‘Good heavens.’ Valentine stared across the room in amazement. ‘Did you know about this, Jax?’
‘Oh yeah.’ Jackson winked at Barnaby. ‘They keep me well informed.’
‘So we wondered,’ said Sergeant Troy, ‘if you saw or heard anything latish that evening that might help us.’
‘And that was?’
‘Sunday, August the sixteenth.’
‘We were both at home but I honestly - oh, hang on. That was the night we saw Charlie and his dog. I remember because Betty Blue was on the box. But I don’t see how that could possibly help you with Carlotta.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said Jackson. ‘You gotta be crossed off their little list, see? So things are nice and tidy.’
‘We’ve also got some questions to ask you,’ said Sergeant Troy, turning to Jackson.
‘Notice I don’t get any “sir”.’
‘Like, do you happen to know what time Mrs Lawrence left for Causton this afternoon?’
‘Is something up?’
‘Do you or don’t you?’ snapped Barnaby.
‘She rang through here just after lunch - twoish. Said she wanted the car. Drove off, oohh, ten, fifteen minutes later.’
‘Did you notice what she was wearing?’
Jackson shrugged, puzzled. ‘Some sort of flowered thing.’
‘Did she say why she was going into town?’
‘We’re not on those terms.’
Barnaby had known that and that the question was probably a waste of time. But sometimes timid people like Ann Lawrence, ill at ease with more powerful personalities, would offer unasked-for information in a futile attempt to disarm.
‘That it, then?’ said Jackson. ‘Hardly worth wearing out your tyres for.’
‘Where were you this afternoon?’
‘Here, gardening. Round the back mainly. Now Charlie’s gone, it’s getting a bit jungly.’
‘And what time did you come over, sir?’
‘Oh, I don’t . . .’ Valentine’s cheeks were suddenly crimson. ‘Maybe around half three.’
‘Nearer three o’clock,’ said Jackson. He smiled directly, brilliantly, across the room at Fainlight, shamelessly exerting his power. Then he turned back to Barnaby. ‘Anyway, what’s it to do with you?’
Barnaby hoped it would prove to be nothing to do with him. He hoped that more than he had hoped for anything for a very long time. As Troy slipped in the ignition key, Barnaby was punching figures into his mobile.
‘Where to, chief?’
‘Hang on a minute.’ As Barnaby waited, something of his unease communicated itself to Sergeant Troy.
‘D’you think something’s happened to her?’
‘Hello? Control room? DCI Barnaby. Have you had any casualties reported today p.m.?’ Pause. ‘Yes, a woman. Mid-to late thirties. Perhaps wearing a flowered dress.’
A much longer pause. Sergeant Troy watched Barnaby’s profile. Saw the bones suddenly become more prominent, noticed the frown lines deepen and the beetling brows draw so tightly together they were almost one thick, grey-black line.
‘I’m afraid it does, Andy. Could you fill me in on the background?’ He listened for a few moments then switched off. ‘Drive to Stoke Mandeville hospital.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Fast.’
Troy put his foot well down. There was no siren but police business was police business. He asked again what had happened.
‘A woman was found in Causton multi-storey car park. Just before three o’clock and unconscious from a tremendous blow on the head. As she’d been robbed they had no way of identifying her.’
‘If it’s Ann Lawrence—’
‘It’s Ann Lawrence all right. The attack happened barely seconds before she was found otherwise I’ve no doubt the bastard would have finished her off.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Apparently someone was driving up to the top layer almost as it was taking place. The attacker heard the car coming and ran.’
‘What, down the stairs?’
‘No, he rang for the lift and hung around filing his nails and whistling Dixie. Of course down the bloody stairs!’
‘Sorry.’
‘The motorist saw her lying there and rang for an ambulance. She’s in intensive care.’
‘That’s a miserable coincidence, chief.’
‘You reckon?’
‘We seem fated—Pardon?’
‘Bag-snatchers snatch and bugger off. They don’t hang around to beat their victims to death.’
‘You think all this is connected to the Charlie Leathers business?’
‘Bet your Aunt Fanny,’ said Barnaby, stealing without shame from the redoubtable Miss Calthrop.