The Pursuit of Truth

by Arthur Hughes

  He walked on, now in the sun again, and had the sudden thought that perhaps Crouch had committed suicide – it wasn’t impossible. This reminded him that the inquest was to be held that day. A formality – in the circumstances it would surely be adjourned – but he had better be there. But suicide, no. What was that letter all about, the one they’d found in Crouch’s room? Could Reyes have written it? Seemed unlikely – if Reyes was running a drugs business and he wanted to get rid of Crouch, for whatever reason, he would hardly have written such a letter. Who then? It could be some disgruntled individual (who may or may not have killed Crouch) or it was someone, the killer, who wanted to suggest suicide or at least introduce a red herring. Someone over-confident in their own ability to deceive, holding the police in low esteem, certainly a risk taker. Well, every murder involved risk.

  He made his way between various red brick buildings edged with lawns. Rabbits, probably unused to seeing humans this early on the campus, started in surprise at his approach, and hopped off to the cover of shrubbery, from where they watched him pass. Fifty yards ahead of him, a fox loped across the path, stopping only to briefly examine the contents of a litter basket.

  Turning right, he arrived at a building on his left which looked as if it had been constructed out of Lego. Nineteen sixties, he thought, and wondered what it was like inside. He would probably never know. He looked around him and thought that this was a real university campus. If he was going to do a degree, it was somewhere like this that he wanted to do it, not a converted Tech on a busy main road. He peered through one of the windows of the Lego building but could see little more than an internal glass door and behind that a concrete staircase.

  Then he heard the padding of feet and the blowing of breath, towards which he turned. A middle-aged woman with a very red face and a white bandana jogged past him, ignoring his ‘Good morning’. Normal, he thought. Normal these days and in this town. It wasn’t long since a young woman had been raped close to the path that he had taken through the Wilderness.

  He walked quickly now across the games fields that stood between the University buildings and Shinfield Road. If he cut across the cricket pitch, as he had the other evening, that was the shortest route to the Hall but he decided to go straight on. Once he reached the road, he turned right. Coming up ahead was Christchurch Green, now just a triangle of scruffy grass and bushes, which had given its name to a row of shops that ran almost to the Queen’s Head and which included a baker, an off-licence, a greengrocer that had a post office at the back, two Pakistani stores that stayed open all hours, and a newsagent.

  He thought he would pick up a newspaper and crossed over the road. As he took a copy of the Guardian from the stand, he was reminded of the one that had been on Crouch’s desk. Crouch had probably bought it at this very newsagent. While he was paying, Healey looked at the man across the counter and asked himself if he would remember Crouch or notice that he no longer came in for his paper. Probably not.

  It seemed that nobody missed Crouch very much, not his colleagues or even his wife. How was the world changed by this man’s death? To judge from what people said, he would be replaced in the Department by someone who would do a better job. And at home, would he be replaced there too? Had he already been? Healey thought now, as he had often thought before, that once you took away the emotive term ‘murder’ there were worse crimes. At least there were crimes that could have worse consequences. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking that way. He rolled up the newspaper and strode off in the direction of the Hall, which he reached in five minutes.

  ‘Sergeant Teague is waiting for you, Chief Inspector.’

  Healey nodded briefly at Bird, as he walked through reception, but did not speak. What a pain the man was. Still, he had agreed to let Teague into the rooms last night, so one ought to be grateful to him. Ought to be grateful to Teague as well. If he hadn’t buttered Bird up – something Healey could never have brought himself to do – there was no way they would have managed it without a search warrant. Miss Colgan would certainly not have given them access.

  As Healey entered the incident room, Teague stood up from the table. ‘Hope you don’t mind, sir, but I didn’t think it was worth waiting for you last night. Nothing we could have done at that time.’

  Healey nodded in acknowledgement. Teague continued, ‘But there was something interesting. Well two things actually.’ From his pocket he pulled out a handkerchief, which he unfolded to reveal a brown piece of something, about the size of his little finger nail. He offered the handkerchief and its contents to Healey.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ asked Healey.

  Teague held it to his nose and sniffed, then put it to his mouth and licked it. ‘It certainly is. Grade one cannabis resin.’

  Healey looked hard at his sergeant. Teague may be able to recognise cannabis resin but how the hell could he know that it was ‘grade one’, as he put it? ‘Excuse me asking, Teague, but what is so interesting about that? Not a very exciting find, I’d say.’

  Teague grinned. ‘ This may not be much, I agree. It’s the other two pounds or so of the stuff that’s interesting.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Yes. All neatly wrapped in silver foil.’

  ‘And where did you find it?’

  ‘Wright’s room.’ Teague took another sniff of the substance. ‘This was in his desk drawer. The other was inside his guitar. As soon as I picked it up, I felt it move inside.’

  ‘Not a very good hiding place,’ said Healey, remembering that Wright had taken the guitar and strummed it in front of him. So he had been laughing at him again. Or perhaps not, perhaps the cannabis hadn’t been in it then.

  ‘No,’ admitted Teague.

  ‘Which suggests either that he’s a complete amateur, or that he doesn’t mind it being found.’

  Teague looked doubtful at this suggestion.

  ‘Don’t you think?’ asked Healey.

  ‘Well I suppose there is another possibility.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That somebody put it there so that it would be found. Somebody who wanted to take attention away from himself. Or herself.’

  Healey drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘But they’d need to know that we were likely to search Wright’s room. Why should they think that?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. But for all we know, somebody might be about to drop a hint that we should do just that.’

  ‘Perhaps. But in the meantime …’

  ‘There is the other thing, sir.’ From the back pocket of his trousers Teague produced an envelope. He pushed his stubby fingers into it and carefully brought out something so fine that Healey had to put on his reading glasses to see what it was. It was a bright pink-coloured hair.

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Farrell’s room. On the pillow of his bed. Which was unmade. More than that. The blanket was on the floor. The top sheet was pulled back and the bottom sheet was stained in two places, both near the middle of the bed. Pretty clear what had been happening there.’

  Healey was still looking at the hair. ‘Don’t you recognise it, sir?’ Teague asked.

  Healey recognised it only too well. The only person he’d seen in his life, except on television, with hair that colour was the course assistant, Samantha. And he’d caught sight of her in the window of her room with Farrell only the night before. So that was going on, was it? Briefly Healey imagined the two of them together naked on the bed. ‘Yes I do,’ he said. ‘And so do you. The question is – how does it help us?’

  ‘It tells us something about Farrell, the kind of man he is. And we might use it to put some pressure on him.’

  ‘Hmm. Perhaps.’ Healey felt uneasy.

  ‘You know what, sir. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were both in it, Wright and Farrell. Dealing in drugs. Mixed up with Crouch. Shagging his wife. Crouch gets awkward or greedy, threatens them in some way, so they decide to get rid of him. Wouldn’t surprise me at all.’

 
Healey didn’t contradict him. He had just remembered that he was about to ask Teague to do something that he had already said he would do himself. ‘You may be right. And well done for getting Bird to let you have the pass key.’ Teague beamed. ‘Erm,’ Healey continued, ‘I’m going to be tied up most of the day. First there’s the inquest. And I think you’re right, I need to talk to Farrell again. So I was wondering if you’d mind taking back the cassettes I was going to listen to.’ He held the bag that contained them towards Teague, who, with obvious reluctance, took it from him.

  ‘Which ones have you already been through, sir?’

  ‘I listened to a couple but I’m not absolutely sure which now, I’m afraid. Sorry. Best listen to all of them.’

  Teague looked puzzled but said nothing.

  ‘To be honest,’ said Healey, ‘I think you’re probably better than me at this sort of thing. Attention to detail and all that.’ As he spoke, a bulky figure appeared at the door. It was the Warden.

  ‘Chief Inspector, I hope I’m not interrupting. It’s just that I have some information for you.’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll be with you in a second.’ Healey was relieved to escape from Teague’s company. I’ll catch up with you later,’ he said. ‘If you work here, I’ll be back around twelve.’

  The Warden led Healey into her office and motioned for him to sit down opposite her. She was wearing a lemon-coloured, short sleeved, cotton dress, which revealed a pair of podgy pink and freckled arms and a white neck, around which hung the same string of large amber beads that she had worn when he had first spoken to her. Her fair hair was short and thin, and curled in such a way as to reveal patches of scalp. Her eyes were dirty blue and the appearance of her yellow teeth was not enhanced by the bright red lipstick which surrounded them. Perhaps it was the contrast with the young women with whom the case had brought him into contact these last few days, but Healey couldn’t help thinking what an unattractive creature she was.

  She smiled. ‘I’m sorry to have taken so long, but I’ve been terribly busy. I promised to speak to our senior porter, Bird, about Dr Crouch’s relations with his colleagues. He tells me in fact that except for one altercation he observed between Dr Crouch and Dr Farrell, his relations seem to have been perfectly good with all of them.’

  ‘That’s interesting. Did he say what this altercation was about?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He was too far away to hear clearly. Did he tell you what it was about?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Bird told me that he had already informed you of this.’

  ‘Erm, yes, I believe he spoke to my sergeant about it. But I wondered if he’d been able to tell you more.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t, but there is something I’ve heard from another source. I’m not sure how relevant it is …’ At this point the Warden leaned forward as if to whisper something highly confidential. But she remained silent and her face turned red. Suddenly she stood up, moved to the window, and opened it. ‘So hot in here,’ she said. As she came back to her desk, Healey became aware that it was not the heat but an escape of wind on her part that had driven her to open the window. He proceeded to breathe through his mouth.

  The Warden sat down and continued. ‘It seems that …’ She paused again. ‘It seems that there has been … or rather, it is generally thought to be the case that Dr Farrell has been having an affair with Dr Crouch’s wife.’

  ‘You mean, they were having an affair up to the time of Dr Crouch’s death?’

  ‘I don’t know. That is, my source doesn’t know. I did ask her. But it seems that it continued until fairly recently.’

  ‘And how does your source know this?’

  ‘Well this may sound a bit weak, Chief Inspector, but she’s a friend of a friend of Farrell’s wife. It was she who told her.’

  ‘Farrell’s wife or her friend?’

  ‘The friend.’

  ‘Is it known when this supposed affair started?’

  ‘It’s been going on for some years, I was given to believe.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely to be the immediate cause of the murder.’

  ‘As I said, I don’t know if it’s relevant to your case.’

  ‘No, but thank you, Miss Colgan. I appreciate your help.’ Healey stood up to leave.

  ‘Oh there is one other thing, Chief Inspector. I believe Miss Woods has been able to give you some information.’

  ‘She told you?’

  ‘Yes. She also told me that you didn’t seem to give much credence to what she said.’

  ‘Well, she did tell me amongst other things that she has Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘She doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. That’s just an affectation. She may be a little eccentric but in my experience there is absolutely nothing wrong with her memory.’

  Once it was confirmed that the body had been positively identified as that of Neville Crouch, the coroner adjourned the inquest pending further investigations by the police. Healey left the court immediately and waited on the steps outside. He had been there only a moment when Teresa Crouch, wearing a dark blue suit and a white blouse, emerged. As she came down the steps, she put out her hand, which he took and held.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’

  Healey released her hand. ‘Are you in your car?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I came on the bus.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift home then?’

  ‘That’s kind. If you don’t mind. Thank you.’

  They walked together to Healey’s car, which he had parked at the back of the court. Once inside it, Teresa sat with her hands together on her knees, which she held close together. They drove in silence. It was only when they were turning into Falstaff Avenue that Teresa spoke. ‘I’m glad that I went,’ she said, not looking at Healey.

  ‘Really? Nothing much happened.’ Healey brought the car to a stop outside her house.

  ‘No, but it helped me make up my mind.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘To tell the truth.’

  ‘You haven’t been telling me the truth?’ asked Healey.

  Still not looking at him, Teresa shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I was afraid.’

  ‘What were you afraid of?’

  She turned and looked up at Healey. ‘Neville was dead and I was alone. And I didn’t know what was going to happen. I wasn’t just frightened for me but for Gia as well. Do you understand?’

  Healey ran his hand along the steering wheel. He didn’t really understand but to say so might cause Teresa to stop confiding in him, if that was what she was really doing. ‘Yes I do,’ he said. ‘It was an awful time for you.’

  She seemed relieved to hear this and Healey decided to take advantage of the moment. ‘So, can I ask you, was Tim Wright with you the night your husband died?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you say that he was?’

  ‘Because he asked me to.’

  ‘But why did you do what he asked?’

  ‘I told you. I was frightened. I felt alone. And Tim is a friend.’

  ‘Did he say why he wanted you to say he was with you?’

  ‘No. He said I had to trust him.’

  ‘But he might have been involved in your husband’s death.’

  Teresa looked shocked. ‘Oh no. Never. That isn’t possible.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘He was Neville’s friend too. Neville had always helped him. He would never …’

  ‘Was he just a friend to Neville? Or did they have some kind of business relationship?’ Though he asked the question calmly, Healey felt excited. He sensed that the case was about to crack open for him.

  ‘I think so. Neville was always very protective of me. He never told me things which might worry me. But, yes, I think they were doing something together.’

  ‘I realise you can’t be sure, but do you think i
t’s possible that their business might have something to do with drugs?’

  Teresa nodded. ‘I think perhaps,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Is that why you were frightened when you learned that your husband was dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You thought it might be connected with the business he was doing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But not with Tim Wright.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘The others.’

  ‘Not Roberto Reyes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he’s your cousin.’

  ‘No. He isn’t my cousin. Maria isn’t my cousin either. That is just what Neville said whenever she needed to get into Britain. He used to say she was going to help me with Gia. When she applied for a visa.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘In the house. With Gia.’

  ‘And you aren’t worried?’

  ‘I wasn’t. But now that I have told you all this …’ She paused. ‘I’m going away, with Gia. To Neville’s mum’s.’ Teresa made to get out of the car. Healey put his hand on her arm.

  ‘How is Gia taking it, your husband’s absence, I mean? You haven’t told her that …’

  ‘I’ve told that he’s had to go away for work for a little while but she’s still upset. I’ll have to tell her in the end though.’

  Healey nodded sympathetically. ‘Can you give me an address and a telephone number for Neville’s mother?’ He handed her a notepad and a pen. She took a small diary from her handbag and began to copy from it.

  As she handed Healey’s notepad back to him, he said, ‘There is just one thing I need to know, if you don’t mind.’ He took a breath. ‘Peter Farrell. You went with him to the Philippines, didn’t you?’

  She nodded.

  He decided not to point out that she hadn’t mentioned Farrell when she had previously spoken of her visits to the Philippines. ‘Did anything happen between you and him while you were there?’