Dirty Tricks

for everyone concerned, especially yourself. We fully appreciate that. And that’s why I just wanted to check that you’re absolutely sure there’s no one who could verify that you were in Oxford on the Saturday in question. If there was, you see, then I could virtually guarantee the matter would go no further.’

I finally understood. As far as the police were concerned, the significance of Clive’s release depended on whether or not the investigation was reopened. If it wasn’t, everyone would assume that Clive had been freed on a mere technicality, in which case the slur on the police would also remain purely technical. They’d got the right man, even if they’d used the wrong methods. So the boys in blue were pulling together. All Moss wanted to do was to bury the case discreetly, to write it off as a botched job with no moral opprobrium attached. If he was to do that, he needed me to have an alibi. So why didn’t I do us both a favour and go and get one, eh?

Fair enough, I thought. I can take a hint.

‘Actually, what I told the police earlier was not strictly true,’ I murmured. ‘I did see someone that day, but I didn’t like to mention it because … well, it was a woman.’

Moss nodded sympathetically.

‘To be perfectly honest, I had taken advantage of my wife’s absence to see a dear friend of mine who … There was absolutely nothing between us, but, well, you can imagine how it would have looked at the time.’

‘And the lady’s name, sir?’

‘Kraemer. Alison Kraemer.’

Moss noted it down in the margin of one of the papers.

‘I’ll need to speak to her in the next day or two. It won’t take long, just a formality really. Then we shouldn’t need to bother you again.’

He turned back to his crossword.

‘ “The iceman buyeth not his round.” Five letters starting with a C. A rather over-elaborate clue, I’d say. The trademark of an amateur.’

‘Fine, fine. And you? Really? Good. Super. Listen, I was wondering if we could get together some time soon. There’s something I need to ask you. It’s a bit urgent, actually.’

I was standing in a glass phone booth amid the roar of traffic in the Westgate one-way system. Alison’s voice reached me as though from a great distance. The air was milder there, the vegetation lusher. Somewhere in the background a piano was playing.

‘Can you come to lunch?’

The meal was the same as on the day we first met: omelette, salad, cheese and bread. The food wasn’t quite as good as it had been in France — the best money could buy, rather than just the best — but the real drawback from my point of view was that we were a threesome. It was half-term, and Rebecca was kicking her heels around the house. To try and break the ice which formed whenever she was around, I asked her if she was interested in crossword puzzles.

‘If they’re difficult enough,’ returned the pert gamine.

‘How about this? “The iceman buyeth not his round.” Five letters beginning with a C. I just can’t get it.’

Rebecca wrinkled her nose.

‘The reference to O’Neill is clear enough. Too clear, in fact. Probably a red herring. Oh drat, I shall have to think about it,’ she concluded world-wearily, getting up from the table.

‘Don’t forget your French essay,’ Alison called after her.

‘J’essaierai!’

‘Isn’t she amazing?’ I said with feigned warmth.

Alison smiled deprecatingly.

‘They all are at that age. It’s easy to be amazing. What’s difficult is to settle down to being ordinary. I fancy Rebecca may find that quite a struggle.’

She rose to make coffee.

‘So what was it you wanted to ask me?’

I laughed lightly.

‘It’s a bit of a bore, I’m afraid. The thing is, the police have been in touch. It’s quite incredible. Apparently there was some irregularity in the way the case against Clive Phillips was prepared, and as a result he’s being set free. It’s a total travesty of justice, of course. No one has the slightest doubt about his guilt, but because the correct procedures weren’t observed they have to let him go.’

‘How appalling!’

‘What’s even worse is that the Crown Prosecution Service is considering reopening the case. The police very decently warned me about this in advance, and asked if there was anyone who could vouch for the fact that I was in Oxford on the day Karen disappeared.’

‘To give you an alibi, you mean?’

I laughed.

‘Well I suppose that’s the legal term, but it’s just a formality really. I mean no one’s accusing me of anything, least of all the police. But they’ve got to go through the motions, you see, even though they know perfectly well that Phillips was responsible for Karen’s death.’

Alison brought two miniature Deruta cups brimming with espresso coffee.

‘That’s jolly thoughtful of them,’ she said. ‘But how frightful to think that that man is going to go free. Aren’t you scandalized?’

I sighed deeply and shrugged.

‘He’s not going free. He’s just being released into another prison, the prison of his own conscience. For the rest of his life, he’s going to have to live with the knowledge of what he did.’

Alison nodded.

‘How very true.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, the main thing is to avoid the whole unsavoury business being dredged up yet again. I just want to forgive and forget. That’s why it’s so vital to do what the police suggest and find someone who will verify that I was here.’

She nodded again.

‘Of course. Have you spoken to any of the people you saw that day?’

‘That’s why it’s a bore,’ I sighed. ‘You see, when you cancelled our lunch date, I was so depressed I just couldn’t face doing anything else. I’d really been looking forward to seeing you. In the end I sat at home all day and read, did some cleaning, listened to music, that sort of thing. No one called, no one saw me.’

I marshalled the loose crumbs on the tabletop into a neat line.

‘Actually, I was wondering if perhaps you’d do it.’

Alison sipped the last of her coffee and bent over the cup, studying the swirl of grounds on the glazed ceramic.

‘Do what?’

‘Vouch for me.’

‘Me? I wasn’t even here myself!’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘Well, I suppose I left the house about one thirty or two, but …’

‘That’s good enough. Instead of phoning, let’s say you drove over to tell me in person that you wouldn’t be able to make lunch. We had a brief chat, then you went on to Dorset. It would have been on your way, more or less.’

Alison frowned.

‘But I didn’t.’

‘No, but you might have.’

‘But I didn’t!’

I nodded vigorously, as though we were discussing some abstract issue such as nuclear power or the poll tax.

‘I see your point, Alison, but I wonder if you aren’t being slightly over-literal about this. Why should we have to go through months of grief and disruption just because fate intervened to break our lunch appointment? All the