Robert Goddard - Name To a Face

“If you’re not sure, Mr. Harding, not absolutely sure, then…”

“We only have Nathan’s word for it she set up the rendezvous in the first place.”

“And if he was lying, for whatever reason…”

“He can’t own up to it now.”

“Death seals everyone’s lips.”

“My God.” Some of the implications of what they were saying flashed through Harding’s mind. “Could this be true?”

“I think it may be.”

“But if it is…”

“Then, what do we do about it?” She gazed at him intently. “What exactly do we do?”

With so much unknown, they had to learn as much as they could as quickly as they could. Ann volunteered to contact Veronica and pump her for information about Nathan’s activities in recent weeks: where he had been, who he had spoken to, what he had said that might seem more significant now than it had at the time. For his part, Harding could see nothing for it but to chase down the last lead left to him: the identity of the Heartsease thief; which might, just might, be the answer to everything.

Since the call from Whybrow, Harding had kept his phone switched off. He checked for messages as he stood stamping his feet to keep warm while waiting for the next train to Victoria on the wind-lashed platform at West Dulwich station. There was one: from Carol. And it was very different in tone from the last message she had left for him.

Why are you in England, Tim? Tony’s told me what you said, but I don’t believe it any more than he does. If you’re still chasing Hayley, you’re as mad as she is. If not, then what the hell are you up to? Explanation please. I think I’m owed one. What are you trying to do?

It was a reasonable question in its way. But it was not one Harding had any intention of answering. He switched the phone off again, shoved it back into his pocket and squinted down the track. Where was the train?

The sleeper pulled out of Paddington on schedule at ten to midnight. Harding had secured a berth at the last minute. After dumping his bag in his cabin, he headed for the buffet, where nightcaps were being served. He suspected he would need several.

There were half a dozen or so customers ahead of him in the queue. He paid them no attention. But one of them paid him a great deal.

“Mr. Harding,” came a familiar voice. “This is a surprise.”

I’ve thought about you a lot these past few days,” said Clive Isbister as they settled with their drinks at an empty table in the buffet car. “I was shocked when I heard Barney had been killed and that Hayley Winter-Foxton, I suppose I should say-was the prime suspect. Then I saw it reported that you were there when it took place. Now… what? You’re going back to Penzance?”

“Carol asked me to pay Humph a visit and tell him exactly how it happened,” Harding replied. It was a passable cover story. “She was too busy sorting everything out to come herself.”

“I can imagine. Well, that’s good of you. But what a coincidence, hey? I’ve been up at an ISVA dinner-Incorporated Society of Valuers and Auctioneers.” Isbister’s flushed complexion and general loquaciousness suggested he had not stinted himself. “So, tell me, how did it happen?”

There was clearly no avoiding an explanation, so Harding embarked on one, omitting any mention of his new-found doubts about Hayley’s responsibility for Tozer’s death-and of Nathan Gashry’s supposed suicide. He was in no mood to bare his soul and felt certain there was nothing to be gained by taking Isbister into his confidence.

“Appalling,” said Isbister when he had finished. “Just appalling.” Which was not, Harding reflected, such a bad summary. “And there’s no question it was Hayley?”

“There wasn’t much room for doubt.” Which was not, of course, the same as saying there was no room at all.

“But shooting him like that, in cold blood. I’d never have thought her capable of such a thing.”

“Neither would I.”

“But you saw it with your own eyes, so there it is.” Isbister stared thoughtfully into his plastic beaker of whisky and soda. “It’s strange. Ironic, you could say. There’s a reunion every decade of my year at Humphry Davy Grammar. Our year, I mean. Barney’s, mine, Ray Trathen’s…”

“And John Metherell’s?”

“Yes, of course. John’s too. You know him?”

“We’ve met.”

This minor revelation induced a puzzled pause on Isbister’s part. Then he pressed on. “Well, the last was in… 1998. Function room at the Queen’s Hotel. I remember standing there, chatting with Barney, and… yes, actually, I think it was John Metherell, now you mention him. Anyway, the do was winding down and Barney said jocularly ‘See you in another ten years, then.’ And John said, ‘God willing.’ To which Barney responded, ‘Don’t worry. I’m indestructible.’ And, you know, in a funny sort of way, I believed him. There was something… granite-like… about him. Good at rugby, you know? Loose-head prop. Get tackled by him and you remembered it. My God, you did.” He winced in tribute to a long-ago collision. “Yes. Indestructible. But he wasn’t, of course. And he won’t be sharing a joke with anyone at the 2008 gathering.”

“Have the police asked you any questions?” Harding enquired, hoping Isbister could be lured away from maudlin reminiscences of his schooldays.

“Not as such. They came to me for the keys to Heartsease, that’s all. Wanted to search the basement flat on the off chance of turning up some clue to Hayley’s whereabouts. Is she still on the run?”

“As far as I know.”

“Well, they obviously didn’t find anything, then. Where do you think she’s gone?”

“No idea.”

“There’s no mistake, is there? She’s Kerry Foxton’s sister? I mean, I know there’s a resemblance, but-”

“She’s definitely her sister.”

“Right.” Isbister nodded. “I bumped into Ray Trathen in Market Jew Street yesterday, you know.” He glanced at his watch. “Day before yesterday, I should say. He was full of it, as you can imagine. ‘Told you Barney was up to no good,’ he crowed. ‘Now he’s got his just deserts.’ He was drunk, of course. Well, not sober, anyway. But I didn’t like the pleasure he took from Barney’s death. Or the conclusions he drew. The fact that Hayley evidently believes Barney murdered Kerry doesn’t prove he did.”

“No. It doesn’t, does it?”

“Barney sailed close to the wind, no question about it. Always did. He was running scams even at school. Started selling Kit-Kats of dubious origin and graduated to reefers. I daresay Ray’s right about Starburst International being a dodgy outfit. But the one thing Barney never had was a vicious streak. He wasn’t a bully. He was actually a very generous man. He basically wanted everyone to have a good time, preferably in a way that turned him a useful profit. A wheeler-dealer. A barrow boy. A rogue. But a murderer? Especially of an attractive girl like Kerry? Never. It just… wasn’t in his character.”

“Did you know Kerry?” Isbister’s second reference to Kerry’s looks had finally caught up with Harding.

“Not really. I met her a couple of times. Once in the Abbey Hotel restaurant. She was dining there with Barney the night my wife and I were celebrating our anniversary. They… joined us for drinks beforehand. We… chatted… about this and that. I remember Janet-my wife-complaining over dinner that I’d been ogling Kerry. Perhaps it was true. Kerry was very attractive, of course. But she had this… extra something as well. Glamour. Charisma. I don’t know what you’d call it. The wow factor, I suppose. Yes. That’s what she had. In spades.”