she would settle things — wait for it — “once and for all.”’
I said, ‘Gosh, well, that proves it. Did he mention the phone?’
‘Reckons he never saw it. She must have found it and planned the whole thing to put the blame on poor old Watts.’
‘So he claims that her motive was jealousy, and the desire to protect her loveless marriage.’
‘Cor-rect.’
‘And what’s her story?’
‘Ah. Mrs Davis wants to eat her cake and have it. Her tune has changed since she learnt that, whatever happens, she keeps the conservatory. She claims she was in bed with migraine…’
I chipped in with ‘Not DC Migraine from Huddersfield?’
Makinson scowled while Les smiled and went on. ‘That’s the one. Her loving husband brought her a cup of tea and two aspirin, at about ten thirty, and said he was popping out for the last half hour in the pub.’
‘The woman’s a living lie,’ I stated. ‘Can’t accept that they hate each other’s guts. They’re held together by mutual greed. You said she hadn’t seen the phone, either.’
‘That’s right. Says he must have found it and planned the whole thing…’
I finished it off for him. ‘To incriminate poor old Michael.’
‘That’s right. And then there’s the problem of motive. We believe he killed Lisa to stop her spilling the beans about the gold, but we’ve only your word about that, Charlie.’
Makinson shuffled in his seat and was about to speak when a PC came backwards through the doorway, carrying a tray with coffee and biscuits.
‘About time,’ Les said, jovially, pushing papers aside to make room on his desk.
We shouted our thanks after the departing uniform and I looked for the sugar. There wasn’t any. I took a sip. It was like drinking neat creosote.
When we were ready again Les asked Makinson what he’d been about to say. He was called Tim. He wiped a crumb of chocolate digestive from his chin and sat back. ‘I was just about to make an observation,’ he mumbled. ‘As I see it, we have two suspects, and one of them almost certainly killed Lisa Davis. Unfortunately, we can’t present them both to the court and say, “Take your pick.” We have to decide which case is the stronger, and go with that. The evidence against him is minimal. She has the stronger motive, but would come across as a harmless housewife. Taking them individually, I’d say we didn’t stand a chance of a conviction.’
‘Mmm. What do you think, Charlie?’ Isles asked.
I lifted the cup to my lips and decided I didn’t really need it that badly, so I lowered it again. ‘I’d say that Tim has just made a very fair assessment of the situation,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m not leaving it at that. K. Tom Davis might be going away for a long time, but that doesn’t help Justin Davis. He wants a conviction. He needs someone to blame, to focus his hate on. He needs to make sense of what happened to his wife. If this goes to court on a not guilty plea, Lisa’s reputation will be dragged through the mire, laid open for the vultures to pick over. How’s that gonna make her husband feel?’
‘Not to mention,’ Les added, ‘the suspicion that his mother killed his wife. It’s like bloody King Lear.’ His Shakespeare was worse than mine but I know what he meant. After a sip of coffee he dunked a biscuit, saying, ‘Aah. It’s taken a long time, but I’ve got them making it just how I like it.’
‘So Forensic haven’t come up with anything?’ I asked, forlornly, already knowing the answer.
‘Some tyre tracks,’ Makinson informed me. ‘Small sample of the same type as on Davis’s Range Rover, but nowhere near enough to be conclusive. Oh, and some really good ones that are a perfect match with your Cavalier.’ He enjoyed telling me that.
I stood up and turned to Les. ‘Is it all right if I have a go at K. Tom?’
He looked at Makinson, who shrugged his shoulders. ‘Be our guest,’ he replied.
‘Cheers. Maybe I can appeal to his better nature, convince him that a confession would be in order.’ Winking at Isles, I added, ‘Failing that, I’ll kick the shit out of him.’
I could have done it, I know that. Last night, in the Sculpture Park, I coud have put the gun to Davis’s head and blown his brains out. And in the years afterwards, whenever I woke in the night filled with doubts about what I’d done, I’d have conjured up that image of Lisa, lying in the bath of blood, and fallen back to sleep again.
I went down to the canteen for a mug of sweet tea, and succumbed to a vanilla slice while thinking about how to handle K. Tom. I decided to cause him as much grief as I could. That way, there’d be no need for acting.
The hospital is only a couple of streets away from headquarters, and parking spaces there are auctioned by Sotheby’s since they sold most of their land for office developments, so I walked. The afternoon visitors had left and meal trolleys were monopolising the lifts, so I climbed three floors rather than wait. My, I was catching up on my exercise today.
The PC on guard duty was sitting outside Davis’s private little room. ‘They’re changing his dressings,’ he told me, after I showed him my ID.
‘Has he much to say?’ I asked.
‘Not to us, sir, but he’s plenty of chat with the nurses. Has them eating out of his ‘ands, running about, doing favours for him. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the villain. Takes me all my time to get someone to fetch me a cup o’ tea from the machine.’
‘Right. We’ll see about that,’ I said, pushing the door open.
Three figures turned to me, two of them wearing nurses’ uniforms and the third an expression of loathing.
‘Detective Inspector Priest,’ I announced, showing my card.
‘Sorry, Inspector,’ the older nurse said, straightening up, ‘we’re just changing Mr Davis’s dressings. I shall have to insist that you leave.’
‘That’s all right,’ I replied, looking at him. ‘I don’t faint at the sight of other people’s blood. Neither do you, eh, Tom?’
‘What do you want?’ he hissed.
‘I came to see where you were shot. The officer who fired at you has a certificate for marksmanship — I’m thinking of revoking it.’
The older nurse came to the foot of his bed as I positioned myself at the other side. He was propped up on several pillows, bare chested except for the bandages on his right shoulder. His right arm was across his body, rubbing the top of his other arm, the way he’d done in the snooker room.
Boss nurse said, ‘This is highly irregular, Inspector. It isn’t a matter of you fainting. We have to consider the patient’s privacy and the risk of infection. I’d be…’
‘Look,’ I interrupted, ‘from now on, he has no privacy. As for infection, I’ve had all my jabs. I’m staying, so why don’t you just get on with it?’
She made a few tutting noises and muttered threats about taking it further, but went back to the task of snipping away the old bandages. The young nurse, who was only a green belt, noticed Davis massaging his arm and said, ‘Is that still bothering you? Would you like the doctor to look at it?’
‘N-No. It’s n-nothing,’ he stuttered, holding his hand still but not removing it.
‘Have a look at what?’ I demanded, grabbing his wrist and yanking it away.
‘How did you get that?’ I asked, as he pulled his hand free from my grasp and placed it back over the mark on his upper arm.
He glowered at the young nurse and the older one took a step backwards, holding a pair of scissors towards me. Davis hyperventilated, his face reddening alarmingly, and his body jerked backwards and forwards.
‘I asked you a question, Davis,’ I yelled at him. ‘How did you get the mark on your arm?’
He took a long slow breath, staring at the pattern on the quilt over his legs. ‘I banged it,’ he replied. ‘In the garage. I banged it.’
The PC outside had managed to find himself a cup of coffee. ‘You haven’t time for that,’ I told him, holding the door to Davis’s room open so I didn’t lose sight of him for a second. ‘Radio HQ straight away. Tell them to get a photographer here, as soon as possible. Then find out where Superintendent Isles is and tell him Charlie Priest wants a word, urgent.’
He dashed off to a window, where the reception was better, and I went back inside. It wasn’t necessary — he was already under arrest for attempted murder — but I did it just the same. I wanted to see their faces. I said,
