The Pursuit of Truth

by Arthur Hughes

  ‘You are Mr Reyes, aren’t you?’

  There was a brief nod.

  ‘Can you tell me your full name, please?’

  ‘Ricardo Angel Gomez Reyes.’ He enunciated the words slowly, pausing between each.

  ‘Ricardo?’

  ‘Ricardo.’

  ‘Not Roberto?’

  Reyes’ eyes flickered but there was no other reaction to the question.

  ‘Look, Mr Reyes,’ said Healey. ‘We know that you are Roberto Reyes and that you travelled to Britain on your brother Ricardo’s passport. So let’s agree on that, can we? It’ll save us a lot of time.’

  Reyes blinked but did not protest.

  ‘I’m not interested in what happened last night,’ continued Healey. ‘I just want to know where you were and what you were doing last Friday night, from nine o’clock onwards.’

  Reyes glanced at Teague. ‘I already tell this man. When in Reading.’

  ‘And now I want you to tell me.’

  Reyes did tell him. Just what he had said in Reading. That he had left Reading for London by train about one in the afternoon, had lunch at a Malay restaurant near Trafalgar Square with some Filipino businessmen he had met during his stay, and then had gone to Heathrow to see them off. He had their business cards, yes, but back at the Hall; nobody had asked him about them before (at this, Healey had to stop himself from looking at Teague). From Heathrow he had gone back into London, spent time (and a lot of money) in a nightclub in Soho, and caught the first train in the morning back to Reading. He thought he might still have the ticket but he wasn’t sure. Again, he hadn’t been asked for it when he was interviewed in Reading. He said this directly to Healey without looking at Teague. Teague remained silent.

  Healey asked about Crouch. Reyes said that he had only met him once or twice, in the Philippines, when there was talk of setting up an English language school. He was really a friend of his brother, not him.

  ‘What?’ said Healey. ‘Haven’t you forgotten that he was a tutor on the course you are on in Reading? Surely you must have talked to him then.’

  ‘We only say hello. He know I must not be there, so he not wanna talk.’

  ‘Really? And what about Tim Wright? You were in his class. Didn’t you talk to him either?’

  ‘Only little. Same problem.’

  ‘That’s strange. He told me that he talked to you a lot.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘So why did he tell me that.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think he tell you that.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘About the lesson.’

  ‘What lesson?’

  ‘What we do in class. I don’t understand. He tell me what to do.’

  ‘And about Friday night? Why did he go to London with you?’

  Reyes paused before replying. ‘He did not go to London with me.’

  ‘I think he did.’

  Reyes shrugged but said nothing. By this time Healey realised that Reyes was not a man who was going to be easily wrong-footed. Or panicked. He also realised that he was not going to get any answers to his questions that conflicted with what Reyes had already told Customs. In short, as long as Reyes was held here at Gatwick, Healey knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with the man. He was considering what to do next, when Teague spoke.

  ‘Do you practise martial arts, Mr Reyes?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Martial arts. Karate. Kung fu. Do you …’ Teague made an open-handed chopping motion and looked expectant.

  ‘No,’ replied Reyes immediately, turning his gaze on Healey. ‘I never,’ he continued, and made the same chopping motion, and smiled. He was smiling! A man who had been caught handling a large quantity of drugs and now being interrogated as part of a murder investigation, was smiling at their questions. Laughing at them. The customs officers who must be watching and listening to them would probably be laughing at their efforts too. Humiliating. Healey was painfully aware that he hadn’t thought through the implications of the man’s already having been questioned about his part in the drugs business. He had come here with no clear plan, just with the conviction that Reyes was the key and that by applying the right kind of pressure they would somehow unlock the case. But what grounds did he have for this conviction? Nothing more than a feeling really. Certainly not enough to persuade his superiors to request Reyes’ transfer to Reading. He felt foolish. He put his hands on the table to push his seat back and stand up.

  As he did so, Teague spoke again. ‘You haven’t been in Reading for the last four days. Where were you?’

  Healey put his hand on Teague’s arm. There was no point in asking more questions while Reyes was being held here. However, as Teague turned towards Healey, Reyes answered the question. He was quite effusive. He gave the address of a flat in Hampstead, on Haverstock Hill. He told them that he had rented it for the period of his stay in Britain, and since he left Reading on Monday he had been staying there and meeting various business contacts during the day. He had the keys to the flat with him when he was arrested at the airport. Why didn’t they take them and check. The man on the reception desk at the apartment block would confirm what he was he saying.

  When Healey and Teague left the interview room, they were met by the same customs officer who had taken them there. He gave them a broad smile. ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  ‘I imagine you were watching,’ said Healey.

  ‘I heard a bit of it. Yeah. Well most of it, actually.’

  ‘So you know.’

  ‘Not what you made of what he said.’

  ‘Nothing that will help us much. He’s not going to say anything to us that will make things more difficult with you. At least not while you’re in a position to hear everything he says.’

  ‘I can see that. But nothing we can do. He’s hardly going to believe us if we say that we won’t listen to what he says and that you won’t tell us, is he?’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Healey.

  Before leaving, Healey asked the customs officer if they had in fact found keys on Reyes. They had indeed. The keys were now with one of their officers, who was watching the flat. Nobody had gone there since they had put it under surveillance but they still thought someone might. When Healey asked him, he said yes, they had made a quick search of the flat but there was nothing of interest. Healey then asked if they would mind if he and Teague had a look at the flat, if they made a detour on their way back to Reading. The customs officer took them into his office, from where he telephoned his superior.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, as he put the phone down. ‘The keys will be at the reception desk there. If you leave them there when you’ve finished, if you don’t mind.’ He sat down at his desk and copied something from a file onto a sheet of blank paper. ‘The address, he said, you’ll need that.’ Healey took the paper and they all moved towards the door. ‘Oh,’ said the officer, ‘I meant to ask you, when you were talking to Reyes you mentioned somebody called Wright. Tom Wright, was it?’

  ‘Tim,’ said Healey. ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing. Just wondered if he was somebody we should know about.’

  ‘I don’t think so. A former colleague of Reyes’ brother. Teaches English.’ Healey put out his hand. ‘Thanks very much for your help. We appreciate it. And we’ll be in touch.’ The customs officer seemed as if he might ask a further question but didn’t.

  As soon as Healey and Teague set off down the corridor, he went to his desk and made another phone call.

  The flat in Hampstead, which was in a brick building next door to an Italian restaurant, was large and expensively furnished. ‘Thousand a week at least,’ said Teague, as he flopped onto a plush blue sofa in the living room. He yawned. ‘Nice. Very nice. Very nice indeed.’ He yawned again and threw his feet over the arm of the sofa.

  Healey walked from room to room, opening and closing drawers and cu
pboard doors, looking under beds, under pillows, in waste paper baskets. The only time he paused in his search was in the bathroom, where he sniffed repeatedly. Eventually he came back to the living room.

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ he said. ‘No sign of life. Either Reyes didn’t use the place or somebody has done a very careful tidy up since he left.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  Healey didn’t answer but went into the hall and turned a switch on the wall. Immediately there was the sound of air coming through the vents just below the ceiling. Healey adjusted a dial and the sound stopped.

  ‘I thought so. About eighteen degrees if this is accurate,’ he said. ‘The air conditioning must have been on very recently. Otherwise it would have been a lot warmer when we got here. Let’s go down and ask the man on the desk.’

  The man behind the reception desk was in his thirties and well dressed. Yes, Mr Reyes was staying here but no he hadn’t seen him for the previous two days. He had been off sick yesterday. No, as far as he knew, nobody had been in the flat today. A gentleman had left the key at the desk an hour ago, saying that Mr Reyes wanted two associates to be able to stay overnight if they needed to, but he hadn’t gone up to the flat. Healey thanked him and left the building with Teague.

  ‘So somebody got in without him seeing them,’ said Teague.

  ‘Or he’s lying. Let’s see if we can find out.’

  Healey led Teague to a table outside the restaurant next door, where they asked for draft beer but had to settle for bottled. When their drinks came, Healey took a fiver from his wallet. Before handing it to the waiter, he asked, ‘I don’t suppose you saw somebody leave that building in the last hour or so?’ He gestured towards the door that they had just come through. ‘He’s a friend of ours, said he’d meet us at his flat but he’s not there.’

  The waiter eyed the fiver. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  ‘Young man. Medium height, slim build. Long fair hair. Maybe wearing a velvet jacket.’

  The waiter looked thoughtful.

  ‘Got a blue sports car. Austin Healey,’ added Healey.

  The waiter’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh yes. I didn’t notice what he looked like exactly but I saw the car. Must have been half an hour ago. He’d parked it just outside, on the double yellow and they were just giving him a ticket when he came for it. Made a big fuss. I suppose that was your friend.’

  ‘It sounds like him,’ said Healey. ‘Have you seen him around here before?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Healey opened his wallet and slipped the fiver back into it, taking out two pound notes, which he passed to the waiter. ‘Keep the change,’ he said.

  In the taxi back to Paddington, Healey sat with his eyes closed and quickly fell asleep, only waking as they pulled up in the station. On the train, sitting on either side of a table, they unwrapped the sandwiches that they had bought at the station. Teague asked, ‘What made you think of Wright back there?’

  Healey had bought first class tickets and they had been able to find a place well away from any other passengers. Healey nevertheless looked round before replying. ‘Do you think that customs man seemed stupid?’

  ‘Not really. Why?’

  ‘He thinks we are. He heard us talk about Wright. He was clearly interested, but he got the name wrong. Tom instead of Tim. Why did he do that? Did he just make a mistake? I don’t think so. No, if he was interested, he wouldn’t, would he? It can only have been because he wanted us to think he wasn’t really that interested. Which means that it was more than casual. And that he thought we were dim.’ Healey paused, his eyes glazing over. ‘Unless of course he wanted us to think he had a serious interest in Wright and not in something else that we asked Reyes about. But no, it wasn’t that.’

  ‘But at the flat?’

  ‘His aftershave or whatever. Didn’t you smell it? I mightn’t have connected it with Wright if that bugger hadn’t asked us about him.’ Healey smiled at Teague. ‘So something good did come out of making a pig’s ear of the …’ Healey looked up as a young woman with two children appeared at the door of their carriage, ‘… of the interview,’ he added quietly.

  The journey to Reading took only half an hour. They collected the car from the station car park and set off for the Hall, Healey driving. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know what they’re doing tonight, do you?’ he asked.

  Teague pulled himself upright in his seat and took out his copy of the course booklet, his possession of which had failed to impress Healey that first day in Crouch’s room. He flicked over the pages briskly. ‘Nineteen hundred hours, Canal Trip,’ he pronounced. ‘Visit country pub.’

  ‘That’s good. I’d like you to make an unofficial search of a couple of rooms, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps you could get a pass key from Bird.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think that would be a problem. Which rooms do you have in mind?’

  ‘Reyes’ and Wright’s. We could get a search warrant for Reyes but probably not for Wright. No point in causing problems for ourselves. See if you can find anything of interest.’

  ‘What about Farrell’s room? I mean, isn’t he our chief suspect? Besides everything else, those initials, PF. He couldn’t give us an explanation for them, could he?’

  ‘Well, if they don’t have anything to do with his name, why should he have any better idea what they mean than anyone else?’ Healey might have added ‘you idiot’ but only said, ‘We don’t really have a chief suspect.’

  Teague was momentarily crestfallen but his face brightened. ‘All right, sir, but what are the chances of any two letters coming up at random, so to speak, being the initials of one of the victim’s colleagues in a small department?’

  Healey was reminded of his own thoughts on this in connection with crossword clues. ‘I don’t know. I agree that we have to bear it in mind, but more important right now would be to establish a motive. What would Farrell’s motive be?’

  ‘I don’t know, but what if Crouch was blackmailing him, something to do with drugs. Didn’t Farrell go to the Philippines on business? That could have been to do with drugs, nothing to do with setting up a school. And how do we know it came to nothing?’ Teague paused. ‘Then there’s the fact that he went with Crouch’s wife, and a baby is born a year or so later. Could have been nine months later, couldn’t it?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Crouch might of found out and got awkward.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but they all seem to tie together somehow.’

  Healey shook his head. ‘Look, Teague, I’ve got to know Farrell pretty well over the last few days and I just can’t see him doing it. But,’ he paused, ‘I won’t stop you looking in his room too, if you want to.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘The boat trip will give you a clear run.’

  ‘If Farrell and Wright go, you mean.’

  They were just arriving at the Hall. Healey didn’t reply. He was looking for a place to park.

  There was no room on the road outside, so he turned into the Hall and parked in the one empty space, the one with the word ‘WARDEN’ on it, painted in white. ‘Feeling brave, sir?’ chuckled Teague.

  Healey stepped out and slammed the door shut. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  There was no one in reception. The clock above the desk showed ten past six. As they strode down the corridor they were greeted by the not very pleasant smell of institutional food. School dinners, thought Healey. Was it the gravy that gave off that smell? Swinging open the double doors of the bar, they almost flattened Mr Bird, who had been about to come out.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said, staggering back. ‘That was a close one. I thought I saw you arrive and I was just going to say that it would be best if you didn’t park there. The Warden’s due back any minute. But …’

  ‘But what?’ asked Healey.

  Before Bird could reply, Teague cut in. ‘Sorry about tha
t, Ernie. There wasn’t any space on the road, but I’ll find somewhere else.’ He held out his hand for the keys, which Healey gave him. ‘Bitter shandy for me,’ he called back as he went out.

  Holding the tray of drinks level with his chin, his back aching, Healey shuffled down the centre of the converted narrowboat, picking his way between outstretched legs, the backs of chairs, and clusters of standing course members. Even though windows were open, it was hot and sticky in the narrow confined space, which was filled with the chatter of the course participants, making him feel that he was in some kind of human aviary, an aviary with a very low roof.

  The back of a large, blond women in a white blouse blocked his way. ‘Excuse me,’ he said close to her ear, smelling the perfume she had obviously applied liberally in that area.

  The woman turned and, on apparently recognising him, smiled. ‘You are Mike’s friend,’ she said. ‘Hello. Good to see you. And where is Mike?’ Healey looked into her pale blue eyes, then at the broad flat nose set between bright red cheeks, at her dark moustache, and down to her large breasts, which were suddenly pressed against him. ‘We miss him,’ went on the woman.

  It took Healey a moment to realise that she was referring to Teague. ‘He’s working,’ he said.

  ‘So, you can have a good time with us while he is working,’ the woman laughed. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and in her moustache. People at the tables either side had stopped talking and were looking up, listening to them.

  Healey gave a small, tight smile.

  ‘We are from Bulgaria,’ continued the woman. ‘I am Ludmilla and this is my friend Rosa.’

  The friend, whose moustache also betrayed the falseness of her blonde hair, put out her hand to Healey, who struggled to balance the tray with his left hand while he took hers with his right. Looking past the two women, he saw Farrell watching from the table at the stern of the boat.

  ‘If I could just squeeze past …’

  ‘Squeeze …’ said Ludmilla, putting her hands to her waist and making a squeezing motion. ‘Squeeze,’ she repeated, and the two women shook with laughter.