Antman (39 page)

‘
You'd better ask Mrs Blatt that.'

'All this is very interesting, but it doesn't amount to evidence of a disturbed state of mind. Even taking into account his childhood health problems and disrupted schooling, I don't see him as further off the rails than any other child of his age.'

'In which case I guess you'd like to see what I found. Open my bag and pull out the black notebook. I found it among his belongings. I don't suppose the adults in his life knew it existed, or they probably wouldn't have left it there. It's a child's notebook, hardly even a diary, but I don't recommend it as bedtime reading.'

Tom delved in her bag, produced the notebook and read the cover. 'My childhood, by John.'

'He might at least have given us his family name.'

‘
What's this? Date of birth 11 May 1944.'

'Perhaps he's Friday's child,' Chris offered.

'Impossible, it was a Thursday,' said Tom after a few seconds pause.

'How the hell did you know that?'

'I didn't know it. It's just a little party trick.'

‘
What? You can tell the day of the week from a date years ago? Some trick.'

'One of those things,' he said awkwardly. 'Everyone has one.'

'Not like that. You should be on that TV programme. What is it? The one where you bet you can successfully beat some impossible target or adversary.'

'No thanks.'

'I'm serious. You could win a holiday in Barbados.'

'Definitely not, then,' said Tom.

'Stick in the mud.'

'I'm choosy about where I spend my vacations.'

‘
Where would you rather be?'

'At this moment, not here with this tedious task on hand.'

'Snap, but stop avoiding the question.'

'As to preferences it's more a matter of who with than where.'

'This is where I get off.'

He held up a hand. 'Okay, I shan't say more.'

'Feel free. I didn't want to inhibit you, so long as –'

'So long as it doesn't embarrass you?'

'Something like that, yes.'

‘
We'll stick to the job and set the personal stuff to one side.'

It was late afternoon. Morrison was in the corridor. He'd looked for Chris and she wasn't in her office. He could hear the blurred sounds of Bradshaw speaking on the phone and he considered waiting for him to finish before knocking on the door. In the end, he decided to take a chance and ring Tom Fortius at the University. Jean was very helpful.

'Dr Fortius is away for the day, but he can be contacted on his mobile.'

Less than a minute later, Morrison was through. 'DC Morrison here, Dr Fortius. Sorry to bother you, but do you know where DCI Winchester is?'

'She's sitting beside me in the car, two minutes from your Station,' said Tom.

'Is she calling in?'

Chris nodded. 'She certainly is.'

'Could you tell her Walters is a no-no.'

They had stopped at the traffic lights round the corner from the Station and Morrison's voice came over clearly. Chris found herself shouting past Tom. 'That's rubbish.'

Tom held the phone to Chris's ear and Morrison continued, 'I've found a death certificate. He died two years ago.'

Chris and Tom were stunned into silence.

'Hullo, are you there? Do you want me to tell Bradshaw, boss?'

'Leave it with me,' said Chris. Morrison rang off as the lights changed. She drove at speed into the car park, skidded crazily to a halt between two Panda cars and ran into the Station, leaving Tom to slide across to the driver's side and get out of the car.

Chris marched into the investigation room and with Morrison watching, picked up the phone and dialled Mrs Blatt's number. Two minutes later, she put down the receiver.

'I don't believe it,' she said.

‘
Why did she pretend?'

'She won't say. The only comment I can extract is that I wouldn't understand and she can't tell me over the phone.'

There was silence in the office. A phone rang in the corner. Eerily a fax machine started to print out.

'What a complete waste of time,' said Chris. 'She even pretended to be worried in case he's in trouble. All the time he's dead.' She sighed. 'This gives me a really weird feeling.'

'Fancy a hot drink?' asked Tom. Leaving Morrison to brief her on his work to check the accuracy of the report, Tom walked down the corridor and made three instant coffees. He returned just as another phone rang, near Morrison's desk this time. Morrison leaned across to pick it up. He cupped his hand over the receiver and spoke quietly. 'Are you in, boss? The Super is looking for you.'

Chris nodded with resignation. 'Tell him I'll be there immediately.' She turned to Tom. 'He probably looked out of his office window at precisely the second we drove in. Are you coming in with me?'

'I'll stay here. You know something, she spoke about him in the past tense. I remember thinking at the time it was odd.'

Chris walked towards the door and turned back. 'Hang on here for me. I shan't be long. I'll drop you back at work.' She gestured in wonderment. 'That man's nose for locating his staff never ceases to amaze me.'

Chris knocked and without waiting walked straight into Bradshaw's office. ‘Walters isn't our man, sir.'

‘
What are you talking about? First it wasn't Martin John, then it wasn't Robin Lovelace. I've only just caught up with Morrison's latest information about Walters and now it isn't him.'

'The real Walters died two years ago from a heart complaint.'

'How the hell can you be so certain?'

'I've just come off the phone to the person you might call his maternal carer, the person who’s acted almost like a stepmother to him. She was there when he died.'

'She could be lying.'

'She might be. Stepmothers may be wicked in fairy stories, they may even lie, but medical records don't.'

'Medical records?'

'Morrison's been in touch with the local hospital. Walters was in hospital at the time.'

'And you, I suppose, know who the real murderer is,' said Bradshaw sarcastically.

'I'm working on it.'

'Might be.' Bradshaw's sarcasm was unbridled. 'Put the rest of us out of our misery and tell us, Chief Inspector.'

Chris was seething, but Bradshaw's unwarranted dig made her even more determined not to approach too close to him. 'I intend to find out.'

*  *  *

Late the following morning the atmosphere in the investigation office was sepulchral. Chris stood in the doorway looking round at half a dozen detectives beavering away at their desks. None of their work had so far yielded a single positive lead. She had some phone calls to make and returned to her office. Between calls, there was a knock at the door. It was Morrison. She was in the middle of replacing a box file on the shelf behind her desk.

'This might be something and nothing, boss. I've just returned from a stint with the team trawling through local men. I've come across another former employee who may be worth following up. His address of origin was a children's home.'

Chris looked at him sceptically.

'In Cambridge, boss.'

He sounded weary and doubtful.

'Cambridge again.'

'He has a link with the University, as an employee.'

‘
Where exactly did he work?'

'He was a lab assistant in the science faculty, several years after Walters from what I can tell.'

‘
Would that be where Tom Fortius is based?'

'Haven't had time to check, boss, but I'll be finding out shortly.'

It took Morrison a further hour to establish that the man – his name was Thompsen – had been employed in Tom's department, though not actually in the research unit. Morrison rang the number given by Thompsen as one of his references and went straight to Chris's office.

'Boss, I've been talking to a Hilda Barker who worked as cook in the children's home where Thompsen lived before he was fostered by a Mrs Blatt. She remembers Thompsen and remembers him having a best friend – she thinks Thompsen's name was John.'

‘
Walters was called John. We've already seen Mrs Blatt.'

'She probably got them mixed up. Probably talking about the wrong lad. Damn.'

*  *  *

At three o'clock Tom received a phone call from Chris.

'Is that you, Tom? Chris here, ringing from Cambridge. I decided to drive down last evening. It's so much easier on the spot. I've spent a fascinating hour with a Mrs Barker, lovely woman, round and jolly. She should have been a parent for these kids. She used to cook at the local children's home near where Walters and Thompsen were fostered from time to time. She thinks the two boys were friends. She remembers them bringing Thompsen back from when he ran away from the children's home. It could have been the first time, she isn't sure. He was in a right state, no coat, no shoes, soaked to the skin. They put him to bed but he developed a chest infection and finished up in hospital with something, she isn't sure what. Could have been pneumonia from the sound of it. She says she can't remember whether the Sisters beat him, but says corporal punishment was the usual punishment for kids who ran away. Apparently they used to lock them in the back room upstairs with no mattress and just a night-shirt on. There was always a prayer book though.'

'Typical Christian child care,' muttered Tom.

Chris ignored this and continued: 'The same rooms in that wing served as infirmary and isolation rooms, which may be why she isn't sure what treatment he received. Normally though, she says, kids in the isolation rooms didn't see anyone except when they brought their meals up for them to eat alone.

'Apparently he ran away a few times after that. She can't remember much, except that he didn't respond to the usual methods of persuasion. On one occasion he caused a stir by visiting the gardener's outhouse in the grounds first, taking his jacket as well as a pair of boots. This was probably what kept him going a couple of days longer before being picked up.'

'Do we know any more about how and when he left that establishment?' asked Tom.

'Not much joy on that front,' said Chris. ‘Apparently, after a while – it could have been about six months, she isn't sure – a woman who said she was a nanny came to collect him and take him away, without any explanation. She presumed he was either going home or to a foster home. Those were the usual options.'

‘
Where does that leave us?'

'I might try the local doctor,' said Chris. 'She's practised in the area for thirty years. I'm still following up the primary school. Mrs Barker mentioned which head teacher was there at the time and she lives locally in retirement.'

Tom's phone rang almost as soon as he had replaced the receiver.

'Bradshaw here, from the police.'

A less likely caller Tom couldn't have imagined.

'You're probably wondering why I'm ringing, but I can't seem to raise DCI Winchester. I wondered if you knew where about in Cambridge she might be.'

'No idea, I'm afraid.'

'By the way, Professor, what's your take on all this, now we're back to square one?'

‘
We aren't quite at square one,' mused Tom. He didn't want to start naming names. That would indicate he'd spoken to Chris recently. He attempted to distract Bradshaw by taking the conversation off at a tangent. 'At least we know now for certain who we're not looking for. Incidentally, as far as the insect side is concerned, I think the solution lies with communication, not predation.'