‘You daren’t open your eyes. The second the old lids roll back she’s off. Latest thing is, why don’t I ever talk to her. I said, I never talk to you, Maureen, because I can never get a bloody word in.’
Sensing a lack of interest from the far side of the desk, Troy asked if anything helpful had come out of the interview with Mrs Lyddiard.
‘Nothing I latched on to at the time. But I had the feeling after she’d left that something was said that rang false. I don’t necessarily mean that she was lying - just that there was some discrepancy. I’m just about to read through it again.’
But, almost before he had finished speaking, the phone rang and the resulting conversation put all thoughts of Amy’s interview from his head.
Garry Briggs, the day barman, was unsure whether the scrap of information he could add to that of his colleagues was worth passing on, but he had seen the woman they were all being asked about leaving the hotel car park, on more than one occasion, in a black Celica. Barnaby asked Mr Briggs if he had noticed who was driving at the time.
‘She was.’
‘Are you sure? If this is the vehicle I’m thinking of the windows would be dark.’
‘Positive. Saw her getting in and out. Always on her own.’ When these remarks were received in silence he added regretfully, ‘I did say it wasn’t much.’
The chief inspector thanked him and hung up. Sergeant Troy, quietly attentive, was leaning forward, hands resting lightly on his knees. He said, ‘So she had the use of his car. Which means she wasn’t a casual pick-up.’
‘Find Laura Hutton’s statement, would you?’
Looking slightly puzzled, Troy did so. Barnaby read it quickly through while punching out her number. She picked up the phone immediately but asked if he would ring back.
‘I’m showing an estate agent round at the moment.’
‘It won’t take a second, Mrs Hutton. It’s about the night you saw this woman arrive at Plover’s Rest. Do you remember—’
‘Good God, man, of course I remember.’
‘What I’m asking is,’ he glanced down at the form, ‘you said she knocked at the door.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you see anyone open it?’
‘Well . . . Gerald.’
‘But did you see?’
‘No. The porch is in the way.’
‘Did you hear the chain being taken off, perhaps?’
‘Not really. The taxi’s engine was running.’
‘Just one more thing. When you looked through the window—’
‘I’m not discussing this matter any more. I’ve told you - there’s someone here.’ She banged the phone down.
It didn’t really signify. Barnaby, mentally transported to the cottage, stood precisely where Laura Hutton had stood, in the soft earth of the flower border, and peered through an imaginary gap in the velvet curtains. He recalled the shape and furnishings of the room.
‘What’s all this in aid of, chief?’
Barnaby did not reply for some time. Just sat, his eyes focused on the past, tapping at the statement absently.
‘We’ve been taking things at face value, sergeant.’
‘How’s that then?’
‘Obviously one has to do this at the beginning of a case, but I have foolishly let things run on.’
‘You mean in respect of this woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, chief. We’ve followed the usual procedures. We already know a little bit more about her. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before she’s found.’
‘I doubt if she will ever be “found”, Gavin. I doubt, in fact, if she exists at all.’
‘But all these people have seen her.’
‘I believe that what they have seen is Gerald Hadleigh.’
‘Hadleigh?’
‘That’s right.’
There was complete silence after this. Troy searched for the correct response. Or at least one that would not make him look an absolute prat. But the truth was that this bizarre possibility had simply not occurred to him and, far from now appearing quite likely, the more he thought about the idea the barmier it seemed. In the end he said, simply, ‘What makes you so sure, sir?’
‘Various things, but primarily aspects of Hadleigh’s character. This immense reserve, for instance, that everyone who has met him comments on. His secrecy. I’m obviously guessing blind here, but he may have regarded this woman as his true self and the suave, retired civil servant as a false persona. This would make all the lies he seems to have told comprehensible.’
‘Freaky deaky.’ Troy flashed his Glad To Be Normal button. ‘Just a tarty old drag queen then.’