The sergeant agreed to telephone the Crown and Feathers but, rather than throwing any light on Jonathan's story, Roy Trent said the pub had been virtually empty at lunchtime and he didn't remember a dark-haired woman. He knew a number of brunettes and auburns but, without a name, he couldn't be anymore helpful. In any case, he'd found Jonathan's wallet and passport on the floor of the upstairs room when he'd come to clean it. He'd assumed Jonathan would phone as soon as he realized they were missing but, as he hadn't, he was planning to ask George Gardener to return them because she knew his address. 'What's with the dark-haired woman?' he finished curiously.
'A female of that description gave Dr. Hughes assistance at Branksome Station. She claimed to know you.'
'So?'
'Dr. Hughes says she went through his briefcase.'
'And he thought she'd stolen his wallet?'
'Yes.'
'How come it's taken you so long to call? It's hours since he left.'
'He didn't tell us anything was missing until a few minutes ago, sir.'
Roy gave a surprised laugh. 'He's got real problems, that fellow. Why didn't he phone? The first place you'd check is where you took your jacket off. I'd've put his mind at rest quick as winking.'
The sergeant caught Andrew's eye and looked away. 'What sort of problems?'
'The whole-world's-out-to-get-me sort. He's just the type to jump to the conclusion his stuff's been stolen instead of thinking it might have been his fault. Mind, he'd've found out he'd dropped it a damn sight sooner if he'd let me call a taxi. But he wouldn't have one. Insisted on walking, even though it was bucketing down. Why did he need assistance?'
'We're not sure. Was he drunk when he left your pub?'
'Couldn't have been, not on what he had here ... couple of glasses of wine, maximum. He might have been drinking before he arrived, of course, but he didn't look like it. He was sweating when he left, but that was because he'd blotted his copybook with George and she was rabbiting on at full blast about what a jerk he was. He couldn't get out fast enough, which probably explains why he didn't check his pockets properly.'
'Do you have George Gardener's number?'
'Sure. She's on nights this week so you'll have to call her at work. Hang on, I'll find it for you.' He came back with a nursing-home number a few seconds later. 'It's the Birches,' he said when the sergeant asked which one it was.
'The Birches,' repeated the sergeant, writing the number on his notepad. 'Is that the big place on Hathaway Avenue?'
'Yup.'
'How easy will it be to get hold of Ms. Gardener?'
'Not difficult. She carries a pager.'
'Right. Thank you, Mr. Trent.'
'Hang on! What about this bloody wallet and passport? Does Hughes want to pick them up or should I post them?'
'I'll send a car.'
A wary note crept into Roy's voice. 'This isn't some sort of insurance scam, is it? There's not much in the wallet, you know ... just a couple of twenties and some tickets. I assumed, as he didn't come back for it, he keeps his credit cards somewhere else. I'll be bloody angry if he tries to accuse me of stealing from him.'
'He's not accusing anyone of anything at the moment, sir.'
'Then what's the story? It all seems mighty peculiar to me.'
You and me both, thought the sergeant, as he avoided the question by thanking the landlord again and cutting the line. He tapped his pen on his desk for a moment, then asked Andrew to find out from Jonathan what was in the wallet. 'It's important, Mr. Spicer. If you think you're being lied to, please tell me.'
While Andrew was out of the room, he consulted with the Transport Police, then checked for any call outs of the regular force to Branksome Station that afternoon. Both came up negative. There was no response at Branksome, which had closed for the night, but an operative at Bournemouth Central said the only information logged on the line about an Arab acting suspiciously was the 'running amok' episode for which Jonathan had been arrested.
Andrew listened to the tail end of the conversation when he returned. 'Do you think he imagined this woman?'
The sergeant shrugged. 'Not necessarily, but he may have embroidered the encounter when he found his wallet was missing. He seems to like painting himself as a victim of injustice.'
'Is that what the landlord said?'
The other man ignored the question. 'I'm not unsympathetic, Mr. Spicer. It can't be easy for any dark-skinned person with all the anti-Muslim feeling that's in the world at the moment. What does he say was in the wallet?'
'Nothing worth stealing ... except to him: a return ticket which he needed to get back in time for the opera, the
