But still apprehensive.
'Will you be there, Superintendent?'
'At Standingham—yes. At Easingbridge—probably.''
'On the Ratcliffe case? So you're not giving up?'
'On a murder we never give up. We're running down the Incident Room, it's true. But we're not giving up.'
No Statute of Limitations on murder.
And as murders went, this was still a young one. But there was something wrong with the way Weston had answered that question, a hint of weariness as well as wariness. Or vice versa.
So it came down to a straight question, delivered with no frills.
'You're not going to solve this murder, are you?'
Not even a question. If it can be done, they'll do it ...
'Meaning we're not going to charge anyone?' Weston paused. 'No, we're not going to solve this one. Off the record.'
'Off the record—understood.'
'Thank you. . . . And neither are you, Dr. Audley.'
And if they can't do it, I can't do it.
'Why not?'
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'Because this murderer's long gone.' Weston stared directly at him, unblinking. 'In my opinion. And also off the record.'
Straight from the horse's mouth.
'Professional?'
'Professional.' The answer came back so quickly that it had obviously been ready-wrapped and just waiting for collection.
'In your opinion. Off the record.'
'Of course. There's no proof. No evidence.' Weston showed his teeth in the travesty of a smile. 'Seven thousand witnesses. Nearly five hundred statements. But no evidence.'
Brigadier Stocker would have known that perfectly well. 'Not a clever amateur? Or even a lucky one?'
'An amateur.' Weston sniffed. 'It's just barely conceivable, Dr. Audley. Very clever and very lucky and very daring. Or very stupid and very lucky and very daring. . . . Any thing's possible. But not probable.'
'Especially as I'm here.'
'You improve the odds, for a fact.' The teeth showed again.
'But you didn't call them.'
Audley drew a deep breath. 'Thank you for trusting me, Superintendent.'
'My duty to.' Weston shrugged. 'No more questions, then?'
'No more questions. I only had one that was worth a damn, and you've just answered that very fairly.'
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Weston acknowledged the gratitude with a nod. 'So what are you going to do now?'
'I wish I knew.' Audley inclined his head towards the young sergeant. 'Perhaps he'll have another flash of inspiration—'
They had moved towards Sergeant Digby then.
'Well, just you make sure he is, that's all,' said Faith. 'You just keep your eye on him. So long as you do that he won't come to any harm.'
'Aye. And he won't do anything useful either—' Audley stopped suddenly.
'You've had another bright idea,' said Faith accusingly.
'Mmm . . .'
'Well, have you?'
He'd have to go through the sergeant's evidence again.
'I don't know ... I was just thinking that someone else might have said much the same thing before the battle of Swine Brook Field a few weeks ago.'
'And does that qualify as a bright idea?'
Bright idea. In the circumstances that was a joke he couldn't bring himself to laugh at.
'That's right. A little late, but better late than never.' He turned back his corner of the sheet and sat up in bed. 'And it's telling me to get up and make myself some black coffee.'
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'But you've only just come to bed.'
'But I feel as if I've slept half the night already. And I won't go to sleep for hours now, I'll just keep you awake,
