The Pursuit of Truth

by Arthur Hughes

  Her answer came faster than Healey expected. ‘Yes. We began an affair. Is that what you want to know?’

  ‘And did it continue when you came back to Britain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when did it end?’

  ‘Two years ago.’

  ‘Did your husband know about it?’

  ‘That’s when it ended. When he found out. I promised that it would end, and it did.’

  ‘What was your husband’s reaction when he found out?’

  ‘He felt betrayed. By me. And by Peter.’ Tears came to Teresa’s eyes. Her hand went to the gold crucifix she was wearing. ‘You may not believe me, but I loved Neville. He changed my life. He did everything for me and Gia. It’s just that … he was never very interested in sex. It was hard at times. And when I was going everywhere with Peter in Manila, staying in the same hotel, having fun, it just happened.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I thought that when we got back to Reading, it would be all over. Neville would never know, he wouldn’t be hurt.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Yes, we weren’t going to but we started seeing each other again. Eventually Neville did find out. It was Peter’s wife who found out first and she told Neville. After that he stopped sleeping with me.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I slept with nobody either.’

  ‘Not with Farrell?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor Wright?’

  She smiled briefly. ‘No, of course not. He isn’t interested in women. You’ve met him. Couldn’t you see?’ Again she moved as if to get out of the car. Again Healey put his hand on her arm.

  ‘You told me that your husband was particularly worried recently. Was that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you really not know why?’

  ‘No, though I know he was very frustrated at work. He had been working so hard, reorganising the administration of the Department, but when he asked to be put forward for a senior lectureship, he was told he didn’t have a chance. In fact they said that it would be a good thing if he thought of moving on to another university.’

  ‘Who told him this?’

  ‘The Head of Department. Professor Bradshaw.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t explain why he called you the names he did. If he did, of course.’

  ‘He did call me names, yes. But that was out of frustration. After he found out about me and Peter, whenever he was upset, he would always take it out on me.’

  ‘And Gia. She isn’t Farrell’s … is she?’

  Teresa abruptly opened the door of the car and stepped out. Looking back in, her hand on the door, she answered, ‘No, she isn’t.’ With which, she slammed the car door, turned on her heels and walked towards her garden gate.

  Healey watched until she was inside the house. If it was true that she hadn’t slept with anyone for years, perhaps that had something to do with the way she had behaved towards him the first time he had been to her house. And when she had handed him that bag. If it was true, that is. As he drove off, it occurred to him that the next door nosey parker had for once failed to put in an appearance.

  Ten minutes later Healey was standing in the Farrells’ open porch. The door opened and he was greeted with a smile from Farrell’s wife. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you. What’s brought you here?’

  ‘Sorry to bother you, but I can’t find my penknife and the last place I can remember having it was when I was in your garden the other day. It wouldn’t matter, only it was a present from my son and …’

  Mrs Farrell led him through the side gate and into the back garden. The incinerator still stood where it had been two days previously. Healey walked towards it.

  ‘I had it in my hand just about here,’ he said. He walked round the incinerator, looking carefully at the ground. There was no trace of the red object that he had seen there, though there were still half burnt twigs and leaves lying about. ‘No,’ he said, ‘must have been somewhere else.’

  ‘I hope you find it.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. Probably in the house somewhere.’ As they walked back towards the house, Healey asked, ‘You haven’t had another fire since then, have you?’

  Mrs Farrell looked surprised at the question. ‘No, but if we had, we’d hardly have burnt your penknife.’

  ‘No, of course not. What was I thinking of? Must be the heat.’

  Farrell’s wife looked puzzled. ‘You’re right, it’s hot, though they say it’s going to break soon, did you hear?’

  ‘Really? We certainly need the rain.’

  ‘Yes. And I certainly need a drink. Would you like one?’

  Healey glanced at his watch. ‘I’m meeting my sergeant shortly, but a quick one, that would be nice, thanks. Maybe a fruit juice?’

  The drink turned out not to be quite as quick as Healey had intended. For one thing, she pressed him to have a Pimm’s and, against his better judgement (he hadn’t had alcohol at lunchtime for nearly a month now), he said yes, and it took her all of a quarter of an hour to make it. For another thing, as soon as they had sat down on deckchairs on the lawn to drink it, she asked him if, as Peter had told her, he was seriously thinking about doing a part-time degree.

  ‘I’m thinking about it. That’s about all at the moment.’ He drank from his glass. ‘But you are doing a degree with the OU, aren’t you? Are you enjoying it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s hard work but it’s worth it.’

  ‘Nearly finished?’

  ‘Another year to do, if all goes well.’ She sighed. ‘I think deciding to do a degree was the best decision I’ve made in my adult life.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I love Peter, and of course I love the children, but it came to me all of a sudden that I was doing everything for them and nothing for myself. And really, that meant I had less to offer them, if you see what I mean?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I was becoming, well I already was, an extension of them. I had no real sense of self. Of being an individual.’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I hardly know you.’ She laughed nervously. ‘That’s something that hasn’t changed. I’ve always talked too much.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Healey wanted to use her first name but he couldn’t for the life of him remember it. ‘In my line of work we much prefer people who talk to those who don’t.’

  She clapped her hands together and laughed again. ‘Of course you do. Well that’s all right then.’ As she went on to tell him about the various social science courses she’d done or was doing, and how being registered for a degree had helped her get an interesting job at the Royal Berks Hospital, Healey looked at her closely for the first time. The most striking thing about her was her constant movement. Petite, red haired, with green eyes and sharp features, there was something birdlike about her. When at rest, her mouth remained slightly open and showed perfect white teeth. She wore no lipstick. Quite the opposite of Miss Colgan, Healey thought. But quite like Teresa. Which made him think of Farrell himself and what he must see in the two women, and what he wanted from them.

  Looking at his watch and realising that Teague would be expecting him by now, he gulped down the rest of his drink, stood up and said he must leave. Mrs Farrell said that she had to go too and pick up her youngest from nursery. As Healey walked back to his own house, he wondered if there was any connection between her husband’s supposed affair with Mrs Crouch, which she apparently knew about, and her decision to do a degree.

  Healey found Teague at the Hall and walked with him to the Queen’s Head. In the gloom of the public bar they both stood waiting for someone to come through and serve them.

  ‘Usual?’ Teague asked.

  ‘Mm?’ Healey seemed lost in thought.

  ‘Orange juice and tonic?’

  ‘No. No thanks. I’ll have a pint of Guinness.’

  Teague raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Eventually they were served and, having ord
ered sandwiches, sat down in the corner beneath the dart board. On the way there Teague had reported that, though he had now worked his way through nearly half the cassettes, he had heard nothing that seemed relevant to the case.

  ‘Stuff about language, about foreign countries … football …’ Teague looked to the ceiling as he tried to remember what other topics there had been.

  ‘Who was doing the talking?’ asked Healey.

  ‘Farrell I recognised … Carter … Crouch, I’m pretty sure … one very posh bloke.’

  ‘That would be their Head.’

  ‘And an oriental sounding type.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, there’s a Chinese.’

  ‘I know that, sir. I was with you when Carter told us about him.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry. What was his name, do you remember?’

  ‘Was it Chow?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but go on. What did Crouch sound like?’

  ‘Deep voice, northern …’

  ‘Confident? Happy?’

  When Teague did not reply immediately, Healey added, ‘Depressed?’

  ‘Well, actually, he sounded fine. Full of his own importance, though, is how I’d describe him.’

  You’d know all about that, thought Healey. ‘Of course we don’t know when these recordings were made,’ he said. ‘He could have been okay then, and got depressed later.’

  ‘You’re not still thinking suicide as a possibility, are you?’

  ‘Well, the blow to his left temple was the clearest indication that it wasn’t suicide. But then we know he got a bang in that area when he was playing cricket.’

  ‘But the pathologist said it was unlikely to have been caused by a cricket ball.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see that. Did he rule it out for certain?’

  Before Teague could answer, their sandwiches arrived and they began to eat in silence.

  ‘And what about you, sir? How did it go?’

  Healey told Teague about the inquest and how he had driven Teresa home. He went on to tell him what Teresa had said.

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘I don’t know. When I was listening to her, I did. Now, when I tell you, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘We know she’s lied before.’

  ‘Yes. But what she’s saying now makes sense of a number of things. At least it makes them fit together better.’

  ‘And it gets you thinking either it was suicide, or it was something to do with drugs. Which she has got nothing to do with, and neither has Farrell. She’d have you believe.’

  Healey nodded.

  ‘Would you like me to talk to her again, sir?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that would help just now. In any case, she’s gone to stay with Crouch’s mother in Guildford. Let’s leave her for the minute. Fancy another pint?’

  ‘No thanks. It’s hard enough already staying awake listening to those tapes.’ They both stood up, Healey brushing the breadcrumbs from his jacket.

  As they left the pub, Healey said, ‘By the way, there’s a course party tonight. We’re both invited.’

  ‘Yes, sir, a couple of people on the course already asked me to go.’

  Healey thought of the Bulgarian women. ‘You’ll go, I hope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘On duty.’

  Teague gave a little smile. ‘Of course.’

  When they reached the Hall, Teague went inside, while Healey got in his car and drove off in the direction of Berkshire University on King’s Road.

  the man’s a fool

  soon be out of here

  away

  and it’s all over

  as if it never happened

  Healey’s visit to the King’s Road campus turned out to be a waste of time. There was nobody at all in the Department of Communication Studies, not even a secretary. All of the office doors, each of which Healey tried after knocking, were locked. Wearily, he went back to his car and drove to the Hall, where he hoped he might find Wright. He walked through the reception area and on towards the bar. The door of the bar was open and he heard voices, hardly more than whispers, of two men. He stopped short of the door and peered in. Just round the corner, but with their backs to him, were sitting Farrell and Wright. Staying where he was, he tried to make out what they were saying but he couldn’t. He was about to turn away and go to the incident room to talk to Teague but thought no, let’s see what these two have to say for themselves. As he strode in, they both turned round in what seemed a rather furtive fashion.

  ‘Oh, hello there,’ said Farrell. Wright turned his back on Healey and said nothing.

  ‘You haven’t seen Teague, have you?’ asked Healey.

  ‘He was in the games room. The games room that was. The incident room you call it, I think.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. He’s more often in the bar.’ Healey took a few more steps so that Farrell and Wright were facing him, looking up from the sofa on which they were sitting. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mr Wright, when you’ve finished your business with Doctor Farrell, that is.’

  ‘Hardly business, Richard,’ said Farrell. ‘We’re just planning a quiz to start the party off with tonight.’

  ‘I see. Well I’ll just have a quick word with Teague. I’ll be in the incident room when you’re ready, Mr Wright.’ Wright nodded but still said nothing.

  Teague wasn’t in the incident room. ‘Said he could concentrate more on those tapes at home,’ said the constable that Healey found on duty. Healey noticed a half-finished crossword that must have been hastily put aside.

  Yes, I can imagine that, he thought. He sat down in front of a set of files and began slowly to turn over the sheets of paper that made up the first of them. He had hardly begun when Wright arrived. Healey wished Teague was with him; he wasn’t feeling confident and he didn’t fancy doing this by himself. Still, he would have to.

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Wright.’ Wright did so, placing himself across the table from Healey. ‘Would you like to tell me what your role is in this drug business with the Philippines?’

  ‘What?’ Wright shook his head as if he could not believe what he had just been asked. The constable looked up from his crossword.

  ‘You heard me. What is your role in the smuggling of cannabis into this country?’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. What business? Why are you asking me this?’

  ‘Two reasons. Yesterday you were in a house in Haverstock Hill which we know is used by drug smugglers from the Philippines, including your friend Roberto Reyes.’

  ‘He’s not my friend, as you put it. And I …’

  ‘And second, you have a substantial amount of cannabis resin stashed in your room in this hall.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just what I say.’

  Wright was disconcerted. ‘You’ve been in my room? You can’t do that.’

  ‘No I haven’t been in your room. The cannabis was discovered when the room was being cleaned and this was reported to me.’ Healey felt safe lying in this way. If it turned out that Wright was involved in the murder, this wouldn’t be important. If he wasn’t, well the drug smuggling was for someone else to deal with. In fact Customs and Excise already were. Not his problem.

  ‘All right, I do have a little cannabis, but only for my own use.’

  ‘A kilo?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘That’s roughly the amount that was found inside your guitar.’

  Clearly Wright had thought Healey had been referring to the smaller amount that Teague had found. Now he was completely at a loss. He said nothing. Healey kept looking at him but Wright averted his gaze. This was the moment for Healey to press home his advantage.

  Before he could speak, however, Wright turned towards him, smiled broadly, showing his teeth again, and stood up. He pushed his chair under the table. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any more time for your questions,’ he said and walked past the seated Healey towards the door.

  Ther
e was nothing Healey could do. Not looking round, conscious of the constable behind him, he simply said, ‘You’ll regret this Mr Wright.’ He heard the door open and close. When he did get up and go towards the door himself, the constable was looking studiously at the printed page he held in his hands, as if nothing had happened. As he emerged from the room, Healey saw that Wright was already dialling a number on the public telephone. Who was he calling, he wondered. A member of the drug ring, his lawyer, or Mrs Crouch. He could hardly wait and listen so he walked past and out of the building, got into his car and drove home.

  Going through the house and into the garden Healey found his wife, Pam Farrell with a little girl on her knee, Meg and Jamie, and two other girls of about Meg’s age, whom he imagined must be the Farrell daughters. Could he remember their names? Was one of them Melanie? Polly? No, he couldn’t. The children were playing tennis with a sponge ball and a low net. The women were at the table, drinking what looked like beer.

  ‘Hello, Dick,’ said his wife. ‘Didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.’

  He smiled. ‘You never know when to expect me, do you?’ he said in what he thought was a self-deprecating way.

  His wife frowned. ‘Are you getting at me again?’

  He was aware of Farrell’s wife’s bird-like eyes on him. ‘Me?’ he answered. ‘You must be thinking of someone else.’ He sat down beside his wife without looking at her. ‘Another lovely day,’ he ventured.

  ‘For some,’ said Mrs Farrell. ‘Not for the farmers, or us gardeners.’ She spoke as if to include Jill as a gardener, and exclude him.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, but if the forecast is to be believed we’re going to get rain today or tomorrow.’ The three of them looked at the sky which remained cloudless.

  ‘I’d better be getting along. Come on, Molly. Laura. Time to go.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, do we have to?’ one of the girls asked.

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Farrell looked at Jill, ‘I suppose they could stay, if you wouldn’t mind? It’s not as if they’ve got far to go.’

  ‘No, that’s all right.’