Bea said she reckoned they’d have their conversation at the station in Casvelyn if he didn’t mind.
He said politely, “’Fraid I do mind. ’M I under arrest, madam?”
It was the madam that gave her pause. It was the way he said it: with the tone of someone who believes he’s sitting in the catbird seat.
He went on with, “Because ’less I’m mistaken, I don’t need to accept your hospitality, if you know what I mean.”
“Is there some reason you’d prefer not to talk to us, Mr. Reeth?”
“Not a bit ’f that,” he said. “But if we’re to talk we’ll need to do it where I feel a comfort I’m not likely to feel in a police station, if you know what I mean.” He smiled affably, showing teeth long stained by tea and coffee. “Get all tightened up if I’m indoors too long. Tightened up, I can’t speak much at all. And I know this: Inside a station, I’m likely to be tightened permanently. If you know what I mean.”
Bea narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”
“Bit of a claustrophobe, I am.”
Reeth’s companion was listening to all this agog, his gaze going from Bea to Jago to Bea. He said, “Wha’s this about then, Jago?”
To which Bea replied, “Would you like to bring your friend into the picture?”
Reeth said, “They want a word about Santo Kerne. ’Nother word. I’ve spoke to them already.” Then to Bea, “And I’m dead chuffed to do it again, eh. Often as you like. Let’s just take ourselves out of the bar…We c’n decide where and when we’ll do our speaking.”
DS Havers was about to say something. She’d opened her mouth when Bea gave her the look. Hold off, it said. They would see what Jago Reeth was up to.
They followed him into the inn’s entry, the bar door closing behind them. They left the barman wiping out glasses and watching curiously. They left Selevan Penrule saying to Jago Reeth, “Have a care, mate.”
When they were alone, Jago Reeth said in a voice altogether different from the one they’d heard him use not only a moment ago but also in their earlier conversations with him, “I’m afraid you didn’t answer my question. Am I under arrest, Inspector?”
“Should you be?” Bea asked. “And thank you for discarding the persona.”
“Inspector, please. Don’t play me for a fool. You’ll find I know my rights better than most. Indeed, you can say I’ve made a study of my rights. So you can arrest me if you like and pray you’ve got enough to hold me at least six hours. Or nine at the most since you yourself would be doing the review after those first six hours, wouldn’t you. But after that…What superintendent on earth will authorise a questioning period of twenty-four hours at this point in your investigation? So you must decide what it is you want from me. If it’s conversation, then I must tell you that conversation isn’t about to happen inside a lockup. And if it’s a lockup that you want, then I’ll have to insist on a solicitor’s presence and I’m likely to employ my primary right at that point, one so often forgotten by those wishing to be helpful.”
“And that is?”
“Don’t please play ignorant with me. You know as well as I that I needn’t say another word to you.”
“Despite how that will look?”
“Frankly, I don’t care how it looks. Now what would you and your assistant here prefer? A frank conversation or my kind and silent gaze resting upon you or the wall or the floor in the police station? And if it’s to be a conversation, then I-and not you-will determine where it happens.”
“Rather sure of yourself, Mr. Reeth. Or should I call you Mr. Parsons?”
“Inspector, you may call me whatever you like.” He rubbed his hands together, the gesture one would use to rid the palms of flour in baking or soil in planting. “So. What’s it to be?”
At least, Bea told herself, she had the answer to wily or ignorant. “As you wish, Mr. Reeth. Shall we ask for a private room here at the inn?”
“I’ve a better location in mind,” he told her. “If you’ll pardon me while I fetch my jacket…? There’s another exit to the bar, by the way, so you’ll want to come with me if you’re concerned I might do a runner.”
Bea nodded to DS Havers. The sergeant looked only too willing to accompany Jago Reeth just about anywhere. The two of them disappeared into the bar for the length of time it took Jago Reeth to fetch his belongings and have whatever word he felt necessary with his friend in the inglenook. They emerged and Jago led the way outside. They’d have to drive to get there, he said. Had either one of them a mobile, by the way? He asked this last with deliberate courtesy. Obviously, he knew they carried mobile phones. Bea expected him to make the requirement that they leave their mobile phones behind, which she was about to tell him was a complete nonstarter. But then he made an unexpected request.
“I’d like Mr. Kerne to be present.”
“That,” Bea told him, “is not about to happen.”
Again the smile. “Oh, I’m afraid it must, Inspector Hannaford. Unless, of course, you wish to arrest me and hold me for those nine hours you have available to you. Now as to Mr. Kerne-”
“No,” Bea said.
“A short drive to Alsperyl. I assure you, he’ll enjoy it.”
“I won’t ask Mr. Kerne-”
“I do think you’ll find that no asking will be necessary. You merely need to make the offer: a conversation about Santo with Jago Reeth. Or with Jonathan Parsons, if you prefer. Mr. Kerne will be happy to have that conversation. Any father who wants to know exactly what happened to his son on the day-or the night-he died would have that conversation. If you know what I mean.”
Sergeant Havers said, “Guv,” in an urgent tone.
Bea knew she wanted a word and that word would doubtless be one of caution. Don’t place this bloke in a position of power. He doesn’t determine the course of affairs. We do. We’re the cops, after all.
But believing that was sophistry at this point. The course was caution, to be sure. But it was going to have to be caution employed in a scenario devised by their suspect. Bea didn’t like this, but she didn’t see another route to take other than to let him go on his way. They could indeed hold him in custody for nine hours, but while nine hours in a cell or even alone in an interview room might unnerve some people and prompt them to talk, she was fairly certain nine hours or ninety were not going to unnerve Jago Reeth.
She said to him, “Lead on, Mr. Reeth. I’ll phone Mr. Kerne from the car.”
ONLY TWO OF THEM were inside the caravan. A woman lay on a narrow banquette, a furry-looking blanket tucked round her and her head on a caseless pillow whose edges were stained from perspiration. She was an older woman, although it was impossible to tell how old because she was emaciated and her hair was thin, grey, and uncombed. Her colour was very bad. Her lips were scaly.
Her companion was a younger woman who could have been any age between twenty-five and forty. With quite short hair of a colour and a condition that peroxide encouraged, she wore a long pleated skirt of a tartan pattern heavily reliant on blue and yellow, red knee socks, and a heavy pullover. She had no shoes on and she wore no makeup. She squinted in their direction as they entered, which suggested she either regularly wore or currently needed glasses.
She said, “Mum, here’s Edrek.” She sounded weary. “Got a man with her as well. Not a doctor, are you? Not brought a doctor, have you, Edrek? I told you we’re finished with doctors.”
The woman on the banquette stirred her legs slightly but did not turn her head. She was gazing at the water stains that hovered above them, on the ceiling of the caravan, like clouds ready to rain down rust. Her breathing was shallow and quick, as evidenced by the rise and fall of her hands, which were clasped in a disturbing corpselike posture high on her chest.
Daidre spoke. “This is Gwynder, Thomas. My younger sister. This is my mother, my mother till I was thirteen, that is. She’s called Jen Udy.”
Lynley glanced at Daidre. She spoke as if he and she were observers of a tableau on a stage. Lynley said to Gwynder, “Thomas Lynley. I’m not a doctor. Just a…friend.”