doesn’t turn up the money goes to charity.” She frowned.
“He wrote that letter himself in longhand. I thought he was saving money but, you know, it’s far more likely that he didn’t want his secretary reading it. She would know if he was telling lies.”
“And meanwhile,” Hal said slowly, ‘he is administering the estate and has access to the sort of capital that would be needed to buy up bankrupt businesses.” He stared past her head, his eyes narrowed.
“Plus, he’s a solicitor, so probably has inside information on development plans and proposals.” He looked at Roz.
“It would amount to indefinite free credit, as long as no one turned up to claim Robert’s money. When did you first go and see Crew?”
She was ahead of him.
“The day before you were beaten up.”
Her eyes gleamed excitedly.
“And he was very suspicious of me, kept accusing me of jumping to unfavourable conclusions about his handling of Olive’s case. I’ve got it all on tape.” She scrabbled through her cassettes.
“He said Olive couldn’t inherit because she would not be allowed to benefit from Gwen and Amber’s death. But, you know, if Olive were innocent’ she pounced triumphantly on the tape ‘it would be a whole new ball game. She could get leave to appeal against the will. And I remember saying to him at the end of the interview that one explanation for the discrepancies between the abnormality of the crime and the normality of Olive’s psychiatric tests was that she didn’t do it.
God, it fits, doesn’t it? First he learns that Amber’s son is likely to surface and then I turn up, aggressively taking Olive’s side. The Poacher must be awfully important to him.”
Hal took the chicken from the oven and put it on the table with the rice.
“You do realise your dear old man must be in it up to his neck? Crew would never have given him chapter and verse on Amber’s child unless Hayes has some kind of hold on him.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then removed the Svengali photographs from her briefcase.
“Perhaps he knows Crew is using Robert’s money. Or perhaps,” she said slowly, ‘he knows who really murdered Gwen and Amber Either or both could ruin Crew.” She fanned the pictures across the table.
“He was Olive’s lover,” she said simply, ‘and if I could find out so easily then so could anyone else. Including the police.
You let her down, Hal, all of you. It’s a betrayal of justice to assume someone’s guilt before it’s proved.”
Watery blue eyes regarded Roz with undisguised pleasure.
“Well, well. You came back. Come in.
Come in.” He peered past her, frowning at Hal in half-recognition.
“Surely we’ve met before. What shall I say? I never forget a face.
Now when could that have been?”
Hal shook the old man’s hand.
“Six years ago,” he said pleasantly.
“I was on the Olive Martin case. Sergeant Hawksley.” The hand fluttered weakly in his, like a tiny bird, but only from old age and decrepitude, Hal thought.
Mr. Hayes nodded vigorously.
“I remember now. Unhappy circumstances.” He fussed ahead of them into the sitting room.
“Sit down. Sit down. Any news?” He took a firm chair and sat bolt upright his head cocked enquiringly to one side. On the sideboard behind him his violent son smiled disarmingly into the camera.
Roz took her notebook from her handbag and switched on her recorder again. They had reached a mutual decision that Roz should ask the questions. For, as Hal had pointed out: “If he knows anything, he’s more likely to let it slip while talking to a what shall I say? charming young lady about Olive.”
“In fact,” she said in a gossipy voice which grated on Hal but clearly appealed to Mr. Hayes, ‘there’s quite a bit of news one way and another. Where would you like me to begin? With Olive? Or with Amber’s baby?” She gave him an approving look.
“You were quite right about them finding traces, you know, in spite of there being thousands of Browns in Australia.”
“Ah,” he said, rubbing his hands, “I knew they were close.
That mean the lad will get the money? What shall I say? It’s what Bob wanted. Fair upset him, it did, to think the government would get it all.”
“He made alternative provisions, you know, in case the boy wasn’t found. It’ll go to various children’s charities.”
The old man’s mouth compressed into a split of disgust.
“And we all know what sort of children they’ll be. The worthless sort.
The sort as are never going to make anything of their selves but live off the rest of us till they drop. And you know who I blame. The social workers. They’re namby-pamby when it comes to telling a woman she’s had more children than’s good for her.”
“Quite,” Roz interrupted hurriedly, reining in the inevitable hobby horse. She tapped her pencil on her
