Disordered Minds

'No ... well, not when I was in the room with him at least. He may have done so after I left.' There was a beat of silence. 'I don't understand what's going on. Why all these questions? What's happened to Dr. Hughes?'

Andrew stared through the windshield. What the hell...? There'd almost certainly be a piece about it in the local newspaper tomorrow. 'He became distressed after his wallet was stolen,' he said curtly, 'and, unfortunately-the way things are at the moment-a dark-skinned Arab who shows visible agitation is viewed as a threat. He's been under arrest for six hours and was only released after I drove down from London to vouch for him.'

She sounded baffled. 'I thought Roy found the wallet at the pub.'

'Let's just say it was in his possession, Ms. Gardener. I picked it up from there ten minutes ago. Whether Dr. Hughes dropped it is another matter altogether.'

'I still don't understand.'

'No,' agreed Andrew, 'neither do we, so I suggest you ask Mr. Trent for an explanation. It's not as though the wallet was even worth stealing.'

'Was anything missing?'

'No.'

'Is Dr. Hughes saying Roy stole it?'

'No,' said Andrew again. 'He believes it was a dark-haired woman on Branksome Station who helped him when he wasn't feeling well.'

She took time to assimilate this information. 'Well, I'm sorry he was ill, but I still don't understand what it has to do with Roy.'

'The woman claimed to be a friend of Mr. Trent's ... and she clearly must be, Ms. Gardener, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to return the wallet to me.'

'She said she was a friend of his ex-wife's,' corrected Jonathan in an undertone.

'Did you hear that, Ms. Gardener?'

'Was that Dr. Hughes speaking?'

'Yes.'

'Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I can't help feeling partly to blame. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been late.'

Jonathan shook his head but didn't say anything.

'He said the woman claimed to be a friend of Mr. Trent's ex-wife,' Andrew prompted her. 'She has a dark fringe and speaks with a Dorset accent. Does that ring any bells?'

'I'm afraid not. I've never met his wife, and certainly none of her friends. Perhaps she was lying?'

'Then how did Mr. Trent get the wallet back?'

Another silence while she considered the conundrum. 'Perhaps Dr. Hughes is mistaken,' she said unhappily. 'Perhaps he took it out again after I left. We were both rather rattled.' She waited for Andrew to respond, and when he didn't: 'It all seems very strange,' she finished lamely.

'I agree. If Mr. Trent provides you with an explanation, I'll be interested to hear it.'

She didn't answer immediately. 'If nothing's missing, he'll say it's a storm in a teacup.'

'Of course he will,' Andrew acknowledged. 'He's obviously more used to lying than telling the truth.'

She tut-tutted indignantly. 'That's a terrible accusation to make against a man you don't know.'

'Surely not,' said Andrew ironically. 'As the saying goes: what can you expect from a pig but a grunt?'

Cill lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Roy's face. He'd backed her into a corner of the kitchen and his thrashing finger had been lambasting her for what seemed like hours. It reminded her of their tempestuous marriage before she left him for Nick. 'Give it a rest,' she said sulkily. 'There's no harm done. I got the sodding thing back to you quick enough, didn't I? How was I to know he'd go running to the cops instead of making a phone call?'

'He's a wog, you stupid bitch. They always go to the police. Why the fuck did you do it?'

'Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.' She whooshed out another cloud of smoke to force him into retreat. 'I wanted his address, and the letters only had his agent's address.'

'Why?'

'In case you've been lying to me.'

His eyes narrowed. 'About what?'

'How much you've told the fat spinster. You're too damn friendly with her. I thought maybe she's been pricking your conscience. Nick thinks you've gone soft, Roy-there was a time when the only thing a bleeding heart liberal was worth was a damn good kicking.'

He gave a snort of angry laughter. 'Nick thinks!' He turned to the CCTV monitor. 'You're married to a gorilla, Cill. All he thinks about is sex and food. You made a bad bargain there, darlin'.'

She ignored him. 'All right, I think you've gone soft. What difference does it make? Nick always agrees with me if I give him what he wants.'

'Jesus, you're so thick! What were you planning to do if you did get his address? Kill him? Thanks to me, he was away and done with. George didn't want anything more to do with him.' He jabbed the finger in her face again. 'He's a faggot-no fucking guts; I knew the minute I clapped eyes on him he'd be a pushover. I riled him, so he riled George ... happens every time. Then you have to stick your nose in and land me with his sodding agent.'