‘Eleven . . . twelve. I can’t really remember.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
Acland nodded. ‘The woman upstairs and a next-door neighbour.’
‘Do you know their telephone numbers?’
‘No.’
‘Names?’
‘Not the neighbour’s, but the woman in the flat above calls herself Kitten. Her mail was addressed to Sharon Carter, so I presume that’s her real name.’ He watched Khan write it down. ‘What am I supposed to have witnessed?’
Beale eyed him for a moment. ‘Mr Tutting was taken to hospital at about one-fifteen this afternoon.’
‘Who’s Mr Tutting?’
‘This gentleman –’ Detective Inspector Beale tapped the snapshot – ‘the one you had a run-in with at the bank.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Beale hedged. ‘He collapsed in the street.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Acland looked at the photograph again. ‘He had more guts than most people of his age . . . He told me to stick a sign on my back saying I was a bad-tempered bastard.’
Brian Jones signalled to another member of his team. ‘Hop in there and pull Beale and Khan out . . . but make sure the photo remains on the table. We’ll leave Acland to stew for ten minutes. I want to see what he does. And get Khan on to this Kitten female. We need to verify some times.’
*
Left alone, Acland showed no interest at all in the photograph. After a minute or two of staring ahead, he stood up, placed his hands on the floor and performed a perfect gymnastic handstand against the wall. He held his position for a full minute before embarking on a series of vertical press-ups, lowering his forehead to within an inch of the floor before pumping his arms straight again. ‘He’s a strong lad,’ said Jones, ‘but I can’t think that’s doing much for his migraines.’ Detective Inspector Beale, a tall, fair-haired man in his mid-thirties and Jones’s number two on the inquiry team, watched the monitor over the superintendent’s shoulder. ‘Does he know he’s being filmed?’ ‘What if he does?’ ‘That kind of press-up’s damned hard to do. It probably helps that he’s thin as a rake – less weight to shift – but . . . even so. Perhaps he’s telling us something.’ ‘What?’
‘That he’s strong enough to wait us out. The only time I tried a vertical press-up, I got stuck in the down position.’
‘What did you make of him?’
‘Honestly?’ Beale collected his thoughts. ‘I’ll be surprised if he’s our man. He’s too straight. He wasn’t fazed by Walter Tutting’s picture and I didn’t notice any hesitations before he answered my questions. If he’d beaten the poor old boy’s head in, I don’t believe he’d have given me the spiel about Walter calling him a bad-tempered bastard.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. Look at his control . . . it’s like watching a metronome.’ Jones swung his chair towards the inspector. ‘OK, let’s say you’re right. Why did Walter tell the paramedics that it was “the bloke at the bank with the eyepatch” who did it? Are you suggesting there were two men with eyepatches at the bank today and Walter had a run-in with both?’
‘No, but Walter lost consciousness again very quickly and his daughter says he forgets where he lives sometimes . . . so he might have confused the two incidents. Maybe he never saw his attacker and just assumed it was the same man.’ He jerked his chin at the monitor. ‘The only reason this lad’s in the frame is because the uniformed guys recognized his description from last night. We wouldn’t have known where to start otherwise.’
Thoughtfully, the superintendent tapped his forefingers together. ‘He’s the sort of person we’re looking for . . . ex-army . . . volatile temper . . . a fight last night . . . a run-in this morning with an eighty-two-year-old . . . knows how to damage people . . . doesn’t like being touched. Why does he have a psychiatrist in tow? What’s that all about?’
‘According to Dr Campbell, she’s just a friend.’
‘Why did she accompany him to the Bell?’
‘For moral support. He felt he’d made a fool of himself last night and didn’t want to face the landlady alone.’
‘The landlady being another doctor.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes. She’s quite a character, apparently. Goes by the name of Jackson and operates as an out-of-hours locum. I’ve left a message with her call service asking her to come in ASAP.’ He paused. ‘It’s another reason why I don’t fancy Lieutenant Acland for the attack on Walter. According to Susan Campbell, Dr Jackson offered him a room at the pub and he decided to take it because he doesn’t like where he’s living at the moment. But why would he come back so soon after beating an old guy half to death? He must have known the place would be crawling with police.’
‘He didn’t expect Walter to be in any condition to give a description.’
‘But he couldn’t rely on other witnesses staying quiet. It was broad daylight and the eyepatch makes him distinctive. Someone was bound to have seen him . . . if only in Gainsborough Road.’
Jones shrugged. ‘History’s littered with perverts who return to the scenes of their crimes. It gives them a thrill to see how important they’ve become.’ He glanced at the screen again. ‘I’m more interested in why female doctors seem to be falling over themselves to offer support. Why does he need it? What’s wrong with him?’ He stood up. ‘Did you say Dr Campbell’s still here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let’s have another chat with her.’
