Porson said, ‘Aldous left Cloisterwood in – what was it, ’04? You don’t know that Rogers went there after that. That’s years.’
‘True,’ Slider said. ‘It’s just that Webber seemed keen to dissociate himself.’
‘If he thought Rogers was a bad hat,’ Hollis said, ‘that’s not surprising, is it, guv? He’d want to keep the reputation of his hospital spotless. And he did get him a job.’
‘And he got one for Aldous,’ Porson remarked. ‘Bit of a night of shining ardour, if you ask me.’
‘The consultant with the heart of gold. Can’t be many of them around,’ Atherton said.
‘Don’t be cynical,’ Slider berated him.
‘I wasn’t really,’ Atherton said. ‘But what with Aldous saying Rogers was a fluffy white bunny rabbit, I’m just longing for a real baddy to turn up.’
‘Sturgess,’ Mackay said. ‘Pin your hopes on her, Jimbo.’
‘Ah yes, the Rosa Klebb of our story. But how do we tie her in with diamond smuggling? Can you see her as the Moriarty, squatting at the centre of a vast criminal web?’
‘Not exactly living in the lap, is she?’ Porson said.
‘We do know she lied to us, that she had recent contact with Rogers,’ Slider said. ‘And that she had more money than we can account for – investing in the stables and the agency. And just because she isn’t smothered in furs, it doesn’t mean she’s not spending. She could be using it for the benefit of others.’
‘Giving it all to charity?’ Porson barked, as though it was a ludicrous idea. Then he modified it. ‘Well, maybe. Alterism can turn into an obsession. Doesn’t do to misunderestimate these do-gooders.’
‘The Bob Geldof syndrome,’ Atherton said.
Porson nodded. ‘They can be as capacious as anyone spending it on themselves.’ He lapsed into thought, bending the biro now between his large, strong hands.
‘Just have to wait and see what Norma comes up with,’ Hollis said.
‘Angela Fraser did say Sturgess is out networking all the time,’ Atherton remembered. ‘Supposed to be fund-raising, but who knows? Could be fund-spending. Or Moriartying.’
‘Smuggling,’ Porson pondered again, staring at nothing. The biro gave up and snapped in two with a sharp sound. He put the pieces down absently and said, looking at Slider, ‘Diamonds are all very well, diamonds makes sense up to a point, but week in week out, year after year? That sounds more like something perishable. Something that gets used up so you need more of it. Get me?’
Slider nodded. ‘I did wonder about that. There is something else Holland is famous for.’
‘Drugs.’ Mackay got there. ‘And he worked for a drug company, didn’t he?’
‘Not the same kind of drugs,’ Atherton said, as to an idiot.
Mackay looked indignant. ‘I know that, but pharmaceutical drugs can get smuggled as well, can’t they, new ones, or expensive ones not available on the NHS?’
‘Recreational drugs make more sense,’ Atherton said.
‘Well,’ Porson said, apparently coming to a decision and climbing off the desk, ‘there’s nothing more for you lot to do until I’ve spoken to Mr Wetherspoon and we’ve had a chat with the Excise boys. Their counterpoints in Holland might have something on this Havik boat. If they don’t, we’ll have to think again. Because –’ with a sharp look at Slider – ‘you only know Rogers met it once, and that was supposed to be an accident, which it could well have been. There’s been a lot of leaping to conclusions going on, when for all you or I or the man on the Clapham omnibus knows, Rogers could have been out sport fishing after all.’
Slider’s unhappy look said he knew that.
Atherton felt compelled to rescue his boss. ‘Except that he was murdered, sir,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes, well,’ Porson allowed graciously, ‘except for that.’
Joanna came down to the kitchen early on Monday morning with George in her arms. A thin sunshine was mucking about with the stainless steel pots on the high shelf by the stove, and her missing husband was standing staring at nothing while the kettle emptied itself in steam over the ceiling.
‘We need to get an electric one,’ she said, reaching over and turning off the gas.
‘Uh?’ Slider said, jerking back to reality.
‘Blue!’ said George, holding out his arms with a beam of delight. It was a great thing in any life, Slider thought, accepting the surprisingly solid bulk into his own arms, to have someone who was always so unequivocally glad to see you. He looked at Joanna. ‘I’m sorry I woke you up. I tried to get out of bed carefully.’
‘I know you did. But I always know when you’ve gone. You having tea?’
‘Please.’
‘Peas,’ George said. He took a good grip on Slider’s ear so he could lean over his shoulder and watch his mother getting out mugs and tea bags. ‘More!’ he said urgently, pointing with his other hand, moist pink forefinger energetically poking from the dimpled fist. He had recently discovered the joys of pointing and did it assiduously.
Joanna held up his feeder cup. ‘Do you want some milk, George?’
‘Mum-mum-mum-mum-mum,’ George said.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ She set about the twin tasks of tea and milk and said gently to her spouse, ‘Didn’t sleep well?’
‘Not much. Sorry. Was I restless? I tried to keep still.’
‘I could feel you trying. The case, is it?’
‘Yes. There are things I can’t quite get to grips with.’
‘You will, Oscar,’ Joanna said with calm certainty. ‘You look tired, though. Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? Maybe you’ll sleep.’
Slider smiled. ‘Not a chance. My brain’s spinning like a teetotal, as Porson would say. I might as well use it to good purpose and go in early. If I read back over all the notes something might click.’
Joanna tested a spot of milk on her hand, licked it off and held out the cup to George, who became urgent with morning hunger.
‘Orbal! Blue! Ahmah!’ he cried.
‘This child has a remarkable vocabulary,’ Slider remarked.
‘Thank you,’ Joanna said as she relinquished the cup – no harm in trying early for manners.
‘Fank,’ George said, beamed at his accomplishment, and rammed the spout into his mouth, sucking greedily.
‘Did he just say thanks?’ Slider asked, turning to look at Joanna.
‘He does copy sounds,’ she said. ‘He said “door” the other day. And “ball”.’
‘Stone me, the child’s a genius.’ Slider gaped. ‘He’s barely more than a year old!’
‘He’s sixteen months,’ Joanna said, amused. ‘And that’s what children of that age do. You just don’t remember. Here’s your tea. Give him to me while you drink it.’
He passed George over, started sipping his tea, and noted that Joanna, having hitched the baby on to her left side, was not only drinking her own tea, but was actually starting to make toast as well. So, she could do other things while holding a baby, but a poor imbecile man couldn’t, was that it?
‘Do you want a boiled egg?’ she asked.
‘I take it back. It’s not the child that’s a genius, it’s you,’ Slider said. ‘The domestic octopus. If I could patent you I’d make a fortune.’
‘One egg or two?’ she asked, turning her head with a smile that melted his loins.
‘Voluptuous siren,’ Slider said. And to George, ‘Let’s hear you repeat that, boy.’
George unplugged himself from the cup, fixed his father with his blue gaze and said, ‘Boy!’
‘Close enough for jazz,’ said Slider.
Connolly, first in, poked her head round Slider’s door and said, ‘Oh. I thought I heard someone. Morning, boss.’
‘Must be telepathy,’ he said.