Robert Goddard - Name To a Face

“I met Ray at Heartsease on Saturday.”

“You did?”

“He certainly bears you a grudge.”

“You can’t believe a word he says.”

“I don’t. But there was a diving accident in August 1999, wasn’t there?”

Barney groaned audibly. “Is Ray still going on about that?”

“Oh yes.”

“I guess I should have warned you.”

“Maybe you should.”

“All right.” There was silence for a moment, then Barney resumed, almost contritely. “I’m sorry Tim. By rights, it ought to be me sorting this out, not you. But as it is… you’d be doing me a big favour if you… gave it a go.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

Harding congratulated himself on how he had handled Barney, who was back now where Harding needed to have him: in his debt. It was a fragile advantage, though, with Harding’s phone-and Carol’s incriminating message-in Darren Spargo’s possession. He could not afford to rest on his laurels.

Nor could he spare the time to visit Humphrey. A phone call would have to suffice.

“You’ve resurfaced, have you?” was the elder Tozer’s less than genial conversation-opener.

“Barney’s asked me to look into the theft of the ring.”

“Has he now?”

“Do you have any idea who might have taken it?”

“No. I don’t.”

“I imagine… the news came as a nasty shock to you.”

“It did. Though perhaps it shouldn’t have.”

“Sorry?”

“I ask Barney to send me money. Instead he sends me you. I ask him to help me retrieve something Uncle Gabriel stole from us. Instead, what happens? It gets stolen all over again.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the ring’s further out of our reach than ever. And I don’t think you’re capable of doing anything about it.”

Humphrey Tozer’s vote of no confidence mattered little to Harding. The theft of the ring meant his business in Penzance would not be concluded at tomorrow’s auction. It had, in fact, given him more time to probe the mystery of Hayley’s resemblance to Kerry Foxton and his sense of a previous connection with one or both of them. Perversely he was almost grateful for the opportunity it had handed him. But he had to tread carefully. With Spargo on the loose, he was in a vulnerable position. Finding Spargo, indeed, was far more important to his welfare than laying hands on the Heartsease thief. He set off into the Penzance evening knowing that had to be his first objective.

He found Ray Trathen in situ at the bar of the Turk’s Head, unaware, as far as he could judge, of the burglary at Heartsease.

“Still here, then?” Trathen greeted him, woozily cocking one eyebrow.

“I’ve just got back from St. Mary’s.”

“What took you there?”

“John Metherell.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The video, Ray. I’ve seen it.”

“What did you make if it?”

“I saw no evidence of murder. Not a shred.”

“There’s none so blind…”

“I wasn’t blind to one thing. Kerry Foxton and Hayley Winter. They’re so alike.”

“I didn’t know you’d met Hayley.”

“Briefly yes.”

“Well, you’re right. She looks a lot like Kerry.”

“How do you account for that?”

“I don’t.”

“It must have struck you as odd.”

“Yeah, well, Gabriel Tozer was an odd man.”

“You think he chose her specially?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“But she came down from London of her own volition. He couldn’t have-”

“Review her CV during this ‘brief’ meeting, did you?”

Harding took a deep breath. “I happened to ask what had brought her to Penzance.”

“And you believed her explanation?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because of how close in looks she and Kerry are. They could almost be twins. Sisters, at all events. Coincidence? I think not.”

“Are you suggesting they’re related?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”

“Maybe I will.”

“You could ask her what happened to my copy of Metherell’s video while you’re about it.”

“You think Gabriel Tozer tricked you out of it?”

“Somebody did.”

“That lad who spilt his drink on me last time I was here.” Harding noted with grim satisfaction the confusion his sudden change of subject had clearly caused Trathen. “Darren Spargo.”

“What about him?”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No. I see him in here off and on. That’s it. What d’you want with him?”

“It’s a-”

“Did you say you’re looking for Darren Spargo?” put in a man standing next to them at the bar.

“Er, yes.”

“Can’t imagine why.” The man laughed. “Bit of a pillock, if you want my opinion.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

“He lives out at Treneere, if you want to know, next door to my aunt. Worse luck for her.”

It was a cheerless walk out to Treneere, a large estate of council housing on the northern edge of the town. The Spargo residence blended drably but durably with its neighbours. There were lights at the windows. Rock music thumped from an upper room. Two bicycles lay where they had fallen next to the front path. Harding cast a leery eye about him before pressing the doorbell.

A child with Marmite smeared round her lips opened the door and stared up at Harding. Then a bustling, broad-hipped woman with tired eyes and a wary expression took her place.

“Can I help you?”

“Is Darren in?”

“No. He won’t be back for hours yet, I shouldn’t think.”

Harding had half-expected something like this and was uncertain how to proceed. But he did not have to consider the problem for long.

“Is your name Harding?”

“Yes,” he cautiously admitted.

“Darren said you might look round.”

“He did?”

“Left this for you.” She stepped briefly back, then reappeared… with Harding’s mobile phone. “Picked it up by mistake, he said. Is that right?”

Harding smiled despite himself. “Sort of.”

She handed him the phone. “No harm done, then.”

Harding had been sitting at the top of the steps leading down to the basement flat at Heartsease for what felt like several hours, but was actually less than one, when he heard footsteps on the drive at the side of the house and the faint rattling of a bunch of keys.

“Hayley,” he called, standing up and crossing the patio into the nearest shaft of lamplight. “It’s me.”

“Tim.” She was wearing her short raincoat over jeans and trainers and had added a bandeau round her head that made her look younger and smaller than ever. She was carrying the canvas bag he had seen her with on Saturday and was leaning slightly to one side to bear the weight of whatever it contained. “Thank God it’s you.”

“Sorry if I startled you.”

“You didn’t. Not really. I guess I was expecting you.”

“I heard about the burglary.”

“But you’d have come anyway. Once you’d seen the video.”

“Is the video why you put me off tonight?”

“No. I’ve been to my judo class. I go every Monday.” She smiled uncertainly. “Come inside, Tim. We’ve a lot to talk about.”

She offered him coffee and he accepted. They sat either side of the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil, staring at each other wordlessly, both equally unsure how to begin.

Harding took his phone out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “I got this back,” he said quietly.

“Good. Darren promised to return it. He’s got a part-time job at the snooker club now. Morrison’s sacked him for absenteeism, apparently. Anyway, I spoke to him at the club this afternoon. He seemed to see reason.”