Текст книги "Dying Fall"

Автор книги: Elly Griffiths

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CHAPTER 24

Guy suggests meeting on the Central Pier in Blackpool. It seems an inappropriately cheery choice of venue, heightened by the fact that it is the first really sunny day since Ruth arrived in Lancashire. The beach is filling up and on the pier the big wheel is already going round. Ruth and Guy sit outside the ice-cream parlour with mugs of tea and watch the children playing on the sand below, which, this morning, stretches far beyond the end of the pier. In fact, if Ruth strains her eyes, she can just see Cathbad and Kate building what looks like a sand henge. Kate is in her pink sun-suit with Hello Kitty hat and Cathbad has his trousers rolled up like a proper holiday-maker. For some reason, looking at them makes her want to cry. You wouldn’t think that Kate is estranged from her father or Cathbad from his child. You wouldn’t think that, less than forty-eight hours ago, Cathbad found his friend’s body swinging from a beam. They just look like a father and daughter playing in the sun.

Guy asks if Ruth would like something to eat. He is polite, almost too polite, holding doors open and flattening himself against walls to let her past. In the sunlight, the Brideshead features look rather careworn but he’s still a good-looking man with thick blond hair and a square-jawed face like a character from a Fifties comic strip. The voice matches the face; surely vowel sounds like this have not been heard in this cafe since Tommy Trinder starred in the end-of-the-pier show. Yet Guy tells Ruth that he is Lancashire born and bred.

‘You don’t sound like it,’ says Ruth.

Guy smiles, showing lots of white teeth. ‘I went to a rather posh school, then I did my first degree at Oxford and stayed there for a number of years. The accent stuck, but I can still do broad Lancashire if you want.’

‘And now you’re back in Blackpool.’

He takes a sip of tea and grimaces, whether at the question or the beverage it’s hard to tell. ‘I never expected to come back but I met Elaine and …’

Ruth waits. Guy looks up at the cloudless sky for a moment. Are you meant to look to the left or right if you’re lying? Ruth can never remember. Then he says, ‘It’s hard to explain but I think I’m going to have to. You see, I have a really strong connection with Elaine but we’re not lovers, never have been. It’s more like we’re twin souls. As if we were brother and sister in another life. Does that make any sense?’

Ruth could just imagine Nelson’s response to this. She too feels rather sceptical but then she thinks of Cathbad, playing on the beach with her daughter. She and Cathbad live together quite happily yet there’s no hint of sexual attraction between them. Maybe they too were brother and sister in a former life.

‘Yes it does,’ she says.

‘Elaine was doing post-graduate research,’ says Guy. ‘She did her first degree at Preston. She’s had a very hard life. Deprived childhood, abusive parents. And she’s had her own problems …’

Ruth waits, sure that Guy will tell her what these problems were. Sure enough, after a while, ‘Mental health issues,’ he says. ‘She’s very sensitive. Fearsomely bright. But, sometimes, the slightest little thing …’

Like being dumped by her next-door neighbour, thinks Ruth. She wonders if she dares ask about the affair with Dan. Luckily Guy seems to assume that she already knows.

*

‘That business with Dan didn’t help, of course. I don’t blame him. I’m sure he never promised anything. Dan hadn’t really got over the break-up with his wife. Elaine, though, I think she was really in love with him.’

Ruth really wants to ask about Pippa Henry, but if Guy doesn’t know she doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. Instead she settles for saying, vaguely, ‘I suppose Dan had lots of girlfriends?’

To her surprise, Guy bristles slightly. ‘Well, not that many. There was that business with Susan Chow, of course, and I’d heard rumours about a married woman but, that’s all it was, rumours. Dan wasn’t a lothario, if that’s what you mean.’

Lothario, thinks Ruth. It’s an odd, old-fashioned choice of word. Guy’s vocabulary, like his face, seems to hark back to another era. But the idea that Dan had an affair with Susan Chow, the county archaeologist, is a completely new one. Ruth thinks of the neat little woman in her book-lined office. She doesn’t seem a very likely girlfriend for Dan but then neither do Elaine or Pippa. Come to think of it, though, didn’t Dan refer to Susan as ‘Sue’ in his diary? In Ruth’s experience, it’s always a sign of something when people start using diminutives, or full names for that matter. She remembers her shock when Shona first referred to Phil as ‘Philip’.

‘What did Elaine think about the other women?’ asks Ruth.

‘It was a bit awkward,’ admits Guy, ‘living next door and everything. Elaine became a bit obsessed with watching all Dan’s comings and goings. But I’ll tell you one thing, Ruth, my friendship with Dan never wavered. I really loved that man.’

Ruth looks up and is surprised to see tears in Guy’s eyes. Whatever the truth of Guy’s statement, he is certainly in the grip of some strong emotion.

‘I was fond of him too,’ she says. ‘We were at university together.’

‘I know,’ says Guy. ‘I bet he was a wild student.’

‘He was super cool,’ says Ruth. ‘Dan the Man, we called him.’

Guy laughs again, a more natural sound this time. ‘Dan the Man. I love it.’

Ruth takes a gulp of tea. It is so strong that it makes her eyes water. ‘You said you had something you wanted to discuss?’

‘Yes.’ Guy looks straight at her, his face serious. Sometimes he looks like a teenager, sometimes a much older man. She guesses he is in his thirties.

‘I’ve heard a rumour that Dan’s laptop has been found.’

Ruth stares at Guy, with his dependable Fifties face. Is it possible that Guy stole into the burning house, took Dan’s computer and infected it with a virus so he would be able to trace its whereabouts? It doesn’t seem possible – but how else would he know that it has been found?

She tries to keep her face blank. ‘Who told you that?’

For the first time, Guy looks slightly shifty. ‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I can’t tell you.’

‘Well, you’d better,’ says Ruth. ‘If you want me to tell you anything.’

Guy looks out over the beach and the jolly, holiday-making crowds. When he turns back, his face looks older again.

‘I heard about Pendragon. His sister told me. Your wizard friend was in his house. I was sure he must have found the computer.’

This raises a whole lot of new questions. Guy knew Pendragon, well enough to be on telephoning terms with his sister. Pendragon had links with the White Hand. What other secrets could Guy be hiding behind that Boy’s Own grin?

‘What makes you think the computer was at Pendragon’s house?’

‘Someone told me.’

‘Who?’

‘I’m sorry, Ruth.’ Guy looks away again. ‘I can’t tell you. The thing is, there are other people involved here. I can’t break their confidence. But if the laptop’s been found there must be all sorts of valuable archaeological information on it. I really need that information, Ruth. I want to carry on Dan’s work. As a tribute to him.’

And to help your career, thinks Ruth. She resents the implication that Guy – a mere graduate student – is the only person who could make sense of Dan’s findings. She is the one Dan asked for help and, right now, that information is going nowhere.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ruth. ‘The laptop’s with the police.’ This is, of course, true, but she doesn’t add that Tim has given her a brand-new memory stick containing copies of Dan’s files.

Guy groans and slumps back in his chair. ‘That’s it, then. That DCI Macleod is an ignorant bastard. He’s got no interest in furthering human knowledge.’

Ruth thinks this is probably true but, on the other hand, she wouldn’t call Sandy Macleod ignorant. He seemed uncomfortably sharp to her.

‘Don’t you have any records of your own?’ she asks. ‘After all, you were at the excavation.’ Too late, she wonders if she should admit to knowing this.

‘I’ve got a few notes,’ says Guy. ‘Nothing substantial. Did Dan say anything to you about the discovery? About King Arthur?’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ruth. ‘I hadn’t seen Dan in over twenty years.’

*

Tim is going through paperwork which, in effect, means checking computer records. He realised, after a few days working for Sandy, that this was the way to make himself indispensible. Sandy loathes paperwork but he knows it has to be done. Tim saw immediately that his best chance of ingratiating himself with the infamous ‘Beast of Blackpool’ McLeod was to become an expert on forms, procedure and the Freedom of Information Act. It’s not what he dreamt of when studying (physics at York) or when he signed up for the graduate fast-track programme, but Tim is a pragmatist, and if his future holds no obstacles greater than a dinosaur DCI who can’t work a computer, he will be doing pretty well.

Despite everything Tim doesn’t dislike Sandy. He’s rude, chauvinistic, and he thinks that Jim Davidson’s a fine comedian, but he’s also a good copper and, according to his lights, fair. That is to say, he’s rude to everyone. Sandy doesn’t hold back from a borderline racist joke because Tim’s in the room and, in a way, Tim’s quite grateful for this. At least this way he knows what’s going on. And since they have been trying to infiltrate the White Hand Sandy has appreciated Tim’s ironical take on the problems of a black man who wants to join a white supremacist group. ‘At least you’ve got a sense of humour about it, lad,’ is his considered opinion.

And now Sandy’s old mate has turned up. Harry Nelson, as much of a legend in the department as Sandy himself. So many of Sandy’s stories begin ‘When Harry and I were young coppers …’ and end ‘that was policing, that was. None of this hand-holding you buggers get, none of this PC nonsense either’. Tim was expecting a Sandy clone, another jovial relic of the good old days. Instead, DCI Nelson turned out to be a good-looking man in his forties, rather quiet and slightly sad. Tim, who prides himself on reading verbal and non-verbal clues (he has done a course on neuro-linguistic programming, not something he’d admit to Sandy), thinks there is more in Nelson’s relationship with both Cathbad and Ruth than meets the eye. Either he’s having an affair with one or both of them. Tim’s straight (something that would surprise some of his colleagues) but he’s not against keeping your options open.

Now Tim trawls through the names of participants cautioned at a recent EDL rally. He is cross-checking with a list of recent Pendle graduates so a name that’s not on the second list initially passes him by. It’s only a mental double take that sends him scrolling backwards until he finds it again. He pauses, thinking hard, and then makes a call on the internal phone.

*

‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ asks Guy.

Ruth hesitates. She would like another cup of tea, and a large slice of cake, come to that, but she should be getting back to Cathbad and Kate. On the other hand, she senses that there is more that she can learn from Guy. He was Dan’s trusted friend and he knows Clayton and Elaine too. He might know who took the laptop in the first place.

‘Just a quick one,’ she says.

Guy stands up. A couple who are hovering, waiting for a table, step back in disappointment when they realise that Ruth is staying put. The pier is getting crowded now; Ruth can no longer see Kate and Cathbad on the beach. Families trail past carrying large stuffed meerkats won on stalls. One of the shops is selling Simon Cowell masks and it’s rather disturbing to see the grinning features of the X-Factor Mephistopheles attached to a two-foot child or waving from the helter-skelter. Ruth sits, waiting for Guy, feeling the unusual sensation of the sun on her face. If it wasn’t for the fact that she is scared to death half the time, she would be quite enjoying this holiday.

When Guy returns, she says, ‘Clayton Henry seemed to think that Dan’s discovery might be a lifesaver for the department.’

‘Yes.’

Ruth is interested to see that Guy has bought a beer for himself. It’s nearly midday so not an outlandish time to be drinking but, even so, he must be more uptight than he seems. She remembers how much he was sweating at the barbeque. He seems over-heated now too, taking a deep draught from his glass and mopping his brow.

‘Clayton’s in trouble financially,’ he says. ‘You’ve seen his house. He likes a grand lifestyle, good food, good wine, nice holidays. My guess is that he’s been dipping into department funds for years. Well, when Dan made his discovery, that was Clayton’s chance. If the bones really were the remains of King Arthur, well, that would change everything. There would be books, TV programmes, personal appearances. Clayton could make a packet and pay back everything he’d borrowed. But if anything went wrong …’

Like the bones going missing, thinks Ruth. She wonders if Guy has got wind of this.

‘What about the White Hand?’ she asks. ‘Is Clayton scared that they’ll make trouble?’

‘Oh, no one takes them seriously,’ says Guy. ‘They’re just a bunch of idiots who think that God was a white Englishman. Complete losers, all of them.’

Except you did take them seriously, remembers Ruth. You insisted that the bones be taken to the forensics lab. What had Dan written? I thought Guy was becoming too obsessed with the White Hand. And a few days after writing those words Dan was dead. She wonders again exactly why Guy wants Dan’s computer so much.

‘What if the White Hand were responsible for Dan’s death?’ she asks.

‘Is that what the police think?’ counters Guy.

Ruth curses herself for saying too much. ‘They’re investigating the fire,’ she says.

Guy shivers, looking out over the sea of holidaymakers. ‘Don’t talk about the fire. I still have nightmares about it. Elaine and I were just coming back from the pub and we saw the flames. Couldn’t believe it was Dan’s house at first. It was an inferno.’

‘Did you try to save him?’ asks Ruth, trying not to sound judgemental.

‘We couldn’t get near,’ says Guy. ‘The heat was just too intense. I called the fire brigade,’ he adds, as if in mitigation.

‘When did you know that Dan was dead?’

‘We saw them bring his body out,’ says Guy, shivering now, despite the sun. Whatever his motivation about the laptop, there is no denying his genuine distress. ‘They were giving him mouth-to-mouth, there on the path. But I knew it was too late.’

‘Must have been upsetting for Elaine too.’

Guy looks at her, his eyes anguished. ‘What do you think? She saw his body blackened from the fire. She was screaming. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same again. I don’t think either of us will,’ he adds, almost as an afterthought.

*

‘Terry Durkin,’ says Sandy. ‘Well, well, well. That’s one in the eye for old Grassy Arse.’

‘Doesn’t mean he’s necessarily involved,’ says Tim.

‘Rubbish. He’s a racist, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he’s a supporter of the English Defence League.’

‘Same thing. He’ll be hand in glove with these white supremacists, you mark my words. As soon as he gets word that their precious King Arthur might be one of your lot …’ Ruth had rung Tim with the news that morning. Sandy had laughed for ten solid minutes.

‘Actually, my ancestry is Caribbean, not North African,’ says Tim. But his words are lost on Sandy, as he knew they would be.

‘Soon as he gets word that the Great White King might be – shock, horror – the Great Black King, he whips the bones and replaces them with some other skeleton he’s got handy. It all fits.’

‘And that’s not all,’ says Tim. ‘Guess which forensics company investigated the fire in Dan Golding’s house.’

But Sandy is there before him. ‘CNN.’

Tim nods. ‘So Durkin could easily have taken the computer. It was a sealed site but he had access.’

‘We’d better go and talk to him,’ says Sandy. ‘Turn up at his house in a marked car. Put the pressure on.’

Tim sighs, foreseeing an afternoon of reminding his boss of the concept of habeas corpus. ‘There’s another thing,’ he says.

Tim has also been looking at Pendragon’s computer. His emails are mainly to other wizards and subscriptions to homeopathic health sites. His photos are almost all of a white bull terrier. Except one. It is this picture, printed and enlarged, that Tim puts on the desk in front of Sandy.

‘What’s this?’

It’s a photograph of two men wearing white robes. One is large, white-bearded, with a certain presence. The other man is smaller and plumper and seems to be having trouble with his long skirts. His face is partly turned away from the camera.

‘The taller man’s Norman Smith, alias Pendragon,’ says Tim. ‘But do you recognise the other one?’

Sandy peers closer. ‘Couple o’ nutters. Bloody hell!’

‘Do you recognise him?’

‘It’s the bloke in the windmill. Clayton Henry.’

CHAPTER 25

Ruth meets Cathbad and Kate on the beach. They show her their henge, which is certainly the only such structure on the sands.

‘Henge,’ says Kate, jumping up and down, her Hello Kitty hat askew. ‘Henge, henge.’

‘It’s positively Bronze Age,’ says Ruth.

The circle of sand megaliths is attracting attention. People are crowding round and taking photographs. For once Ruth has her camera with her and she kneels down to take a shot. Cathbad and Kate pose proudly by their construction, and seeing them there with the sea in the background reminds her of a similar photograph showing her with Peter and Erik on the Saltmarsh beach. They had just found the henge and Ruth vividly remembers the feeling of excitement and triumph as they stood by the ancient timbers, Erik waving his hat in the air. This would have been what Dan felt when he raised the stone and saw King Arthur’s face looking at him.

‘Take it home,’ says Kate.

‘No, Hecate,’ says Cathbad. ‘Let the sea take it. That’s what it’s for, an offering to the gods of the sea.’

Amazingly, this seems to satisfy Kate. Of course, this is what Cathbad had wanted for the original henge, to let the sea come for it rather than preserving the wood in a soulless museum.

‘Erik would be proud of you,’ says Ruth.

Cathbad shoots her a quick look. ‘I still feel his presence, don’t you?’

‘No,’ lies Ruth. ‘Let’s go back to the house and get some lunch. Thing will be missing us.’

Ruth feels rather nervous about having left Thing alone in the cottage but dogs aren’t allowed on the beach in summer. Cathbad agrees that they need to get back and, with one last photograph, they leave the henge to the incoming tide. Kate makes a routine fuss as they pass the posters for the Pleasure Beach.

‘Want Dora! Want Dora!’

‘We really must take her to Nickelodeon World before we go home,’ says Cathbad.

‘I’d rather die,’ says Ruth.

‘I’ll take her then.’

In the car, Ruth tells Cathbad about Clayton and his money troubles.

‘We should have guessed,’ says Cathbad. ‘I mean, when you think about his house. And that party. Champagne flowing like water.’

Well, you drank most of it, thinks Ruth. Aloud, she says, ‘Do you think Clayton knew about the DNA results?’

‘Didn’t Dan imply that he’d told someone?’

‘Yes. In his diary, he wrote, I won’t tell anyone except …’

‘Except Clayton?’

‘Well, maybe. He was his head of department. It would make sense to tell him.’

‘But if Arthur was black it would make even more of a story and make Clayton even more money. If he knew, why didn’t he mention it to you?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. ‘Maybe he was just terrified of the White Hand. Dan thought they had been threatening Clayton.’

‘But he also thought Clayton was shielding someone.’ Ruth has told Cathbad what was in Dan’s diaries but she hasn’t let him see the files. It’s one thing for her to read them but Cathbad didn’t know Dan.

‘You ought to tell Nelson,’ says Cathbad. ‘About Clayton and the money. It could be something for the police to investigate.’

‘I will.’

‘Do you really think that Clayton was involved in Dan’s death?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. She is thinking of the cafe next to the derelict amusement park, of Clayton boasting, ‘I’m a real gadget boy.’ Could Gadget Boy have stolen the computer and fixed it so that it would leave a trail, like a thread running through a labyrinth?

*

Nelson lies back in his chair and heaves a sigh of contentment. He is in the garden of Michelle’s mother’s house in Newton. The sun is out and he has a cold beer within reach. In the distance he can hear Michelle and her mum laughing as they prepare food in the kitchen. Best of all, he can’t hear, anywhere, Maureen’s loud Irish voice asking him what on earth he thinks he’s doing lying round when there’s work to be done, his father never lazed around like that, God rest his soul, honestly how Michelle puts up with such a husband … A bird sings in the tree and Michelle’s mum’s cat stretches out in a patch of sunlight. Nelson closes his eyes.

Michelle’s mother, Louise, is sixty, but she could be a generation younger than Maureen. She’s an attractive woman with ash-blonde hair and a teenager’s figure. She works in the local building society and drives a pink Fiat 500. Like Maureen, she’s a widow, but there the resemblance ends. Louise seems to live the life of a happy singleton, going on cruises with friends and belonging to several choirs and bridge clubs. Her home is always immaculate, and when she knows her son-in-law is coming to stay she fills her fridge with his favourite food and drink. Nelson wonders if he’s unique in thinking that his mother-in-law is perfect.

He knows that Michelle, too, is happy to have embarked on the second half of their holiday, traditionally the more relaxing week. She gets on well with Maureen but the atmosphere in her house is not exactly soothing. Now Michelle can have a real break at last, and he can look forward to some quiet evenings when Michelle and Louise go to the cinema or out to meet friends. He’ll even enjoy taking the two of them out; he likes being seen with two such attractive, well-dressed women. Louise helped a lot when the girls were young and Nelson knows Michelle missed her when they moved to Norfolk. Nice for them to catch up now.

‘Harry,’ Michelle is standing in front of him. Nelson wonders if lunch is ready. Enticing smells are wafting from the open window.

But Michelle does not look like a woman announcing a delicious light lunch. She is holding his phone at arm’s length.

‘Call for you,’ she says. ‘It’s Ruth.’

As Michelle walks back inside, a cloud moves slowly across the sun.

*

Clayton Henry, cornered in his office at the university, denies everything.

‘It was just a laugh. We were dressing up for Halloween.’

‘There are crocuses on the grass,’ says Tim.

‘What?’

‘In the picture.’ Tim points at the photo which lies on Clayton’s desk. ‘There are crocuses on the grass so it’s not October.’

‘Another of those pagan feast days then. Pendragon knew them all. There’s one in February. Imbolc, I think it’s called.’

‘How well did you know Norman Smith?’ asks Sandy, stretching back in his chair. He looks like a man who is making himself at home.

‘Who?’

‘Pendragon,’ says Tim. ‘When did you meet him?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Clayton, twisting his hands together. ‘He was always around. He came to lots of history department events, always in his robes and everything. Everyone knew him. He was a character. An eccentric.’

‘Do you know he’s dead?’ asks Sandy chattily.

‘I had heard.’

‘Who from?’ asks Tim. ‘It only happened two days ago.’

‘One of my students told me. I can’t remember who.’

‘It’s the holidays. How come you’re in touch with your students?’

Clayton laughs. ‘These days you can’t get away from them. They’ve got my email address, my mobile phone number. They’re on at me all the time.’

‘So Professor Henry,’ says Sandy, ‘are you a member of the White Hand?’

‘No!’ Clayton stands up and attempts to look masterful. Unfortunately, he’s only the same height as Sandy is sitting down.

‘We’ve got Norman Smith’s computer,’ says Tim. ‘There’s a lot of interesting stuff on it.’

There is a silence. Clayton fiddles with a silver paper-knife. One of Sandy’s first rules – never trust a man with executive toys or archaic stationery on his desk. Clayton has an inkwell too.

Clayton sits down again. ‘All right. I may have dressed up in white robes a few times but I’m no white supremacist. I’m just interested in druids and the old religion. That’s not a crime, is it?’

Sandy looks as if it may well be. Tim says, ‘We’ll need to look at your computer hard drive.’

‘I’ve got lots of confidential papers on there.’

‘I can come back with a warrant.’

Sandy is looking at his mobile phone. Then he raises his head and smiles at Clayton. The professor seems to find this an unpleasant experience. He recoils.

‘Sorry not to have a chance to visit your house again,’ says Sandy. ‘It was quite some place.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Great idea, converting a windmill like that.’

Clayton says nothing. He looks from one policeman to the other, as if trying to work out what is going on.

‘Must have taken a fair bit of brass,’ says Sandy.

Clayton stiffens. ‘My wife has some money of her own.’

‘That’s handy.’

‘What are you getting at?’

Sandy glances at Tim, who is also looking mystified. ‘So, if my sergeant examines your computer records, he’ll find all your financial affairs in order?’

‘Why? What do you … yes, of course.’

‘So you haven’t been dipping into departmental funds?’

‘Of course not. How dare you!’

Sandy smiles again. ‘Must have been a shock for you when those bones vanished. I expect you thought you were on to a nice little earner.’

‘It was an important archaeological discovery,’ says Clayton stiffly.

‘Think it was King Arthur?’

‘We can’t be sure but, historically, it’s possible.’

‘Professor Henry,’ says Tim. ‘Before he died, did Dan Golding discuss the results of the DNA analysis with you?’

‘The DNA analysis? What do you mean?’

‘It’s a simple question,’ growls Sandy. ‘Did he mention any results to you?’

‘No,’ says Clayton. ‘I hadn’t seen him for a few weeks when he … when he died. Not to speak to anyway. It was a busy time, end of term and all that.’

‘Where were you on the night of Dan Golding’s death?’ asks Sandy. They already have this information from Pippa, thinks Tim. Sandy must want to give Clayton Henry a shock.

And, it seems, he has succeeded. Clayton Henry stands up. He is shaking all over.

‘I had nothing to do with Dan’s death. Nothing. I was at home with my wife all evening. And I’ve got nothing to say about financial irregularities either. I’ve worked myself into the ground for that department. If I have to abdicate, the whole place will collapse.’

Sandy leans back in his chair, looking delighted, but Tim says, quietly, ‘That’s an odd choice of word.’

‘What?’

‘Abdicate. Kings abdicate, not university lecturers. Is that how you see yourself?’

Clayton says nothing. Sandy is still grinning.

‘Do I need a lawyer?’ Clayton asks at last.

*

Thing is delighted to see them again. He runs up and down the stairs whimpering ecstatically.

‘He obviously thought we’d abandoned him too,’ says Cathbad, sitting down to make a fuss of the dog.

‘Well, he hasn’t chewed the place up,’ says Ruth. ‘Good boy, Thing.’

Thing thumps his tail and looks smug.

Ruth puts together a hasty lunch of French bread and cheese. Thing makes it clear that he likes both these foods. Kate sits in her high chair dropping mini Babybel wrappers on his head.

‘What do you want to do this afternoon?’ asks Ruth. ‘Go for a walk? Go to the beach?’

‘I know what I’d like to do,’ says Cathbad, spreading butter thickly on his bread. ‘I’d like to go to Ribchester. See where this whole thing started. Be a nice run for Thing as well.’

*

Before they leave the university, Sandy asks if they can look in Dan Golding’s office.

‘Of course,’ says Clayton, who is clearly dying to get rid of them. ‘He shared it with another lecturer, Sam Elliot, and it’s his now but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind …’

‘Why do you want to look in here?’ asks Tim. ‘I searched the place after the fire. Didn’t find anything of interest.’

Sandy thinks that Tim sounds put out. He resents the idea that he could have missed anything. Sandy makes a noncommittal noise. He’s not sure himself why he wanted to come in here except that it might put the wind up Clayton Henry. But there’s no harm in Tim thinking that his boss might know something he doesn’t. He’s a good cop, Tim, but he doesn’t know everything yet.

The office is small with two desks very close together, almost touching. You’d have to get on very well with someone, thinks Sandy, to work in such close proximity. He couldn’t stand it himself. He likes to have room to spread out. One desk is clear. Sandy presumes this was Golding’s and that someone (who?) has cleared his belongings. The other desk has a closed laptop, a book about tanks and a pile of essays.

Sandy opens the laptop and tries to turn it on. After a few seconds, Tim helps him find the switch. A message flashes across the screen: ‘Enter password’.

‘Want to try and guess it?’ says Sandy.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ says Tim. ‘And, strictly speaking, we’d need a warrant.’

Sandy grunts and closes the laptop.

One wall is full of bookshelves. Tim goes closer to examine the titles. Sandy starts to open drawers in Dan Golding’s desk.

‘What are you looking for?’ asks Tim over his shoulder. He still sounds disapproving.

‘Don’t know,’ says Sandy. ‘But Dan Golding was shagging Henry’s wife. That might be motive enough to kill him.’

It was Tim who had alerted his boss to the references to Pippa Henry in Dan’s diaries but now he seems disposed to argue.

‘Do you really see Clayton Henry as a killer?’

‘Not really,’ admits Sandy. ‘It’s one thing to be ripping off the university. He’s a shyster, that’s obvious, swanking around in that big house like Lord Muck. But torch someone’s house, put petrol-soaked rags through their letterbox, burn them alive? I can’t see it.’

‘How did you know about the money?’ asks Tim.

Sandy laughs. ‘Got a text from Harry Nelson. And he got it from Ruth Galloway. The archaeologist woman.’

‘She seems to get everywhere.’

‘She does indeed.’

The drawers yield nothing except dust and a few paper clips. Someone has cleared away very effectively.