Wilt isn’t home and no one knows where he’s hidden himself. It adds up, it all adds up. You’ve got to admit that.’
Flint hitched his chair forward. ‘Wilt’s hidden himself? No one knows where he’s got to? Are you certain about that?’ he asked.
Hodge nodded triumphantly. ‘Add this to the catalogue,’ he said. ‘The day Mrs Wilt flies into Atlanta her husband goes to the building society and draws out a large sum in cash. In cash. And where does he leave his credit cards and passport? At home. On the kitchen table. That’s right, on the kitchen table,’ he said as Flint’s face registered astonishment. ‘Bed not made. Washing-up not done. Dirty plates still on the table. Drawers in the chest of drawers in the bedroom open. Car still in the garage. Nothing missing except Mr Henry Wilt. Not a bloody thing. Even his shoes are there. We got the cleaning lady to check them out. So what does that tell you?’
‘It makes a change,’ said Flint sourly. He disliked being wrong-footed, especially by clowns like Hodge.
‘Makes a change? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hodge demanded.
‘It means just this. The first time I ran into Wilty, it was his wife was missing. Supposed to be down a damned great pile hole at the Tech. Only it just so happens Wilt has stuffed an inflatable plastic doll dressed in Mrs Eva bloody Wilt’s clothes down there and they put twenty tons of pre-mix on top of her. In fact she is living it up with a couple of daffy Americans on a stolen boat on the Broads. So where is Mrs Wilt now? Sitting pretty…well, as near pretty as she’ll ever get at any rate, in the United States and it’s our Henry who is missing. Yes, that makes a change. It does indeed.’
‘You don’t think he’s done a runner?’ Hodge asked.
‘With Wilt I’ve given up thinking. I have not the faintest idea what goes on in that mad blighter’s mind. All I do know is it won’t be what you think it is. It’s going to be something you wouldn’t even dream of thinking about. So don’t ask me what he’s done. I wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘Well, my guess is he’s getting himself an alibi,’ said Hodge.
‘With his credit cards and all on the kitchen table?’ said Flint. ‘And none of his clothes missing? Doesn’t sound much like a voluntary disappearance to me. Sounds more like something has happened to the little bastard. Have you checked the hospital?’
‘Of course I have. The first thing I did. Checked every goddam hospital in the area. No one answering his description has been booked in. I’ve checked the morgues, the lot, and he is not around. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’
‘No,’ said Flint firmly. ‘It does not. I’ve told you. Where Henry Wilt is concerned I don’t even try to think. It hurts too much.’
All the same when Superintendent Hodge left Flint sat on considering the situation.
‘There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of Wilty being involved in drugs,’ he told Sergeant Yates. ‘And can you see Eva Wilt in what that madman Hodge would call that ‘ball game’? I’m damned if I can. They may be crazy, the Wilts, but they’re the least likely people to start committing real crimes.’
‘I know, sir,’ said Yates. ‘But Hodge is presenting a pretty nasty profile to the American authorities. I mean, it doesn’t look good all that stuff about Lakenheath and so on.’
‘It’s all purely circumstantial. He hasn’t got even the tiniest shred of real evidence,’ said Flint. ‘Let’s just hope the police over there see that. I wouldn’t want the Wilt family up before an American court. Not after the OJ trial. Television in the courtroom and everyone becomes a bloody actor. And we know what twerps they are.’ He paused in thought. ‘I wonder where the hell our Henry’s got to, though. That’s the real
