Chameleon's Shadow

Twenty-four

FROM DEREK HARDY’S PERSPECTIVE there seemed to be a period of calm after Jackson’s departure. The two detective constables left, and Jones and Beale moved to a vacant table, giving up beer in favour of coffee and sandwiches. They were friendly enough to the landlord and his staff, but they rebuffed any attempt to find out why they were still there. After half an hour, Derek decided they’d abandoned work for the night like any other customer and went to check on Acland.

To avoid waking the man, he eased the door open quietly and looked towards the bed, but a lighted table lamp showed that it was empty. Derek’s response was to step into the room and look around, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably when he saw Acland, fully dressed, standing in the shadow behind the door.

‘Jesus Christ! You gave me a bloody shock! You all right, mate?’

‘What do you want?’

Derek spread his hands to demonstrate his peaceful intent. ‘Just doing what Jacks asked me to do . . . making sure you’re still breathing.’ He started to back out. ‘Sorry for the intrusion. I didn’t want to make a noise in case you were asleep.’

‘Are the police with you?’

The older man shook his head. ‘There’s a couple downstairs still.’

‘I thought you were them.’

‘I guessed. You sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you don’t look it,’ said Derek bluntly. ‘You should follow doctor’s orders, son, and stay in bed. Jacks said she’ll be back for you tomorrow morning.’ He watched the young man’s shoulders relax slightly. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, thank you, sir, everything’s fine.’

Perhaps it was the courtesy ‘sir’ and the obvious contradiction between the words and the pallor of Acland’s face, or perhaps, like Willis, Derek saw how young the lieutenant really was. In either event, he reached out a fatherly hand. ‘Come on,’ he said kindly, taking Acland’s arm. ‘You need to lie down.’

There was a movement in the doorway behind him. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Hardy,’ said Jones. ‘I think you’ll find the lieutenant prefers to make his own way.’ He walked into the room and looked at Acland’s rigid posture. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Charles?’

‘Yes.’ He freed his arm and backed into the corner.

Jones nodded pleasantly to the publican. ‘Your bar steward gave us permission to follow you up here.’ He indicated Beale in the doorway. ‘We wanted a quick word with you before we left.’

‘What about?’

‘It’ll wait.’ He shifted his genial attention to the lieutenant. ‘I hadn’t realized you’d be up and about, Charles. We’ve a couple of questions for you, too, if you can spare us a few minutes. That’s not a problem, is it?’

DI Beale watched Acland respond exactly as the superintendent had predicted. ‘He’ll agree,’ Jones had said. ‘There’s something in his character . . . a bloody-minded determination never to back down . . . that’ll push him to confront us however ill he feels.’

‘What if he does?’ his number two had retorted. ‘Anything he says will be discounted as unreliable. The CPA will rule the circumstances oppressive and refuse to admit the evidence.’

‘Only if it’s incriminating and Charles refuses to repeat it under taped conditions.’

‘Why gamble? Why not wait until tomorrow morning and do it properly?’

‘Because we’re more likely to get the truth out of him tonight.’

‘And jeopardize a prosecution in the process,’ Beale said with sharp criticism. ‘At least consider the rest of the team before you go charging in like a bull in a china shop. We’ve all worked damned hard on this inquiry and no one’s going to thank you for a botched job at the end.’

‘Including you?’

‘Especially me,’ the inspector said with emphasis. ‘I’ll even put on record that I object to any interview with Charles Acland tonight . . . and warn you that, if you insist on going ahead with it, I shall advise the lieutenant to keep his mouth shut.’

Jones ran a thoughtful hand up the side of his jaw. ‘You should have been a lawyer, Nick. You’re even more of a stickler for the rules than Pearson is. As a matter of interest, what incriminating confession are you expecting Charles to make? Impeding the safe operation of a vehicle on one of Her Majesty’s highways?’

Beale refused to be drawn. ‘I’m not playing guessing games, Brian. I’ve told you what I think.’

Jones sighed impatiently. ‘But that’s all we’ve been doing for months ... guessing . . . and you’re the expert on it, my friend. How many new ideas have you run past me tonight, eh? Ben Russell might have been the ginger-haired lad who came in here with Walter . . . Walter’s daughter might have imagined the cheap perfume . . . the prostitutes might have been boys . . . Charles Acland might have pushed Chalky into the river last night after a row over a duffel bag—’ He broke off. ‘What the hell does that bag have to do with anything?’

*

Derek Hardy shifted uneasily as Beale joined Jones in the room and the two men ranged themselves on the other side of the bed from the lieutenant. ‘I’m not sure you should be doing this,’ he said. ‘You can see the lad’s poorly.’ ‘It’s up to Charles,’ murmured Jones. ‘If he doesn’t feel well

enough to speak to us, he only has to say so.’ He lowered himself on to a hard-backed chair, as if to