Thoughts about Jennings, always on a quiet, subterranean bubble, surfaced. He hoped it was not too long before the missing fish was in their net. Barnaby hoped to avoid if possible a police-would-like-to-interview press release. And not only because any advantage of surprise would then be lost. A hell of a lot of time would also be wasted sifting the odd grain of possible fact from the outpourings of genuine nutters, self-aggrandising morons and fraudsters who liked nothing better than sending police cars, ambulances or fire engines on pointless errands of mercy.
He rustled through more flimsies. The results of the previous evening’s house to house were, as expected, of little positive use. Few people had been out and about on that filthy February night. Dun Cow habitués had either walked or driven quickly home. And the net-curtain brigade, those invaluable peepers at life’s rich pageant, seemed all to have drawn the blinds and gone to bed. Perhaps more helpful facts might be discovered today, when officers had a wider brief.
They were now moving into the evening of the second day. Still close to the beginning of the case. The time when the scene, if properly protected and assessed, was at its most fertile, most willing to yield up its secrets. Unfortunately this was also usually the time when the information needed to make sense of these secrets was simply not available.
Barnaby walked over to one of the three television sets concealed behind a plywood partition, rewound the scenes-of-crime video and pressed ‘play’. Troy turned up with the coffee just as a slow zoom brought the battered cranium of Gerald Hadleigh into focus.
‘He just didn’t know when to stop, did he?’
‘He certainly didn’t,’ said the chief inspector, taking the beaker and swallowing with some relish, for the days were long gone when such sights could put him off his victuals. ‘And I must say it makes me uneasy.’
‘How’s that, sir?’
‘Beating someone to this degree argues great calculation or great rage.’
‘I’d go for the second myself.’
‘Why?’
‘Um . . . not sure.’
Troy knew that this would not be considered an acceptable response and he was right. To say, truthfully, that he spoke from a gut feeling would also not be acceptable. Not that the chief didn’t have gut feelings but, in his case, they were called perceptions and treated with cautious respect. When Troy had perceptions he was told he was being sloppy-minded and to think things through. So now he thought, quite hard, eventually coming up with:
‘I suppose the only reason I can think of for a calculated battering is to conceal identity. And we know that wasn’t the case here.’
‘But, assuming pro tem it’s Jennings we’re after, he didn’t appear angry when St John saw him through the kitchen window.’
‘Rows can blow up in seconds. Had one this morning on my way out.’ Troy’s eyes narrowed at the recollection. ‘Halfway through the door when she started—’
‘Let’s stick to the point. I get the feeling,’ continued Barnaby, ‘that Hadleigh wasn’t so much physically as emotionally afraid of this man. That he dreaded, perhaps, being compelled to relive painful memories.’
Troy would have loved to ask on what his superior officer based this ‘feeling’ and if it might not perhaps be a good idea if he thought the matter logically through. And wondered if the day would ever come when he would be brave enough to put this observation into words. Dream on, Gavin. He said:
‘So what if such a thing actually came about, chief. Jennings putting Hadleigh through it - taunting him about the old days and that - Hadleigh becomes enraged, picks up the candlestick and goes for him. Jennings turns the tables in self-defence.’
‘Which makes the murder unpremeditated.’
‘Right.’
‘So where does Jennings’ clearly preplanned escape scheme come in? And where was this taunting supposed to be going on?’
‘Could have been anywhere.’
‘Hadleigh was killed upstairs.’
‘But if they were arguing and one stormed off the other would follow. Rows go from room to room. Or say Hadleigh went up to get his keys to lock up once Jennings had left when the bloke happened to be using the bathroom.’
‘Won’t work. Hadleigh was undressed.’
‘OK. So maybe this “past” involved a touch of the other.’ Here Troy dropped his wrist in an insultingly coy gesture. ‘And they were going to have a final bash for old times’ sake.’
‘And what evidence do you base that notion on?’ Barnaby watched Troy’s jaw tighten in mulish resentment as he stared sullenly at his gleaming boots. ‘I’m not trying to catch you out, sergeant.’