like.’
Flint said he did. ‘He’s the master of inconsequential answers. I’ve questioned him for hours on end and he always goes off at a tangent.’
Dr Dedge leant forward on to his desk. ‘I’m not asking him questions. The bastard’s asking me. At 4 a.m. he asked me if I realised I was 99.4 per cent a baboon because that’s what DNA analysis indicated. That’s what he meant by my ancestral family being members of the Pongid family.’
‘Actually he’s got it wrong. He didn’t mean baboon. He was talking about chimpanzees,’ said Flint in an effort to calm the man down.
It didn’t work. Dr Dedge looked wildly at him. ‘A chimpanzee? Are you mad too? Do I look like a baboon or a chimpanzee and I’ve never had a DNA analysis and what’s with my ancestors being Pongids? My father was a Dedge and my mother’s family name is Fawcett and always has been since 1605. We’ve done a genealogical tree on both sides of the family and there’s no one called Pongid on it.’
Inspector Flint tried another tack. ‘He’s been reading the papers. There’s been all this stuff about Pongids being older than Hominids and _Homo sapiens._ The latest theory is–’
‘Fuck the latest theory!’ shouted the psychiatrist. ‘I want some sleep. Can’t you take that maniac off to the police station and give him the third degree there?’
‘No,’ said Flint firmly. ‘He’s a sick man and–’
‘You can say that again and I’m going to join him if he stays here much longer. Anyway, we’ve done scans and all the tests needed and they none of them indicate any actual damage to his brain–if that’s what’s inside his blasted head.’
Flint sighed and went out into the corridor and entered the Isolation Room to find Wilt sitting up in bed smiling to himself. He’d rather enjoyed what he’d heard the doctor shouting next door. The Inspector stood at the end of the bed and stared at Wilt for a moment. Whatever he’d done to drive Dr Dedge virtually out of his mind it was clear to Flint that Wilt had all or most of his senses about him. He decided his tactics. He’d had a long conversation on the phone with the Superintendent in Oston and knew where Wilt had been. Two could play a game of bluff.
‘All right, Henry,’ he said and took out a pair of handcuffs. ‘This time you’ve gone too far. Faking the murder of your missis by dumping an inflatable doll dressed in her clothes down a pile hole when you knew perfectly well she was alive and on a stolen boat with those Californians was one thing, but arson and the murder of a Shadow Minister is another. So you can wipe that smile off your face.’
Wilt’s smile vanished.
Flint locked the door and sat down very close to the bed.
‘Murder? Murder of a Shadow Minister?’ said Wilt, now genuinely startled.
‘You heard me. Murder and arson in a village called Meldrum Slocum.’
‘Meldrum Slocum? I’ve never even heard of the place.’
‘Then you tell me how your jeans were found in a lane behind the Manor House there which some bastard torched. Your jeans, Henry, with burn marks and ash on them and you’ve never heard of the place. Don’t give me that bullshit.’
‘But I swear to God’
‘You can swear all you like but the evidence is there. First, the jeans with mud on them found in a lane behind the burnt-out house. And the mud matches that in the lane. Third, you were definitely in the garage belonging to the murdered Shadow Minister. They’ve done a DNA test on that blood and it fits yours exactly. They also found your knapsack inside the house of the other suspect. These are the facts. Undeniable facts. And just to cheer you up let me tell you Scotland Yard are involved. This is not something you can talk your way
