The Pursuit of Truth

by Arthur Hughes

  As he drew closer, Healey saw that the door to room 221 was slightly ajar. He tapped and pushed gently against it. There was hardly any light inside.

  ‘Richard?’ asked Silvia.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied huskily, and stepped inside. Barefoot and in a nightdress, Silvia came towards him, took his two hands and kissed him on the lips.

  When Healey woke up, he smelled tobacco. He opened his eyes and saw Silvia, still naked, sitting beside him on the bed, smoking a cigarette. She offered it to him.

  ‘No thanks,’ he said, ‘I don’t smoke.’

  She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Pulling back, she looked into his eyes. ‘Why not? You think it is bad to smoke?’

  Though he did think just that, he shook his head. ‘No. I just don’t like to.’ As he said this, he was wondering what time it was. Resisting the temptation to look at his watch, he asked, ‘Was I asleep long?’

  ‘No. A few minutes, that’s all.’ Still looking into his eyes, she put her arm round his head and pulled it towards her. ‘Relax, Richard. Take it easy.’ Giving him a kiss on the cheek, Silvia took her arm from him, swung her legs over the other side of the bed, and stood up. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘Please.’ He watched her go to the washbasin, pour water into a small kettle. As she stooped to plug it in to a socket near the floor, he looked quickly at his watch. Just after eleven. He should go down soon if Teague wasn’t going to be looking for him, maybe even trying to phone him at home.

  Silvia handed him a small cup of dark black coffee. It tasted bitter.

  ‘So, Chief Inspector, how is the case progressing?’ When Healey didn’t answer, Silvia put down her coffee on the bedside table, climbed onto the bed and slid her hand up and down his thigh. After a moment, she looked down. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I see that you are becoming excited. Are you thinking about your case?’ She paused. ‘Or is it something else?’

  Healey put his arms round her and began to kiss her.

  Silvia was lying beside him with her eyes closed. He looked at his watch. Half past eleven. He had to go. He leaned over the edge of the bed and searched for his underpants in the twisted sheets on the floor.

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Richard, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything. Just do what you want to do. If you know what you want.’

  Healey continued to dress. Silvia got up and walked round to him. She folded down his collar and ran her hands down his shirt until they came to rest on his waist. ‘You didn’t tell me how the case is going.’

  When Healey didn’t respond, she continued, ‘I can tell you something that you don’t know.’

  Healey looked down at her. She stepped back from him. ‘Do you want me to tell you what it is?’

  Healey nodded.

  ‘Peter Farrell was in Dr Crouch’s room on the night that he was murdered.’

  Healey knocked at Sam’s door and put his ear to it. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder and thought he heard the sound of a female voice. He knocked again, louder still.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Chief Inspector Healey. Police.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  A few moments later the door edged slowly open and Sam’s face appeared, her pink and blue hair tousled. ‘What is it? What d’you want?’ she mumbled.

  ‘I need to talk to you. Now. It’s urgent.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got someone with me.’

  ‘Dr Farrell?’

  ‘What? What do you mean? No!’ She kept the door almost closed. ‘Wait a minute.’ She closed the door completely. A minute later she half opened it, looked back over her shoulder, and a figure, head down, pushed past her, through the door, and out into the corridor. Healey recognised it as one of the African students who had been performing at the party earlier. The man made off down the corridor and through the doors at the end.

  ‘Come in.’

  Sam seemed to be wearing nothing but what looked like a man’s shirt. As he followed her into the room, Healey noticed the unmade bed, a towel on the floor beside it. He sniffed but smelt nothing. The only light was from an Anglepoise lamp on the floor, pointing down. ‘I understand that on the night Dr Crouch died you saw Dr Farrell come out of Dr Crouch’s room. Is that true?’

  Sam looked at him, down to the ground, then up again. ‘Silvia told you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When I made my statement, I didn’t …’

  ‘I’m not interested in that now, just what you actually saw. Did you see Dr Farrell come out of Dr Crouch’s room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure? The light in the corridor isn’t very good.’

  Sam hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You saw his face?’

  ‘No, but I saw the back of his head. And the raincoat he was wearing, the one he kept in his room. I’m sure it was him.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Midnight.’

  ‘And where did you see him from? Show me.’

  Sam moved to the door, opened it slightly and looked out into the corridor.

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you see where he went?’

  ‘Through the doors at the end.’

  ‘Why did you open your door?’

  Again Sam hesitated. ‘I had someone with me and he was leaving and I didn’t want any of the tutors to see him.’

  ‘Before that, did you hear anything? A bang? A shout? Any unusual noise?’

  ‘When I first opened the door, I thought I heard Dr Farrell go into his room. I waited a minute in case he came out right away. Then I looked again, and that was when I saw him come out of Dr Crouch’s room. He must have left his own room and then gone into Dr Crouch’s.’

  ‘You know this is a murder investigation?’ Sam nodded. ‘And how serious what you are saying is?’ Again she nodded. ‘Are you absolutely sure it was Dr Farrell?’

  ‘Yes. Who else could it have been?’

  ‘And that he was coming out of Dr Crouch’s room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll take a statement from you in the morning. Stay at the Hall until we do, all right?’

  Sam nodded and went back into her room. Healey headed towards the stairs just as heavy drops of rain began to beat against the windows of the corridor.

  As Healey stepped downstairs there was a brilliant flash of lightning and trees were silhouetted against the sky. He winced. Even at his age he was still scared of lightning. Almost immediately there was a tremendous crack and a great roll of thunder. He got to the ground floor, looked into the incident room, which was in darkness. He tried the door. It was locked. He went to the bar, which was also in darkness. He slid his hand round the door and turned on all the lights, which buzzed and flickered before coming fully on. There were figures sprawled around the room, some lying, some sitting, some entwined with each other, some now turning towards him, blinking at the light. He walked around, looking quickly at each body in turn. No Farrell. No Teague.

  Next he tried the reception desk. There must be a night porter. But there wasn’t. He looked under the desk. Nobody. In the wall behind the desk there was a door which he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps only a cupboard but he opened it, and there in front of him, stretched out sleeping on the floor of what seemed to be some kind of storage area, his hands resting on his paunch, was Teague. ‘Teague.’ Teague moaned but didn’t move. ‘Wake up! Teague, wake up!’ Teague opened his eyes but clearly didn’t know where he was or what was happening. Healey grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. ‘Come on, man, we’ve got work to do.’

  Teague stared at him. ‘What time is it?’ he mumbled.

  Healey looked at his watch. ‘Twelve.’

  Teague slowly pulled himself to his feet. ‘What are we doing?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the car. Come on.’

  As they got to the glass main door, there was a
great crackling, a blinding flash and an instantaneous roar of thunder. ‘Where’s your car?’ asked Healey.

  ‘In the road. But I can’t drive.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I must be over the limit.’

  ‘What! I told you not to drink too much.’ Even as he shouted the words Healey knew that he had forgotten to. ‘All right, I’ll drive.’ He thrust out a hand. ‘Give me the keys.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To see that bloody Farrell.’

  SATURDAY

  The storm had been brief but the morning air was fresh. They stood with their backs to the wall and watched the course members pass them and walk to the coach that was waiting for them just a few yards away on Marlborough Avenue. Sam stood at the foot of the coach steps, greeting each one of them, kissing most of them on the cheek. The coach would take them to the train station, from where they would go their separate ways, most of them to Heathrow and a flight back to where they came from.

  A tall African approached the bus, pushed his case into the luggage compartment, and stepped to the front. He stopped in front of Sam, they exchanged a few words but did not kiss. This was the man who had been in her room the previous night. As he climbed the steps, Sam stole a glance at Healey, who acted as if he had noticed nothing. A few more students trailed out.

  A hand touched Healey’s sleeve. He turned to see Silvia looking up at him. She smiled. ‘A kiss,’ she said and he lowered his head and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled again. ‘Goodbye, Richard.’ He watched her talk to Sam, climb on board, and take a seat behind the driver. She did not look back at him.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said a voice at the side of the two policemen. Teague continued to look ahead but Healey turned.

  ‘Good morning. I wondered where you were.’

  ‘Sorting out my room.’ Farrell slapped the side of the briefcase he was carrying. ‘Just some odds and ends.’ Teague watched him out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Anyone left?’ asked Healey.

  ‘You mean course members? I don’t know.’ Farrell laughed apologetically.

  Teague turned as if to say something but didn’t, and turned away again. In the meantime Sam was watching them, looking first at Farrell and then questioningly at Healey. Hardly surprising, thought Healey, after what she had told him last night. He would have wondered what was going on himself. As it was, he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  The drive to Farrell’s had been a nightmare. He was driving Teague’s car, a Ford Capri, for the first time, he had been drinking, he was afraid of the storm, and his mind was racing with the implications of what he had just learned. Farrell, Carter, they had lied to him, one covering for the other.

  The rain was streaming across the windscreen and Healey could hardly see the road ahead. Leaf-covered branches brought down by the wind spun crazily towards them. ‘Mind, sir, you’re close to the kerb,’ called out an anxious Teague.

  ‘You should do something about your wipers,’ Healey growled as he wrestled with the wheel. Luckily there was no one else on the road. Eventually they got to Beech Lane and stopped outside Farrell’s house. Behind the curtains there was a light in the front room. Thank God for that, he thought, pulling his jacket over his head, climbing out and slamming the door. He didn’t hear Teague shout that he’d left his lights on.

  Huddled with Teague in the porch, Healey rang the bell a second time and banged hard on the door. A light went on in the hall, the door opened. ‘Richard, what’s happened? Come in, both of you. What a night.’ He waved an arm towards the sitting room door. ‘I was watching telly. I must have dozed off.’ Farrell slumped into the armchair, Healey and Teague sat opposite him on the sofa, water dripping from their sodden clothes.

  ‘Could you switch it off, please,’ said Healey. Farrell switched off the television and sat down again.

  Taking a deep breath, Healey then warned Farrell that anything he said might be taken down and used in evidence. Farrell looked shaken. Healey proceeded to tell him that he had been seen leaving Crouch’s room around the time of the murder. Farrell shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No.’

  ‘You were seen.’

  ‘I wasn’t there. I was here. Sitting in this very chair.’ He patted the arms of the chair. ‘Who says that they saw me?’

  Healey looked at Teague before saying, ‘I don’t think I want to tell you that yet. But I will tell you that they saw you from the door of one of the other rooms.’

  ‘Then it was Sam. Or Mary.’

  ‘Whoever it was, they saw you.’

  ‘But they didn’t. I wasn’t there.’

  Teague joined in. ‘They saw you in your raincoat, the one you kept in your room.’

  Farrell looked down at the carpet between his feet. The rain had eased and it was possible to hear the radio from upstairs. He made as if to speak, hesitated, looked at Healey and then said, ‘It wasn’t me. It must have been Chris that they saw.’

  He went on to explain that after they had left the Three Tuns and come back to Beech Lane, Carter had phoned his wife to say where he was and that he was going to watch the cricket with Peter and not to wait up. If his wife called, he asked Farrell to make some excuse for him. He had then gone straight off to the Hall on foot, to see one of the young women on the course, he had told Farrell. He came back towards one o’clock carrying Farrell’s raincoat, saying that he had thought there was going to be a storm.

  ‘Did you believe him?’ asked Teague.

  ‘I thought it was a bit odd, but that was all.’

  ‘Was he carrying anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  Teague asked, ‘Where did he get your coat from?’

  Healey was about to interject but Farrell spoke first. ‘It was in my room. In the Hall.’

  Teague’s eyes lit up. ‘A locked room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how did he get in?’

  ‘He must have had a key.’

  ‘Why did he need the key to your room, when he was going to meet a young lady, as you say? He wasn’t taking her to your room, was he?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘So why did he need it?’

  Farrell seemed confused. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t ask for it, but I must have given it to him.’

  ‘Yes. But why?’

  When Farrell didn’t answer, Healey asked if he had the key now.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll get it.’ He left the room and switched on the hall light. ‘Oh, hell,’ they heard him say. ‘I must be going mad.’ He came back into the room, brandishing not one but two keys on the same ring. ‘He said he might need the outside door key to get in, so I gave it to him. It was on the same ring as the room key and I didn’t bother taking it off.’ He offered the keys to Healey, who took and examined them, before handing them back to Farrell.

  ‘And how did he seem when he got back?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit hyper. But you’ve met him, he’s always like that.’

  ‘Before he came in, when he got back, did you hear him open and close the door of his car, or the boot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you tell your wife about Carter going to the Hall?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t like Chris much and …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I thought she might say something to Leila, or to someone else and it would get back to her. As soon as Chris heard about Neville he phoned to ask me to stick to our story in case Leila found out.’

  ‘You weren’t suspicious?’

  ‘Not at all. Just a coincidence. And of course at first it wasn’t clear that it was a murder. Once we’d made our statements to you we couldn’t change them. And in any case it didn’t occur to me that it was relevant. Chris hadn’t seen anything, he said.’

  Healey stood up. ‘Well, we’ll leave it there for the moment. You realise you committed a serious offence when you said that Carter had been with you until he went home?’ Farrell nodded. Healey continue
d, ‘Don’t make it worse. Under no circumstances discuss what you’ve just told us. With anyone. And do not communicate in any way with Dr Carter. Is that understood?’ Again Farrell nodded.

  ‘Can I go to the Hall in the morning to see the students off ?’

  Healey hesitated. ‘If I can trust you to speak to no one about this?’

  ‘You can. Absolutely.’

  Teague looked sharply at Healey, who ignored him.

  Healey and Teague sat outside Farrell’s house in Teague’s car. ‘What do you think, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t trust any of them. They’d lie as soon as look at you. Academics?’ Teague turned his mouth down in disgust. ‘I wouldn’t give you tuppence.’

  ‘Do you think he was lying just now?’

  ‘Who knows? But let’s ask the other bugger what he’s got to say.’

  Healey looked at his watch. ‘Let’s make it for seven. Gives us time for a bit of shut-eye. We’ve got his address, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you mind picking me up from home? Say half past six?’ Healey got out of the car and closed the door gently. As Teague drove off slowly in the direction of Lower Earley, Healey noticed for the first time the ‘Baby on Board’ sticker in the back window. Typical, he thought, and walked the few yards to his own house. The rain had almost stopped.

  When they got to Carter’s house the next morning, Leila Carter answered the door. She told them that her husband was away at a conference in Birmingham but that he would be back later that day, sometime in the afternoon. Was it urgent, she asked. No, Healey said. Just routine.