt good on her face. When they reached the car Mrs Bannister put an arm around her shoulders. I wouldn’t have told her if I’d known it would upset her.
I collected a hot chocolate from the machine and walked upstairs with Maggie. ‘Another one for the clear-up rate,’ I boasted.
‘Not even a piddling Section Forty-seven,’ she replied.
‘But a blow for justice, Maggie. Who do you think we should catch this afternoon?’
‘Ah, I’d like a word with you about this afternoon. Do you think I could have an hour off to visit the optician?’
‘God, yes,’ I said. ‘In fact, I ought to come with you. I either need some reading glasses or longer arms.’
I held the office door open for her and she gave me one of her exasperated looks. ‘Oh, I can read all right,’ she assured me. ‘Reading’s no problem. Reading’s just fine. It’s the bigger objects that I can’t see. Do you know, about a week ago I examined this car, and guess what? There was a suitcase in the boot, and I completely overlooked it. Never saw a thing.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Commander Fearnside caught me at home, halfway between boil-in-the-bag cod in butter sauce and Look North. Five minutes earlier the phone had rung but nobody had been there, although I thought I heard breathing.
‘Did you try ringing a few minutes ago?’ I asked him.
‘No, Charlie. This is my first attempt. Why? Somebody playing silly buggers?’
‘Probably. What can I do for you?’
‘Right. Well, the file for the Hartog-Praat robbery is in the post, but I’ve had a chat with the SIO and thought I’d fill you in with the relevant stuff.’
‘Great. Fire away.’
‘First of all, just over a ton and a half of gold was stolen, worth about ten million pounds at today’s prices. None has been recovered. Money like that causes rifts in the underworld community, and tongues wagged. Someone put the finger on a certain bank robber and general blagger called Cliff Childs. Prints in one of the getaway cars led us to a property in the East End owned by a pal of his, so we lifted him. He was ID’d by one of the guards through a tattoo on his neck. He’s well into a twenty-year sentence, could be out in three or four, but he was only the sharp end. The brains were never caught.’
‘So someone is still sitting on a pot of gold, holding it for him.’
‘Ha! I hope they are, for their own sake. He’ll be bloody annoyed if they’ve blown it in, what?’
‘Mmm. Anything else?’
‘That’s only the beginning. All of Childs’ associates, visitors, phone calls, et cetera, are monitored, as far as is possible. Most of them are predictable, but a couple of visitors were interesting. Early in his sentence a smalltime crook called Jimmy McAnally called on him a couple of times, right out of the blue. Their paths had crossed in Strangeways, so they could have known each other. Then, blow me down if he didn’t visit him again, about eighteen months ago. Another crook called Morgan had visited Childs at about the same time as McAnally’s first two visits, but he died in a brawl shortly afterwards.’
‘So what did you make of these visits?’
‘Nothing, except that, just popping up like they did, they could have been messengers between Childs and whoever was holding the gold. Everything else coming out of his cell has been perfectly innocent.’
‘Doesn’t he have a wife?’
‘She ran off to Majorca with his worst enemy, before the trial.’
‘That sounds suspicious.’
‘No, we’ve kept tabs on them, and they’re running a little bar, struggling to get by. Let me tell you about McAnally.’
‘Oh, sorry, Mr Fearnside. Fire away.’
‘Jimmy McAnally worked the Billingsgate market, hence his nickname — Jimmy the Fish. He did three years for several offences of handling. Then he had a leg amputated after a car crash and married someone he met in hospital. She’s a Yorkshire girl, with more than her fair share of that common sense you’re supposed to be imbued with up there. She insisted that they move north, and now they live in…Bridlington, is it?’
‘Could be.’
‘Right. Well, it’d be interesting to know why he visited Childs, don’t you think?’
‘Mmm, yeah. And you don’t mind if I go along and ask him?’
