and talk to him. But I did not go to England because Katya telephoned to say that Ethan was dead — murdered. His body came back to us on an aeroplane.
COUNSEL: Did Ethan say anything else in his letter about what he had found out?
WITNESS: He said it was dangerous. That’s all.
COUNSEL: You have the letter with you, Mr Mendel?
WITNESS: Yes.
Witness produces handwritten letter in postmarked envelope.
COUNSEL: This will be exhibit 33, my lord. It’s dated May 4 of this year and postmarked Munich, West Germany — the day before Ethan Mendel’s death.
JUDGE: Yes, very well — exhibit 33. Is that all, Mr Relton?
COUNSEL: Yes, my lord.
JUDGE: Very well. Do you wish to cross-examine the witness, Mr Arne?
PROSECUTION COUNSEL, MR ARNE: Yes, my lord, just a few questions. You have no idea what it is that your brother wished to talk to you about, do you?
WITNESS: No, but I’m pretty sure it was…
COUNSEL: Please don’t speculate, Mr Mendel. We are solely concerned with facts here, not guesses. Do you know David Swain?
WITNESS: No.
COUNSEL: Do you know anything about letters written by Mr Swain to Katya Osman?
WITNESS: No.
COUNSEL: Do you know anything about David Swain’s movements on the day of your brother’s murder?
WITNESS: No.
COUNSEL: Do you know anything about your brother’s movements that day?
WITNESS: No, of course I don’t. I was in Belgium when my brother was murdered. I already said that.
COUNSEL: Yes, you did. And the point I’m making to you now is that you don’t know anything about what happened to your brother because he never told you anything, and you weren’t even in this country when he was killed…
WITNESS: I know he’d found out something…
COUNSEL: But you don’t know what it was. Your letter leads us precisely nowhere. It’s not evidence.
WITNESS: But…
COUNSEL: Thank you, Mr Mendel, I’ve no more questions. I’m sorry that you’ve had such a wasted journey.
WITNESS: I don’t care what’s evidence or not evidence; I care about who killed my brother. Ethan died because he’d found out something, and I’m going to find out what it was.
JUDGE: Please just answer the questions, Mr Mendel. Do you have any re-examination, Mr Relton?
DEFENCE COUNSEL, MR RELTON: No, my lord.
JUDGE: Thank you, Mr Mendel. You may step down.
‘Pretty effective piece of cross-examination I’d say,’ said Trave, catching Clayton’s eye as he looked up at the end of the page. ‘Jacob Mendel had no real probative evidence to give, and the defence looked stupid for calling him. That’s what I thought at the time anyway, but since then Jacob and his mysterious letter have gnawed at the back of my mind. It’s like Ethan’s note — an itch that won’t go away.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the letter and the note don’t make any sense. Think about it: Ethan goes to West Germany and finds out something dangerous and important — so important that he can’t put it in a letter but instead asks his brother to cross the Channel so that they can discuss it face-to-face. Then he rushes back to England and immediately goes off to Oxford to see a man he’s never met. And when he doesn’t find Swain at home, he doesn’t wait; instead he leaves an urgent note setting up a meeting at Osman’s boathouse for five o’clock the same day.’
‘You mean — how would Ethan have known Swain would get the message?’ said Clayton thoughtfully.
‘Yes. Unless whoever left the note knew Swain was at home and that’s why he left it — because he didn’t want to be seen.’
‘Because whoever it was wasn’t Ethan at all, but someone pretending to be him.’
‘Someone setting a trap,’ said Trave, nodding.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about the brother before?’ asked Clayton.
‘Because, like the prosecutor said, Jacob’s evidence didn’t go anywhere, and then you made it pretty obvious that you thought I was chasing my tail when I told you my concerns about Ethan’s murder after Katya was killed,’ said Trave with a dry smile. ‘I’m telling you now because it seems like you’ve got more of an open mind, and also — well, also because I’ve decided to do something about Jacob.’
‘Do something?’ repeated Clayton, sitting up, suddenly alert.
‘Yes, I’m going to go to Antwerp and try and find him.’
‘Why, if he doesn’t know anything?’ asked Clayton, surprised.
‘Because he might know something now. Look what he said at the end of his evidence,’ said Trave, tapping the page with his finger. ‘“Ethan died because he’d found out something, and I’m going to find out what it was.” Perhaps he’s done just that. I remember him at the trial. He was angry and upset, but determined too. He didn’t need to come all the way to London to give evidence, but he did. I don’t think he’s someone who’d give up easily once he’d set his mind to something.’
‘Like you,’ said Clayton wryly, raising his eyebrows.
‘Like me,’ agreed Trave. ‘The point is, Adam, I know in my bones that Swain’s not guilty. He’s a hot-headed fool, but he’s no murderer, and I’m not going to rest until I’ve proved it.’
‘And I suppose that’s also your only way to get your job back,’ said Clayton, looking quizzically at his ex- boss.
‘Yes, there’s that too,’ said Trave, agreeing with a wry smile of his own. ‘Creswell’s agreed to postpone my disciplinary hearing for a month, but I can’t see the Chief Constable showing me much mercy once he’s finally got me in his sights.’
On the other side of town, Macrae was working late in his office, reading through the documents in the John Bircher file. After a few minutes he gathered together the incident reports, the attending doctor’s statement, and the three hideous photographs of Bircher’s smashed-up body lying on the concrete outside the entrance to the car park, fastened them together with a paper clip, and replaced them in the cardboard file. Then, picking up a red pen, he wrote SUICIDE in thick capital letters across the front, added his initials, and pushed the file to the other side of his desk.
The door opened and Detective Constable Wale came in.
‘Well?’ asked Macrae, looking up.
‘Clayton’s been to Trave’s house again. I followed him there this evening. He stayed inside more than an hour. You want me to talk to him?’
Macrae looked across the desk at his assistant and ran his eyes over Wale’s thick arms and heavy, oversized hands. The sight of them always gave him pleasure, and he hesitated for a moment, stroking his chin. He liked the thought of Jonah trying out a few of his techniques on that self-righteous little sneak, Clayton, but he knew that it wasn’t worth the risk of the runt going squealing to Creswell.
‘No, Jonah. It’s a tempting suggestion, I must admit, but I think we’d better leave Constable Clayton alone for now. Keep watching him though. He’ll hang himself if we give him enough rope — save us the trouble.’
Macrae knew that it wouldn’t be long now before Creswell retired, and who better to take over as superintendent than the up-and-coming Inspector Macrae? And then, once he had the power, he wouldn’t waste any time: he’d shake up this sleepy police station and teach Clayton and his like a lesson that they’d never forget.
CHAPTER 16
