Robert Goddard - Name To a Face

“Unfortunate?”

“Worrying, perhaps I should say. For Carol. And for you. Unless, of course, you can be absolutely certain she no longer poses a threat.”

“How could I be?” Harding responded, seeking to play Whybrow at his own game.

“True. Absolute certainty in the world of risk assessment is naturally unattainable. Especially if you can’t be sure where the risk lies.”

Harding caught himself glancing nervously round the café. For a fraction of a second, he had thought Whybrow might actually be there, smiling at him from a corner table. But no. There were only stolid Münchners digesting their lunches.

“When are you planning to go home, Tim?”

“Tomorrow, I… suppose.”

“I’ll make sure the hotel knows Starburst will pay your bill.”

Starburst will pay. The phrase would never sound the same again. “Thanks,” said Harding.

“No problem,” said Whybrow “It’s the least we can do… after all you’ve done for us.”

The light was failing when Harding returned to the Cortiina. He had turned off his phone after Whybrow’s call and had filled several empty hours sitting on benches in the innumerable galleries of the Alte Pinakothek, gazing vacantly at gloomy yardages of Renaissance canvas. There were no messages waiting for him at the hotel. The police had not been in touch. There was nothing to prevent him doing what he had told Whybrow he meant to do: go home. But home was a slippery concept. He was not sure where to find it anymore.

He was in the middle of explaining to the receptionist that he would be checking out in the morning when he heard his name spoken softly from close behind.

“Harding.”

Turning, he was surprised to see Gary Lawton standing at his shoulder, wearing the haunted look of a seriously worried man.

“Gary. Where did you spring from?”

“Bar over the road. I’ve been waiting for you to get back. We need to talk.” Lawton grasped Harding’s elbow. “We really need to talk.”

They did not go to the bar where Lawton had lain in wait. He preferred a beer-hall, piloting Harding round the corner to the Hofbräuhaus, a vast and clearly tourist-oriented establishment where a lederhosen-clad oompah band accompanied the eager guzzling from foaming mugs by its cosmopolitan clientele.

“Nobody local comes here,” said Lawton as they settled at the empty end of one of the farther-flung tables. “There’s not much chance of anyone I know spotting us.”

“Is this where you met Hayley?”

“No. But I wasn’t being so careful then.”

“Why are you being careful now?”

“Do you need to ask? For Christ’s sake, man, this is a murder case. You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harding confirmed, bewildered by the degree to which the memory of the event was assuming a dream-like quality in his mind.

“The police had me in for questioning today.”

“I suppose they would.”

“Helga’s doing her nut. She answered the phone to Ulbricht this morning. He quoted a gagging clause in my contract with the clinic that he claims I may have broken.”

“Just covering his back, I imagine.”

“Yeah. But what about my back? Helga’s got it into her head that Hayley might come after me. She’s talking about taking the kids to stay with her mother if Hayley isn’t arrested soon.”

“She only wanted Barney, Gary. No one else is in any danger.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“Did you think she might do anything like this?”

“Of course not.”

“Neither did I. That’s what-” Lawton broke off as a waitress materialized beside them. Beers were ordered. She vanished. “That’s what worries me,” Lawton resumed. “I- we -obviously hadn’t a clue what was going on inside her head. What’s worse, the police don’t seem to have a clue where she’s gone. I got the impression they expected to pick her up without any trouble. But she’s outwitted them.”

“It’s only a matter of time, Gary.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know.”

“The police wanted me to go through everything she said to me on Friday. Word for word. As if I could remember.”

“Well, you’re the last person known to have spoken to her face to face before the shooting, so I suppose-” Their beers arrived. Harding thanked the waitress, but Lawton appeared oblivious to the mug at his elbow and went on staring at some point in the fug-filled middle distance. Harding sighed. “So, did you… recall anything useful?”

“What?” Lawton dragged his thoughts back from wherever they had drifted to.

“Did you recall anything useful?”

“No.” Lawton grimaced. “Nothing the police thought useful, anyway. I actually did most of the talking when we met. That was the whole point. She wanted to hear about Kerry. And I told her. As much as I could. She just… asked a few questions. The kind you’d expect in the circumstances.” The grimace was more of a puzzled frown now. “There was only one thing she said that was… odd… and that, well… didn’t amount to much.”

“What was that?” Harding’s interest was aroused.

“It was about Kerry’s recorder.”

“What about it?”

“She asked if I’d ever played it.”

“And had you?”

“No. I mean, it was there, in the box of stuff the Foxtons brought over. But it never occurred to me to… play it, no. Why would I?”

“Why would Hayley care whether you had or not?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“And what did she say?”

“A funny thing. ‘I wanted to be sure,’ she said. ‘Kerry would never have expected anyone else but her to play it. Except me. She would never have wanted anyone else to.’ And then she added, ‘I should have thought of it sooner.’”

“What d’you take that to mean?”

“I didn’t take it to mean anything. Neither did the police. What do you make of it?”

“Same as you. Nothing.”

“Actually…” Lawton leant forward, running his thumbnail thoughtfully across his teeth.

“What?”

“While I was in the bar, waiting for you, I tried to work out what she could possibly have meant by ‘I should have thought of it sooner.’ Something must have triggered her decision to kill Tozer. Something… she’d just discovered. Something that made her regret… losing her nerve when she went after his wife.”

“And that something is somehow connected with her sister’s recorder?”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I think I might, though. It only came to me just now. The recorder. What would’ve happened if I’d played it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, literally, what would have happened?”

Harding shrugged. “How good are you on the recorder?”

“Crap. But that doesn’t matter. I could’ve blown a few notes. Right?”

“Right.”

“Wrong. You see, I don’t think I could’ve done. I think I’d have found the holes were blocked. I think that’s what Hayley found when she tried.”

“Blocked?”

“By something inside the barrel of the recorder. Something hidden there. By Kerry.”

Lawton intended to inform the police of his supposed insight without delay. Harding doubted they would thank him. It was flimsily reasoned and made their task of tracking Hayley down no easier.

Yet it was undeniably tantalizing. Was it possible Kerry had concealed something-which could hardly be more substantial than a single sheet of paper-inside the recorder? Yes. It was possible. But why? And what might be written or printed on this putative sheet of paper?