Waiting until Farrell had disappeared down the corridor, Bird leaned forward over the desk and gestured with his head that Healey should come closer. ‘I don’t know how interesting this is to you, but there’s been a lot of funny things going on here these last couple of weeks, during this course sort of thing, I mean. Drugs, for example.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Ask the cleaners. My wife’s one of them, you know?’
‘Not …’ Healey searched for the name. ‘Rita?’
‘ Not Rita, thank you very much. No, my wife says the very first morning, there’s a lot of drugs about, Ernie. Every other bloody room, if you ask me. Marijuana and that sort of stuff. She smelt it, didn’t she? And the others did.’ Bird paused to let this sink in. ‘There’s a lot more going on than meets the eye here. I mean, what with the hanky-panky between the staff and the students. Students! I wouldn’t call them students. Some of them are older than me. Supposed to be teachers. Teachers of what, I’d like to know. English? Ha! Can’t even ask the time, some of them. At least one of them, that Filipino. Flippin’ Eeno, I call him.’
Before Healey could ask about the Filipino, presumably the one passing himself off as Reyes, Bird went back to his earlier theme. ‘You don’t know who’s sleeping with who. Well I do, cos my wife tells me. And he’s…’ Bird gestured towards the door by which Farrell had left, ‘he’s not above …’ Bird suddenly stopped talking and picked up a clipboard, ran his finger down a list of names, and began to whistle tunelessly. Farrell was standing in the door.
‘Should we wait outside?’ he asked. ‘It’ll be more pleasant there. A bit cooler.’
As he waited for the coach to arrive, Healey wished he’d asked Teague to be there too. It wasn’t just that he wanted him to feel more involved. It was often better to have two of you interviewing, one picking up things that the other missed. It wasn’t always so. Talking to just one of you, people frequently became more confiding and said things they wouldn’t otherwise have done. Getting people to confide in him was one of his strengths, Healey knew, but perhaps it was becoming too much of a habit. There was the danger of becoming too involved oneself, not being detached enough to judge the truth or the importance of what was being said. The modality, he said to himself, remembering what he had learned earlier.
It was almost one o’clock when the coach arrived. Yawning, bleary-eyed participants stumbled down the steps of the coach and onto the pavement. Healey felt a rush of excitement as the Italian woman appeared in the door of the coach but she didn’t seem to see him. She climbed down and walked off towards the Hall. Eventually the flow of people stopped. To the surprise of the driver, Healey climbed up into the coach and walked to the back looking left and right at every pair of seats. There was no one there. Wright had not come back on the coach.
Farrell sniffed appreciatively at the Laphroaig that Healey had poured him. ‘Mmm, smell the peat,’ he said. ‘It’s like iodine. Bit different from Teacher’s.’
‘Something of an acquired taste,’ said Healey. ‘Can I get you something else?’
‘No, this is fine.’ Farrell took a sip. ‘In fact I think it’s a taste I’d like to acquire.’
Healey grinned. ‘It’s one Jill wishes I never had.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not seriously. But she does go on about my drinking sometimes. No harm in that.’
‘You don’t give the impression of drinking too much.’
‘Depends what you mean by too much. And how much the person getting the impression drinks himself.’
Farrell acknowledged this with a smile. ‘Did you have a chance to look at those brochures yet?’ he asked.
‘I did, thanks.’
‘And?’
‘I’m pretty sure I’d like to do something, but I’m not sure what.’
‘Fair enough. I’m not trying to push you, but if you were to think of starting this October, you’d have to get an application in pretty sharpish. Once you get into August, most people are away and nothing much happens.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks.’
When Healey had invited him in on their return from the Hall, Farrell had said it would have to be a quick one, and now he got up to leave. ‘So you won’t have every police force in Britain on the lookout for Tim, then?’ he asked.
‘No. Couldn’t possibly justify it.’ Healey was about to say more but decided not to. He followed Farrell out to the door and watched him walk down the drive and set off along the road. Closing the door, he nodded at himself in the mirror before climbing the stairs to bed. Despite everything, it hadn’t been too bad a day.
That night he dreamed he was following a woman in cut-off jeans along a river bank, in some exotic place. He was sure it was Teresa Crouch. But when he caught up with her and spoke her name, and she turned round, he found himself looking into the face of his wife.
WEDNESDAY
It was eight o’clock and already warm when Healey parked his car in the road outside the Hall. Walking into reception, he found Teague deep in conversation with Bird, the porter. Bird must have said something because Teague, who had his back to Healey, turned round sharply and started towards him. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said brightly. ‘I’ve got something interesting for you.’
Teague it seemed had been up late the night before, trying to discover the password to the file that Healey had copied onto the disk. He had begun by collecting all the documentation he could on Crouch and the Department that he worked in, including copies of any statements they had taken which might include anything directly relevant to Crouch. He had then gone through these, systematically trying any word that Crouch might have used as a password. These included the names of colleagues, of his wife, and of roads around the University and Falstaff Avenue, Philippines connections, including Reyes and Ricardo, titles of courses in the University handbook. But he reached the end without success. He was about to give up and go to bed, when he suddenly realised that none of the documents included the name of Crouch’s daughter. It was too late to call Mrs Crouch but he seemed to recall hearing her speaking the child’s name when he was at Falstaff Avenue. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember what it was. He had gone through the alphabet in his mind, finding several names for each letter, but none that rang a bell. He felt closest to it when he tried names that began with J. Then he had a thought. Didn’t the missus buy a book of names when their little one was due? He had actually woken her up, and she wasn’t best pleased, as you can imagine, and asked her if she still had it. Well, she did still have it and it was in the spare room. He had gone straight to names beginning with J but none of them seemed right. The nearest, he thought, was Jemma. Then it struck him that he would have spelled that name with a G, which made him look at those beginning with G.
Healey listened to all of this with mounting impatience but did not interrupt. Teague went on to explain that he had found the name Gina, which he thought might be it. He entered it as the password but no joy. Then he thought, didn’t one of the wife’s friends have a kid with a name just like Gina, but different. So, since she was already awake, he asked his wife and she said right away, yes, Lucie’s daughter is called Gia. That was the name, he was sure. He tried it and, hey presto, he was able to open the file.
‘Well done,’ said Healey, ‘I’m impressed,’ though he could not bring himself to look into Teague’s face. He did, however, stop himself from telling Teague that he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by phoning him for the name of Crouch’s daughter. ‘And what did you find in the file?’
Teague took from under his arm a small brown document case, unzipped it and produced with a flourish an A4 sheet of paper, which he handed to Healey.
At the top were the letters PF. Below these, on either side of the page, were two headings: IOM and BJ. Under each of the headings was a vertical list of dates and sums of money.
Healey looked at it briefly. ‘How does it match the bank statements we found?’
&
nbsp; ‘Exactly. I mean, all the IOM dates and amounts are the same. I suppose BJ could be another bank, do you think, sir?’
‘Could well be, yes.’
‘And what do you make of the PF, at the top?’
Healey had immediately thought of Peter Farrell. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘Farrell. It is Peter Farrell, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But … yes, it’s a possibility.’
‘Could be more than that, sir.’ Teague was clearly excited; his lips were moist. ‘I was just talking to Ernie now and …’
‘Ernie?’
‘Sorry. Bird. He was telling me that he’d seen Farrell and Crouch having a row, a real up and downer, he said. Before the course began, when they came over to look at the Hall.’
‘Did he say what they were arguing about?’
‘He couldn’t hear properly. He was in a storeroom and they were at the other end of the corridor, and he couldn’t come out or they would have seen him. But it was something to do with money. Crouch was asking for it and Farrell was saying no, there was no chance. At least that’s what Bird thinks he heard.’
‘How did Bird come to volunteer this information? Did you ask him about Farrell?’
‘Not directly. Just about the staff on the course. Had he seen any aggro between Crouch and anyone.’
‘Did he mention anyone else?’
‘No, sir.’
‘He hasn’t said any of this before.’
‘Well, we didn’t ask him before, really, did we? And he told me he didn’t want to say anything out of turn, didn’t want to stir things up, cause trouble for anybody.’
‘Cause trouble? Doesn’t he know we’re investigating a murder, for God’s sake?’
‘Well you know how it is, sir. People do worry about what will happen if they say something, but I think Bird is beginning to loosen up. I’ve been dropping by the Hall the last couple of days and chatting to him, bought him a pint. I reckon he knows as much as anybody about what’s been going on.’
‘You may be right.’
‘So what about PF, Farrell?’
‘I think we ask him about it directly, don’t you? And we should do it together. In fact, I want you to stay with me today.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Teague seemed pleased.
‘Oh, there is one thing, though.’ Healey picked up the plastic bag he’d put on the table when he arrived and passed it to Teague. ‘I found these tapes. They were in Crouch’s bedroom. As soon as you get the chance, I’d like you to go through them. You’ll need this too.’ He handed over the miniature tape recorder.’
Teague peered inside the bag. ‘How many are there?’
‘About thirty.’
‘So how long will that take? One hour each? Thirty hours?’
‘I suppose so. But I can’t trust anyone else to do it. They wouldn’t know what to listen for.’
‘What should I be listening for?’
‘Anything that’s relevant.’
‘Right.’ Teague was less bubbly now.
‘I meant to ask you, how did the search go? I assume you didn’t find anything.’
‘Sorry, I should have told you, sir. No bat, no diary, no cassette. We could extend the search, I suppose. We did a quarter of a mile round the Hall.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Healey put his hand on Teague’s shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can find Farrell.’
Farrell wasn’t to be found in his room or anywhere else in the Hall, so Healey and Teague drove over to the building on the campus where the course lectures were given. On their way Teague glanced through the playing-fields entrance and caught sight of Miss Woods and Daisy standing near the pavilion. ‘You know how we thought that Miss Woods must have imagined someone wearing a mac on Friday night,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking. What if it was somebody hiding something under the mac, like a …’
‘Cricket bat.’
‘Yes, and …’
‘And that could make them walk awkwardly and look as if they were limping.’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Teague, looking hurt that he hadn’t been given the chance to say it all himself.
‘Good thinking, Teague. Though it doesn’t explain how she saw the man go into the sports field from a position where she couldn’t possibly have seen him do that.’
‘No, but she could have been confused about that.’
‘She could have been confused about all of it. After all, she does have Alzheimer’s. Or at least she says she does.’
Healey eased open the door at the front of the lecture hall and saw Farrell sitting in the front row. Sitting next to him was Mary Walters, who, seeing Healey, nudged Farrell and gestured towards the door. Farrell got up and came out. ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ said Healey, ‘but we need to talk to you. This is Sergeant Teague, by the way.’
‘Yes, we have met,’ responded Farrell, as Teague gave him a brief nod.
They went to a nearby classroom and sat around a desk beneath a green wallboard on which was written ‘May – might – must Epistemic Truth’. Motes of dust swirled in the air, lit by the rays of sunlight that entered the room through gaps in the blinds. ‘I’ll let Sergeant Teague ask the questions,’ said Healey.
Farrell turned towards Teague, who coughed, his hand to his mouth, before beginning. ‘Dr Farrell, what can you tell us about your relationship with Neville Crouch?’
Farrell looked towards Healey, who appeared to be studying the far corner of the ceiling. He did not see, or chose to ignore, Farrell’s glance.
‘With Neville?’ said Farrell. ‘We were colleagues, of course. Otherwise we had very little to do with each other. He kept very much to himself.’
‘Would you say there was any rivalry between you?’
‘What? No, not at all.’
‘Not at all? Not even the slightest?’ Teague’s eyes and tone of voice expressed disbelief.
‘Well, no more than between any two people in a department.’
‘So what form did this rivalry take?’
‘Wait a minute, I just told you there wasn’t any rivalry.’
‘And then you said ‘no more than any two people in a department’.’ Teague paused, as if to give his point its full weight, before going on. ‘So can I ask you again, what form did your rivalry with Neville Crouch take?’
Farrell turned again towards Healey, who continued to look at the ceiling. ‘I suppose …’ he began, ‘I suppose that we both wanted to do well, and our areas of expertise overlapped somewhat, but in the end you just do things as well as you can and hope that it’s recognised.’ He stopped but Teague said nothing and continued to look at him. ‘Look …’ began Farrell.
‘Yes?’
‘There may have been some rivalry, yes, but no animosity. We got on pretty well.’
‘At work.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what about outside of work?’
‘As I said, he kept himself to himself. We didn’t see each other outside work.’
‘You weren’t involved in any kind of business together?’
‘No.’
‘So there was nothing for you to fall out about?’
‘No.’
‘Women?’
‘What?’
‘Women. They’re often the cause of er … difficulties between men, especially if they’re attractive. Like Mrs Crouch, for instance.’
‘You’re suggesting that there was something between me and Mrs Crouch?’
‘Was there?’
‘No there wasn’t. And there was nothing between me and Neville.’
‘So you and Dr Crouch never had any kind of what you might call a row?’
‘I can’t think of any.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘What about the twelfth of July? Didn’t you have a row with him then?’
‘The twelfth. When was that?’
‘The Thursday before the course began.’
>
Farrell went still and looked into the distance, as if concentrating. Eventually he focused his gaze on Teague and said, ‘I can’t think of anything.’
‘Really? We’ve been told that you did. When you and Dr Crouch went to the Hall together.’
Again Farrell seemed to concentrate. Then he shook his head. ‘No, I can’t think of anything.’
‘Very well, sir.’ From his document case Teague took the printout of the file he had managed to open. ‘Can I ask if you had any kind of financial dealings with Dr Crouch?’
‘None at all.’
Teague passed the printout to Farrell. ‘Then perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me what we should make of this.’
Farrell looked at the document for a few seconds, then handed it back. ‘I’ve no idea what you should make of it. But I can tell you it’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘Despite the fact that your initials are at the top of the page.’
‘The letters P and F are at the top of the page. Why should they be my initials? They could stand for a thousand different things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I think that’s your problem. It’s certainly not mine.’
‘So you are saying that the amounts of money on that page mean nothing to you.’
‘Nothing at all. And if you don’t mind, I need to go now. The lecture will be over in a minute and I have some announcements to make.’ He looked to Healey, who gave him a small, grim, almost apologetic smile. No one spoke. Farrell stood up and walked slowly to the door and out. Once he had gone, Teague turned to Healey. ‘Was that all right, sir?’
‘That was fine, Teague.’
As they got up, Healey caught a glimpse of a figure passing the door that Farrell had left open. ‘Mr Wright,’ he called out. As Wright reappeared in the doorway, Healey added, ‘Can we have a word with you?’
The Pursuit of Truth Page 14