'If he hasn't already,' I said, and told her about the doctor living in the same block of flats.
'Really?' she said, leaning forward. 'And apart from that, have you found anything else to link them?'
I shook my head. 'Not a sausage. I've asked all the mobiles to keep an eye out for him, and Jeff Caton's arranging for some casual observations to be done. If we can't get him for rape we might be able to clip his wings for a while.'
'It's more than his wings I'd like to clip. He went out in a taxi last night.'
'Damn! He's reading our minds. Give her plenty of attention, Maggie,'
I said. 'Until she starts to feel more secure. Ask her if a panic button would help. That's about all we can offer.'
'It's not much, is it?'
'No.'
The pharmacy was in a parade of shops on the Sweetwater side of town.
Better class council houses give way to a posh estate where the roses grow up pergolas and they have tit boxes on the walls instead of satellite dishes. The sad irony is that the birds prefer nesting in the satellite dishes. It was sandwiched between a unisex hair salon and a wine store, or a barber's and an off-licence if you came from the council estate.
'Why do they call themselves unisex hairdresser's when they do both sexes?' Nigel wondered as he swung into the lay by that fronted the shops.
'Because bisexual hairdresser would have other connotations,' I told him.
'Why?'
'I don't know. Do you want to go round the back while I kick the front door in, or do you want to kick it in while I cover the back?'
A woman came out of the pharmacy fiddling with her handbag.
'They're open,' Nigel said.
'This job's not what it used to be,' I grumbled. 'Come on, let's have a walk round.'
We passed the fronts of a greengrocer's and an all-purpose store that had baby clothes and model cars in the window. A poster said the local dramatic society wanted players for their next production Iolanthe and someone had lost a dog. Cars and four-wheel-drives driven by women were coming and going, buying something for tea after picking up the kids. What a life. We turned the corner into the service road that ran behind the shops.
There were the usual dumpsters and piles of empty boxes. The greengrocer had taken a delivery of Cape oranges and still had a few Christmas trees left. At the far end of the parade a butcher's van was unloading a carcass. Across the lane was a row of garages-cum-storerooms, one per shop. The door to A.J.K. Weatherall's was wide open and his car was inside.
He owned a Lotus.
'Well, well,' I said. 'What's that worth?'
'Six years old… Oh, about twelve or fifteen thousand, at a guess.'
'And about thirty thousand new?'
'Something like that.'
'Let's go talk to him.'
We completed our circuit of the block. Passing the back of the butcher's I tried not to inhale and wished I had the willpower to go vegetarian. Trouble is, I like my steaks.
The grey-haired lady behind the pharmacy counter said she'd tell Mr.
Weatherall we were here. She slipped into the back room, behind a partition made of striped glass that we could be seen through, and we heard her say that two reps were asking for him.
'Mr. Weatherall won't be a moment,' she told us with a smile when she returned.
I studied the goods on offer. Half of the front counter was dedicated to the prevention of pregnancy, with a variety of choice that was bewildering. Colour, shape, size and flavour had all to be considered.
I feigned shock and turned away.
Apart from the usual flu and indigestion remedies, the rest of the shop was filled with all the stuff you needed after the things on the counter failed. Perhaps abstention was the best way after all, I decided.
'Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,' Weatherall blustered as he came into the shop. He looked expectantly from one of us to the other, as if he ought to recognise us. He was about thirty-five, seriously thinning on top, with cherubic features and rimless spectacles.
'That's all right, sir,' Nigel said, showing his ID. 'I'm DS Newley from Heckley CID and this is DI Priest. Do you think we could go somewhere private for a chat? It shouldn't take more than a few minutes.'
'Oh, er, right. I thought you were company representatives. Sorry about that.'
'That's OK, sir.'
'We'll be upstairs, Monica, if you need me. This way, please, gentlemen.'
He lived above the shop. We sat on easy chairs that had seen better days and he lit the gas fire. He adjusted the vertical blind on the window to admit more light and apologised for the mess. 'We're in the middle of moving out,' he explained.
'Going far, sir?' I asked.
'No. We've bought a house on Sweetwater Lane, not too far away.'
'So you're not leaving the shop?'
'No. No. Just the opposite. Thinking of buying anotherin fact.'
'Business must be good, sir.'
He smiled. 'Yes, I suppose it is. We just happen to be in a good location, with a decent catchment area and no big national nearer than the town centre. We're doing well.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' I said.
Nigel broke in with: 'We're looking into the death of Dr. Clive Jordan, Mr. Weatherall. We believe you knew him.'
'I wondered if that was it.' He looked worried. Or sad, it's hard to tell the difference. 'Yes,' he continued, 'I knew him, but not very well.'
'How well?'
He studied his fingernails for a moment, realised he was fidgeting and placed his hands on his thighs. 'We met about three years ago, at the Lord Mayor's Ball in the town hall. I heard someone say his name and introduced myself. I see his prescriptions now and again, but not very often, so I made a joke about his handwriting.' He chuckled at the memory. 'I remembered him from school but he was a year above me and almost certainly didn't know I existed. We both went to Heckley Grammar, and he was school captain. I'm afraid I wasn't very good at sports.'
'And when did you last see him?'
'About a year after that.'
'What was the occasion?'
A fingernail went to his mouth for a moment before he thrust his hands into his pockets. 'That first time,' he began, 'at the town hall we bumped into each other again, waiting for the ladies' coats, and walked out together. I was with my wife and he was with a girlfriend. She looked extremely young. When we reached the cars he was in a beautiful little Lotus. We were admiring it, me saying I'd always wanted one, and he said he'd probably be selling it in about a year, might I be interested? We said yes, and the following summer he rang me and I bought it. I haven't seen him since then.'
Nigel glanced at me, his face sagging like a melting cake. I pursed my lips and looked up at the ceiling.
'Did you pay cash for the car, sir?' Nigel asked. The enthusiasm had gone from his voice.
'No,' the pharmacist replied. 'We drew up a contract and I pay him monthly. It was actually his idea said there was no point in paying exorbitant interest charges. He was terribly decent about the whole thing. And trusting. To tell the truth, I was a bit taken aback by him. If I'd been in his shoes I wouldn't have been so trusting, I can tell you.'
I said: 'Maybe he was a good judge of character Mr. Weatherall.'
The chemist nodded and said: 'Presumably I'll have to keep making the payments into his estate.'
'I would imagine so.'
'Ah, well.'
