“But in the case of Mr Cotton, of course, that’s something we’ll never know.”
“No.” Banks got to his feet. “Anyway, thank you very much, doctor.”
Glendenning inclined his head regally.
On the way back to the station, Banks hardly heard Muddy Waters. According to Glendenning, Cotton could have been murdered, and that was enough for Banks. Of course, the doctor wouldn’t commit himself-he never did- but even an admission of the possibility was a long way for him to go. If Burgess was right, there was a good chance Boyd had done it, and that left Banks with Seth’s blood on his hands.
As if that weren’t enough, something else nagged at him: one of those frustrating little feelings you can’t quite define, like having a name at the tip of your tongue, or an itch you can’t scratch. He didn’t want to be premature, but it felt like the familiar glimmer of an idea. Disparate facts were coming together, and with a lot of hard thinking, a bit of help from the subconscious and a touch of luck, they might actually lead to the answer. He was still a long way from that as yet, and when Muddy Waters started singing “Still a Fool,” Banks believed him.
It was after eleven o’clock, according to the church clock, and Burgess would be out questioning Osmond and the students. In his office, Banks called the forensic lab and asked for Vic Manson. He had to wait a few minutes, but finally Vic came on the line.
“The prints?” Banks asked.
“Yes. Four sets. At least four identifiable sets. One belongs to the deceased, of course, another to that Boyd character-the same as the ones we found on the knife-and two more.”
“They’ll probably be Mara’s and one of the others’.” Banks said. “Look, thanks a lot, Vic. I’ll try and arrange to get the others fingerprinted for comparison.
Is Geoff Tingley around?”
“Yep. Just a sec, I’ll get him for you.”
269
Banks could hear distant voices at the end of the line, then someone picked up the receiver and spoke. “Tingley here. Is it about those letters?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m almost positive they weren’t typed by the same person. You can make a few allowances for changes in pressure, but these were so wildly different I’d say that’s almost conclusive. I could do with a few more samples of at least one of the writers, though. It’ll give me more variables and a broader scope for comparison.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Banks said. There were probably other examples of Seth’s typing in the filing cabinet. “Would it do any good if we got a suspect to type us a sample?” he asked.
“Hmmm. It might do. Problem is if he knew what we were after it wouldn’t be too difficult to fake it. I’d say this chap’s a plodder, though. You can tell it’s been pecked out by the overall high pressure, each letter very deliberately sought and pounced on, so to speak. Hunt-and-peck, as I believe they call the technique. The other chap was a better typist, still two fingers, I’d say, but fairly quick and accurate. Probably had a lot more practice. And there’s another thing, too. Did you notice the writing styles of the letters were-“
“Yes,” Banks said. “We spotted that. Good of you to point it out, though.”
Tingley sounded disappointed. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Thanks very much. I’ll be in touch about the samples and testing. Could you put Vic on again? I’ve just remembered something.”
“Will do.”
“Are you still there?” Manson asked a few seconds later.
“Yes. Look, Vic, there’s a couple more points. The typewriter for a start.”
“Nothing clear on that, just a lot of blurs.”
“Was it wiped?”
“Could have been.”
“There was a cloth on that table, wasn’t there? One of those yellow dusters.”
270
“Yes, there was,” said Manson. “Do you want me to check for fibres?”
“If you would. And the paper?”
“Same, nothing readable.”
“What about that pen, or whatever it was we found on the floor. Have you had time to get around to that yet?”
“Yes. It’s just an ordinary ball-point, a Bic. No prints of course, just a sweaty blur.”
“Hmmm.”
The pen had been found in the puddle of blood, just below Seth’s dangling right arm. If he was right-handed, as Banks thought he was, he could have used the pen to write a note before he died. It could have just fallen there earlier, of course, but Seth had been very tidy, especially in his final moments. Perhaps he had written his own note, and whoever killed him took it and replaced it with the second version. Why? Because Seth hadn’t murdered Gill and had said so clearly in his note? That meant he had committed suicide for some other reason entirely. Had he even named the killer, or was it an identity he had died trying to protect?
Too many questions, again. Maybe Burgess and Glendenning were right and he was a fool not to accept the easy solutions. After all, he had a choice: either Seth Cotton was guilty as the note indicated and had really killed himself, or Paul Boyd, fearing discovery, had killed him and faked the note. Banks leaned closer towards the second
