Jones wasn’t interested in anyone else’s problems. ‘What about fingerprints?’
‘They weren’t planning to run a check until tomorrow, but I’ve asked Barratt to advance that process and call me when he gets a result.’
‘You mean if he gets a result. There’s no guarantee this dead man was ever convicted of anything.’
‘The chances are good, sir.’
‘Even so . . . a name isn’t going to help us. It still won’t tell us if this man was Chalky. We need someone to identify the body.’
DI Beale glanced towards the window. ‘Shall I have a word with Dr Jackson before she goes?’ he asked. ‘I think she’s still around and she’s the obvious person to do it.’
‘Why not?’ Jones agreed slowly. ‘I’d like to know how she reacts. The lieutenant seems to bring misfortune on everyone he meets.’
*
Beale called out to Jackson as he emerged from the front door and saw her about to climb into her car. She flashed him an exasperated glance and toyed with pretending she hadn’t heard. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded. ‘I really need to get on.’ ‘I’m aware of that.’ He handed her the details that Khan had printed out. ‘This man was pulled from the river this morning. We believe it might be Chalky but we need someone to identify the body. Would you be willing to help us out? We can wait until you’ve finished your shift.’ She stooped to read the page by the BMW’s internal light. ‘Is there any doubt about when he died? It says here that the body temperature suggests late last night.’ ‘We’ve no reason to question it.’ He studied her expression. ‘Why do you ask?’ The struggle she was having with herself showed in her face, but she avoided a direct answer. Instead, she handed the paper back to him. ‘The conclusion at the end says the man fell in and drowned while heavily intoxicated, and there’s no evidence of foul play. Is there any doubt about that?’
Of course Beale was suspicious. She wouldn’t be asking the questions if she didn’t have doubts. ‘We won’t know till tomorrow. The pathologist hasn’t done a full post-mortem yet.’ He folded the page and tucked it into his pocket. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Doctor?’
‘That I might not be as good a judge of character as I thought I was,’ Jackson said cryptically. She stared past his shoulder towards the Crown’s fac¸ade, before giving an abrupt sigh. ‘I have no idea where Lieutenant Acland was between midday yesterday and late this afternoon, Inspector. The last time I saw him was outside a squat in Bread Street . . . which is down near the docks . . . and I think he was looking for Chalky.’
Twenty-four
FROM DEREK HARDY’S PERSPECTIVE there seemed to be a period of calm after Jackson’s departure. The two detective constables left, and Jones and Beale moved to a vacant table, giving up beer in favour of coffee and sandwiches. They were friendly enough to the landlord and his staff, but they rebuffed any attempt to find out why they were still there. After half an hour, Derek decided they’d abandoned work for the night like any other customer and went to check on Acland.
To avoid waking the man, he eased the door open quietly and looked towards the bed, but a lighted table lamp showed that it was empty. Derek’s response was to step into the room and look around, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably when he saw Acland, fully dressed, standing in the shadow behind the door.
‘Jesus Christ! You gave me a bloody shock! You all right, mate?’
‘What do you want?’
Derek spread his hands to demonstrate his peaceful intent. ‘Just doing what Jacks asked me to do . . . making sure you’re still breathing.’ He started to back out. ‘Sorry for the intrusion. I didn’t want to make a noise in case you were asleep.’
‘Are the police with you?’
The older man shook his head. ‘There’s a couple downstairs still.’
‘I thought you were them.’
‘I guessed. You sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you don’t look it,’ said Derek bluntly. ‘You should follow doctor’s orders, son, and stay in bed. Jacks said she’ll be back for you tomorrow morning.’ He watched the young man’s shoulders relax slightly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, thank you, sir, everything’s fine.’
Perhaps it was the courtesy ‘sir’ and the obvious contradiction between the words and the pallor of Acland’s face, or perhaps, like Willis, Derek saw how young the lieutenant really was. In either event, he reached out a fatherly hand. ‘Come on,’ he said kindly, taking Acland’s arm. ‘You need to lie down.’
There was a movement in the doorway behind him. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Hardy,’ said Jones. ‘I think you’ll find the lieutenant prefers to make his own way.’ He walked into the room and looked at Acland’s rigid posture. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Charles?’
‘Yes.’ He freed his arm and backed into the corner.
Jones nodded pleasantly to the publican. ‘Your bar steward gave us permission to follow you up here.’ He indicated Beale in the doorway. ‘We wanted a quick word with you before we left.’
‘What about?’
‘It’ll wait.’ He shifted his genial attention to the lieutenant. ‘I hadn’t realized you’d be up and about, Charles. We’ve a couple of questions for you, too, if you can spare us a few minutes. That’s not a problem, is it?’
DI Beale watched Acland respond exactly as the superintendent had predicted. ‘He’ll agree,’ Jones had said. ‘There’s something in his character . . . a bloody-minded determination never to back down . . . that’ll push him to confront us however ill he feels.’
‘What if he does?’ his number two had retorted. ‘Anything he says will be discounted as unreliable. The CPA will rule the circumstances oppressive and refuse to admit the evidence.’
‘Only if it’s incriminating and Charles refuses to repeat it under taped conditions.’
‘Why gamble? Why not wait until tomorrow morning and do it properly?’
‘Because we’re more likely to get the truth out of him tonight.’
‘And jeopardize a prosecution in the process,’ Beale said with sharp criticism. ‘At least consider the rest of the team before you go charging in like a bull in a china shop. We’ve all worked damned hard on this inquiry and no one’s going to thank you for a botched job at the end.’