The Pursuit of Truth

by Arthur Hughes

  Healey and Teague came out of the building where they had spoken to Farrell and Wright. Sitting in the car, they discussed the morning’s events so far. After initially protesting that he couldn’t possibly talk to them then, Wright had gone to his group to ‘get them started’ and then returned to sit in the seat that Farrell had so recently vacated. Ignoring the no smoking sign over the door, he busied himself with rolling a cigarette. He drew deeply on it and looked at Healey as if to say that now he was ready. Healey nodded to Teague who began the questioning.

  In reply to Teague’s questions, Wright told him that he had missed the coach back from Stratford because he had been with two friends from Oxford, going from pub to pub, and hadn’t noticed the time. No, he hadn’t been to the play, and he hadn’t intended to. He had arranged to meet the friends there. No, he didn’t think it odd that they should have met in Stratford when he could easily have driven to Oxford. Stratford was a pleasant place and they had a picnic lunch and rowed on the river in the afternoon. Yes, he had seen course participants in various places during the day but he wasn’t sure that they had seen him; they probably wouldn’t have noticed him with his friends. He hadn’t talked to any of them.

  How had he got back? His friends drove him to Oxford and he got a taxi from there, which cost a fortune. What time did he reach the Hall? About two, he thought, perhaps a bit later. No, there hadn’t been anyone in Reception when he got back. He didn’t have a receipt for the taxi fare; what would have been the point of that? And no he didn’t get a card from the taxi driver. His friends had phoned for the taxi so he couldn’t say what the name of the taxi firm was. Yes, he could give them the names of his friends, their address and telephone number (which he later did) but they wouldn’t be able to contact them immediately because they had left early that morning for France, where they would be spending the next four or five weeks, touring about.

  When Teague asked whether these friends were from the Philippines, Wright said no, why should they be, they were English, people he’d been at university with, if that was of interest.

  Wright was wearing a pink silk shirt, the same dark pink trousers as when Healey had interviewed him in his room, dark grey silk socks, and light grey suede shoes. As he answered Teague’s questions, his hands folded behind his neck, he rocked backwards and forwards, balancing his seat on its two back legs. Occasionally he would stop rocking and concentrate on relighting a cigarette that had gone out, or slowly set about rolling another.

  His behaviour, it was clear to Healey, was calculated to show unconcern at the questions and disdain for the questioner. So far, he was saying in effect that he was happy to tell a pack of lies, knowing that it would take a lot of trouble and a long time to show them as such, and that, anyhow, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Healey didn’t like Wright at all but his performance this morning only confirmed his belief that he couldn’t have murdered Crouch. Still, he was going to test him a bit further.

  When Teague’s questioning came to an end, Wright picked up his bag of tobacco and packet of cigarette papers from the table and made as if to get up.

  ‘We haven’t finished,’ said Healey abruptly. For the first time Wright seemed a little disconcerted. ‘No,’ continued Healey, ‘we’re by no means finished.’ He looked directly at Wright, who had become very still, his left hand holding the tobacco and papers. Healey went on, ‘Mr Wright, you have been lying to us.’ He ignored Wright’s attempt to protest. ‘You may or may not have lied to us today but you most certainly lied to me two days ago. I asked you then about Ricardo Reyes. You told me that he had been to classes on this course. Isn’t that so?’

  Wright remained still and did not answer. Healey continued, ‘But Mr Reyes never came to Reading, did he? He never left Manila. You were lying and now you had better start telling us the truth, or you’ll find yourself in serious trouble, Mr Wright. Obstructing the police in the investigation of a murder is a serious offence.’ He gave time for this to sink in. ‘To start with, tell me, who is the person that has been passing himself off as Reyes?’

  Wright stiffened for a moment then visibly relaxed. He gave Healey a toothy grin. ‘The person passing himself off as Reyes, as you put it, is Reyes.’ He paused. ‘You asked me about Reyes and I told you about Reyes. The only difference is that we were thinking about different Reyeses.’

  ‘I asked you about Ricardo Reyes.’

  ‘I think you’ll find, Chief Inspector, that you were not so specific. You referred simply to a Mr Reyes and naturally I thought you meant the one on the course. I’m sure your record of our conversation will confirm that, if you kept one, that is. I’m sorry that there has been this misunderstanding but I can assure you it was entirely accidental. I would never dream of obstructing the police.’ He grinned again.

  You little bastard, thought Healey, You know I didn’t take notes and now I can’t be sure I did say Ricardo Reyes. To Wright he said, ‘You know perfectly well that I said Ricardo Reyes, but putting that aside for the moment, who is the Reyes on the course, if, as you say, his name really is Reyes?’

  ‘Ricardo’s brother, Roberto.’

  ‘Is he an English teacher too?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why is he on the course?’

  ‘He couldn’t get a visa any other way. He used his brother’s. And the passport it was in, of course.’ When Healey looked sceptical, Wright added, ‘They look very like each other. You’d think they were twins.’

  ‘But why does he want to be here at all?’ asked Healey.

  ‘He’s looking for people to import stuff he makes in his factory.’

  ‘And what stuff is that?’

  ‘Stuff made from shells. Jewellery, lampshades, decorations, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t see why he wouldn’t get a visa to do that.’

  ‘Nor do I, but that’s what he told me.’

  ‘And why didn’t you say anything about this to anyone? Dr Farrell, for instance.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was for me to do that. And I didn’t want to cause trouble. If I had said anything, what would have happened? He might have been sent back. But nobody would have been better off. Just one less person on the course.’

  Fewer, thought Healey, but asked, ‘Trouble for whom?’

  ‘For Roberto, for Ricardo and possibly for me. If I go back to Manila, and that’s quite likely, I wouldn’t want the Reyes family as my enemy.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Healey. ‘What would happen? What sort of family are they that you’d be so worried?’

  ‘They’ve got money. And connections. It just isn’t wise to get on the wrong side of people like that in the Philippines.’

  Healey sensed that for Wright a moment of danger had passed and that he was beginning to enjoy himself. Then a thought struck him. ‘You told me that Reyes was actually attending classes. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes. Well, at least some.’

  ‘Which meant that he was around the Hall or the University a lot of the time during the first two weeks of the course.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Don’t you find that strange for someone who is trying to make business contacts?’

  ‘I imagine that he didn’t want to make it obvious that he wasn’t here for the course. I don’t know.’

  Then Healey had another thought. ‘Dr Crouch must have realised that it wasn’t the Reyes who was supposed to be here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he think about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about it.’

  ‘What? You didn’t talk about it?’

  ‘I mean, we both knew it was Roberto and why he was here, and that was it really.’

  ‘Why didn’t Dr Crouch tell anyone?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Presumably not for the same reason as you?’

  ‘It could have been. He might have intended to go back to the Philippines again sometime. I don’t know.’

  ‘When did
you last see Mr Reyes?’

  ‘Roberto?’

  ‘The Reyes that was here.’

  ‘When?’ Wright appeared to ponder.

  ‘Was it yesterday? Is that what you were really doing?’

  ‘No. I was with friends, as I told you. The last time I saw Roberto was on Friday morning.’

  ‘In your class?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you don’t know where he went?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you don’t know where he is now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well thank you, Mr Wright. We shall be checking everything that you have told us so far. If in the meantime you’d like to make any changes to what you have said, or add to it, just let us know. You can tell one of the constables in the Hall if you do.’

  Wright smiled. ‘I won’t need to add or change anything.’

  As Wright got up to go, Teague asked, ‘One last thing, Mr Wright, if you wouldn’t mind. Do you happen to know the colour of the handle of Dr Crouch’s cricket bat?’

  Wright laughed. ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea,’ he said. ‘Can I go now?’

  Now in the car, after they had kept Wright a further ten minutes while they took details of his friends and of his supposed movements of the previous day, Teague expressed the view that they had been talking to a pair of lying bastards and if the education of the nation’s brightest children was in the hands of such people, what hope was there for the future. Without much enthusiasm, Healey pointed out that there could well be a difference between an academic’s attitude to truth in their work and in their private lives, especially if the latter were under attack in some way. Teague, showing more perseverance than usual in discussions with Healey, asked whether, say, marking students’ essays was work; couldn’t it also be private? What if they were having it away with a student, like Bird said they were, wouldn’t that affect the marks they gave? Healey, feeling as he did, closer to some at least of the academics than he did to Teague, said that he didn’t know.

  What the two men found easy to agree on was that there were two main areas to explore in relation to Crouch: any enmity between him and other academics; and the source or sources of the substantial sums of money that he had managed to salt away over the previous few years. Farrell was a candidate for investigation on both counts, as Wright might be too. Reyes, presumably Roberto Reyes, was a possible link with the money; the sooner they could get hold of him, the better. Bird had said that he would look out for him and regularly check his room, and let Teague know as soon as he put in an appearance.

  Teague persisted somewhat with his notion that a woman might be involved (Cherchez la femme, he said again). When pressed by Healey to say which woman and what role she might play, he could only suggest that there could well be more to Mrs Crouch than met the eye. Thinking that there was already quite a lot of Mrs Crouch that met the eye, Healey said that, yes, she might be involved but that it would be helpful if they could think of the role she might have played, in order to have an angle from which to approach her. He suspected that going over the same ground with her, however carefully, was unlikely to reveal anything significant. But that was true for the other two as well.

  In the meantime, said Healey, it might be a good idea to go back to Chris Carter. Not only did Healey feel that he hadn’t learned as much as he might from Carter, but, remembering the tapes, it would also be an opportunity for Teague to listen for the first time to someone who might feature in the recordings.

  They were driving to the University of Berkshire. As they passed the Huntley and Palmer building, Teague gave a nervous cough before saying, ‘I’ve been thinking, sir, about those tapes. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to get a couple of typists at HQ to listen to them and type them out? Then we’ll be able to read them through quickly and decide if there’s anything relevant. And besides, we’ll have to get them typed out sometime if we’re going to use them as evidence, won’t we?’

  Healey had already thought of this possibility. ‘Two problems with that, Teague. First, it will take a lot longer to transcribe the tapes than to listen to them, so we lose time. Second, the typists may not be accurate. I mean, they may not be able to type exactly what is said or even to hear it. Somebody who knows what they’re listening for has to do it, I’m afraid. I don’t think there’s any way round it. I tell you what, though, I’ll take some of them myself. Why don’t we take half each? I know we’ve only got one recorder at the moment but if you could give me that one back and pick one up at HQ after we’ve talked to Carter … Oh, by the way, while I think of it, did you finish that matrix I asked you to construct?’

  Teague seemed confused. ‘Matrix?’

  ‘The names, who saw who and when.’

  ‘I gave that job to Gifford.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said there would be more than 2500 cells, as you called them. It was going to take a long time. I’ll have to check.’

  ‘Please do that. And about the 2500 cells, that’s bollocks. It’s the number of positive entries that matters. Anyhow, let’s not worry about that now.’ Healey pulled off King’s Road into the car park and stopped. ‘Let’s see what Carter can tell us.’

  They found Chris Carter sitting in semi-darkness. The little light there was entered through cracks in the blinds that hung down behind him and which, though the windows and door were open presumably to create a draught, made no perceptible movement. He looked up from his computer and greeted Healey, who introduced Teague.

  Healey apologised for the interruption but explained that there were certain matters they needed to go over again. What they were looking for, to put it bluntly, was a motive for Neville Crouch’s murder. They were pursuing other possibilities outside the Department but for the time being at least they had to consider that the murderer might have been a colleague.

  Carter frowned. He began by saying that effectively they were talking about him and Farrell, as all the other members of the Department were away on holiday at the time of Neville’s death. Healey pointed out that this was not necessarily the case, as a clever person might use a supposed, or indeed a real holiday as an alibi. So, could Carter go through the various members of the Department please and try to remember anything between them and Dr Crouch.

  Carter took out a sheet of paper and wrote down five sets of initials, a sixth, his own, added as an afterthought at the bottom, and then proceeded to discuss their owners, each in turn.

  RBL was the Head of Department, Rex Bradshaw-Lewis. To think of him as a murderer was inconceivable, said Carter. Rex might have liked to get rid of Neville from the Department, given his poor publishing record, but murder would have been excessive. Rex was a kindly man, a devout Christian, a regular churchgoer. (Healey was reminded of Wright saying something similar about Reyes, the Reyes who hadn’t come to Reading.) Yes, Rex lived for his family, his research and his garden. He wouldn’t hurt a fly – except greenfly, Carter added, smiling thinly.

  Next there was ML, Monty Lightfoot. Something of a hermit who had little time for his fellow men. As soon as term was over, he disappeared to his sister’s cottage in Somerset and wasn’t seen again until the beginning of the next term. There had been a bit of trouble between him and Crouch, Carter recalled, all to do with secret recordings that Crouch had made of his colleagues. Most people hadn’t minded, or at least not much, but Monty had huffed and puffed, claimed it was unethical, uncolleaguial behaviour, and insisted that all the tapes should be destroyed. Healey asked if they had been and Carter replied that they hadn’t. Rex had taken Monty aside and told him not to be so silly. And nothing more was said. That was years ago and was over and done with. Besides, Monty had been in the States on sabbatical since January and wasn’t due back until September. When Healey asked if the recordings that Lightfoot had objected to were made with a miniature hand-held recorder, Carter replied that he wasn’t sure but that they could well have been.

  XL, Xiao Lim, was a gifted young Chinese who had d
one postgraduate work at Oxford, at the end of which, desperate not to return home, he had applied for, been offered, and to everyone’s surprise, accepted a post in the Department. That had only been a year ago and he was unlikely to stay long, Carter confided, but it was a welcome change to have someone as bright and active around. He too was in the States, giving a paper at a conference. Teague asked if Carter knew whether Lim practised martial arts. Carter didn’t know but suggested that it would have to be a very special form of martial arts if it were to be effective over several thousand miles, if that was what Teague had in mind. Teague blushed but said nothing.

  Carter looked down at his list of initials. ‘Then of course there’s PF whom you already know,’ he said, addressing himself to Healey and ignoring Teague. ‘I assume you don’t need me to say anything about him.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you would. I realise that he is a friend of yours as well as a colleague but we need to find out as much as we can, that’s relevant of course, about anyone who was involved with Dr Crouch.’

  ‘I understand. Well, putting aside the fact that Peter was with me at the time that I take it the murder was committed, I can’t think of anything between him and Neville that would be of interest to you.’

  ‘What about the recordings?’ put in Teague. ‘Was Dr Farrell happy about that?’

  Carter didn’t look at Teague as he replied. ‘I wouldn’t say he was happy, but he wasn’t particularly unhappy either. He didn’t think it was worth getting upset about.’

  ‘And what about you, sir?’ asked Teague. ‘Were you upset by it?’

  ‘Me? Certainly not. How else are you going to collect data on how people actually speak? If they know they are being recorded, then of course this affects what they say.’

  ‘And how they say it,’ added Healey.

  ‘Precisely.’

  Healey felt pleased with himself and would have liked to pursue this further but knew he had to concentrate on the task in hand. ‘Getting back to Dr Farrell,’ he said, ‘do you know of any business that they might both be involved in? Anything that might involve money passing from one of them to the other?’