‘Including you?’
‘Especially me,’ the inspector said with emphasis. ‘I’ll even put on record that I object to any interview with Charles Acland tonight . . . and warn you that, if you insist on going ahead with it, I shall advise the lieutenant to keep his mouth shut.’
Jones ran a thoughtful hand up the side of his jaw. ‘You should have been a lawyer, Nick. You’re even more of a stickler for the rules than Pearson is. As a matter of interest, what incriminating confession are you expecting Charles to make? Impeding the safe operation of a vehicle on one of Her Majesty’s highways?’
Beale refused to be drawn. ‘I’m not playing guessing games, Brian. I’ve told you what I think.’
Jones sighed impatiently. ‘But that’s all we’ve been doing for months ... guessing . . . and you’re the expert on it, my friend. How many new ideas have you run past me tonight, eh? Ben Russell might have been the ginger-haired lad who came in here with Walter . . . Walter’s daughter might have imagined the cheap perfume . . . the prostitutes might have been boys . . . Charles Acland might have pushed Chalky into the river last night after a row over a duffel bag—’ He broke off. ‘What the hell does that bag have to do with anything?’
*
Derek Hardy shifted uneasily as Beale joined Jones in the room and the two men ranged themselves on the other side of the bed from the lieutenant. ‘I’m not sure you should be doing this,’ he said. ‘You can see the lad’s poorly.’ ‘It’s up to Charles,’ murmured Jones. ‘If he doesn’t feel well
enough to speak to us, he only has to say so.’ He lowered himself on to a hard-backed chair, as if to demonstrate that he knew Acland’s mind better than Derek did.
Beale studied the young man’s face which, despite its pallor, was set in grim determination to accept the superintendent’s challenge. ‘You’re under no obligation to talk to us now, Lieutenant,’ he said firmly. ‘If you prefer, you can come to the station tomorrow. Indeed my advice would be to do that. I agree with Mr Hardy, you don’t look well enough to answer questions.’
‘I’m OK. I’d rather do it now.’
‘At least let him lie down,’ Derek protested. ‘Dr Jackson said he should be in bed.’
‘Would you like to do that, Charles?’ the superintendent asked.
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think you would.’ He smiled. ‘And just to reconfirm for these gentlemen’s benefit, you’re quite willing to answer a few questions? It’s purely for background information. I estimate ten minutes or so. Is that acceptable to you?’
‘Yes.’
Jones glanced at the landlord. ‘Thank you, Mr Hardy. We’ll take it from here. Would you mind closing the door as you leave?’ He waited until Derek’s footsteps had vanished down the corridor. ‘There’s no requirement to stand to attention, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘You’re not on parade.’
‘You’ll think less of me if I don’t.’
Jones eyed him with amusement. ‘It’s certainly more usual to see signs of nerves in the people we interview. Don’t you have anything to feel guilty about, Charles? You’re a rare man, if so.’
‘Nothing that concerns you.’
‘Is that right?’ Jones crossed his legs and made a play of consulting a notebook that he took from his pocket. ‘So why does your name keep cropping up in this inquiry? We’ve been told you used this pub on a few occasions last year. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’
‘You always sat alone and cold-shouldered anyone who tried to talk to you.’ The inflection of the superintendent’s voice took on a judgemental note. ‘That suggests you were antisocial even before you went to Iraq.’
‘If you like.’
‘Then I’m genuinely confused. Why would Dr Campbell lead us to believe it’s your disfigurement that’s caused you to be wary of people?’
‘She wouldn’t know. She didn’t meetmeuntilafterIhadsurgery.’
‘She said your commanding officer described you as friendly and outgoing until the accident.’
‘He was a good man. I got on with him.’ Acland abandoned his rigid posture to press his palms against the wall to support himself. ‘And the attack on my Scimitar was not an accident, Superintendent. It was a targeted explosion that killed two of my troopers.’
‘I apologize,’ Jones said immediately. ‘It wasn’t my intention to belittle what happened . . . or your part in it. To call it an accident is to suggest that two brave lives were wasted through negligence.’ He met the lieutenant’s gaze. ‘And that would certainly be something to feel guilty about.’
Acland stared back at him. ‘You don’t even know what bravery is.’
‘Then tell me.’
But Acland shook his head.
‘Is it about proving you have bigger balls than the person next to you? Is that why you tried to steer Dr Jackson off the road tonight? To see what she’s made of?’
A spark – an acknowledgement that Jones was right? – glinted in the younger man’s good eye. ‘Is that what she’s told you?’
Jones ignored the question. ‘Why did you need to test her? What did she do to provoke you?’
‘Talked too much.’
‘About what?’
‘Sex.’
Jones lifted an eyebrow. ‘With whom?’
‘No one in particular. She was telling me about the types she fancies and the types she doesn’t.’
‘So it was a discussion about gay sex?’
‘I wouldn’t describe it as a discussion.’
‘A lecture?’
‘Something along those lines.’
Jones was sceptical – he couldn’t imagine Jackson delivering a monologue on same-sex relationships to anyone as fastidious about the subject as Charles Acland – but he didn’t press the issue. ‘Did Dr Jackson know you’d used this pub before when she brought you here?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. I haven’t mentioned it to her.’
‘Did you ever come across a man called Harry Peel in here? Taxi driver . . . five feet ten . . . late fifties . . . dark curly hair . . . London accent. Ring any bells?’
Acland shook his head. ‘I came in here to get away from things, not to talk to people.’
Jones noted the ‘get away from things’ but let the remark go for the moment. ‘That wouldn’t have prevented Harry from approaching you,’ he said. ‘He was one of the regulars. Everyone describes him as a friendly sort who’d strike up a conversation with anyone. He used to hand out cards for his taxi service. Are you certain you don’t remember him?’
A flicker of something showed in Acland’s face – recognition? – but he gave another slow shake of his head.
‘He sat at the far end of the bar with a couple of older men and only drank orange juice because of his job.’
‘I vaguely remember some older men – I think they were always there – but I don’t remember anyone else.’
Jones watched him closely. ‘Do you recall seeing either of those men outside the pub?’
‘No.’
‘One of them was the old fellow at the bank . . . Walter Tutting. Are you sure you didn’t recognize him when he started poking you?’
‘No,’ said Acland again, frowning at the superintendent in what appeared to be genuine puzzlement. ‘I thought he was a complete stranger.’
‘Then you’re either very bad on faces or you had a lot to think about when you were sitting at the bar.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ said Acland. ‘I came in here maybe four or five times during June and July last year. A lot’s happened since.’
Jones nodded. ‘You said you wanted to get away from things. What kind of things?’
The lieutenant didn’t answer immediately. He bought himself some time by running his tongue across his lips and feeling at the cut on the right-hand side of his mouth. ‘We were heading off to Oman for desert training throughout August. The logistics of organizing something like that does your head in after a while. It helps to have some space to get away from it.’