"Your son misunderstood me, Mr. Streeter. He assumed that because I said James played a part in his own destruction I was referring to the theft of the ten million pounds when in fact I was referring to his wife's rejection of him." He moved forward as the door met his back. "In simple terms, if you want your wife to stand by you when the chips are down, you don't lose her trust by having affairs."
"She's the one who was having the affair," said the other bitterly. "She never gave de Vriess up."
"Are you sure about that? The evidence is very flimsy." He hurried on when the pressure on his back relaxed slightly. "I suggested to John that he's been firing at the wrong targets, which is not the same as saying that James was guilty of theft. Let's say he was murdered as you and John believe, how will you get at the truth if you keep denying that James had an affair with Marianne Filbert. If the evidence was strong enough to convince the police, then it ought to be strong enough to convince you."
A tear glittered in the other man's eye. "If we give in on that point, we have nothing left except our knowledge of James. And what use is a father's word about his son's honesty? Who would believe me?''
"No one that matters," said Deacon brutally. "You'll have to prove it."
"In this country it's guilt that must be proved, not innocence," said the old man obstinately. "I fought for that right fifty years ago and it's outrageous that James has been condemned without any proper hearing of the evidence."
"I agree with you, Mr. Streeter, but to date his defense has been poorly focused. You can't fight a campaign based on a lie. If nothing else, you've alienated the one person who's best placed to help you."
"Meaning Amanda?" Deacon nodded.
"We believe she was party to his murder."
"But you've no proof that he was murdered."
"He never contacted us. That's proof enough." Deacon took the mug shot of Billy Blake from his breast pocket. "Does this man remind you of James at all?"
Bewilderment furrowed Kenneth's brow. "How could he? He's too old."
"He was in his mid-forties when this photograph was taken six months ago."
Streeter pulled the door wide to examine the picture in daylight. "This isn't my son," he said. "What on earth made you think it was?"
"He was a down-and-out, using an alias, and he died in your daughter-in-law's garage. He didn't speak to her or reveal that he was there, but she paid for his funeral and she's been trying to find out who he was ever since. The only obvious explanation for her interest is that she's afraid he may have been James."
There was a long silence while Streeter stared at Billy Blake's face. "It can't be," he said at last, but there was less certainty in his tone. "How could he have aged so much in five years? And why would he live as a down-and-out when he was always welcome here?" "He would have been arrested if he came here. You couldn't have kept him hidden from your neighbors." "Are you trying to tell me that this is James?" "Not necessarily," said Deacon. "I'm saying that for your daughter-in-law to think it might have been, she had to believe he was still alive when this man turned up dead in her garage in June. And that means she can't have been a party to James's alleged murder five years ago."
"Then what happened to him?" asked the older man in despair. "He wasn't a thief, Mr. Deacon. He was brought up to earn money honestly, and it simply wouldn't have occurred to him to take shortcuts. You see, he wanted the status that wealth brings, just as much as he wanted wealth itself, so theft and the danger of imprisonment would never have attracted him." He gave another bewildered frown. "At the time he disappeared, he and Amanda had just sunk all their capital into an old school on the Thames at Teddington which they were planning to develop into luxury flats, and James was as excited about it as she was. They stood to make a handsome profit if the project went through. But why would he be excited by half a million if he was already sitting on ten?"
Because it represented a legitimate way to start laundering the rest, thought Deacon cynically. "What happened to the project?"
"It was completed in 'ninety-two by a construction firm called Lowndes, but we can't find out if Amanda saw it through herself or whether Lowndes bought the property from her. We've written several letters of inquiry, but we've never had an answer. Either way, we'd like to know how she put together enough money to buy her present house in 'ninety-one. If she sold the school first, she couldn't have raised more than the four hundred thousand she and James put towards the purchase of it. But it was probably a great deal less after nine months' interest on bank loans, and certainly not enough to buy into an expensive estate on the Thames. If she didn't sell the school but saw the project through, then she'd have had no capital at all in 'ninety-one." He smiled unhappily. "You see now why we're so suspicious of her."
"Perhaps she and James had other investments which they never told you about."
But Kenneth wouldn't accept that. Four hundred thousand was already more spare capital than most young couples could lay their hands to, he pointed out, and it was honestly earned. James had cashed in his stocks and shares to support the project. Deacon acknowledged the point with a smile while his mind pursued its own line of thought. It would explain why Amanda hadn't wanted a divorce. If the investments were jointly owned, she had access to everything as long as she didn't dissolve the partnership before he could be legally presumed dead after seven years. And if there were other investments in James's name-dishonestly earned?-then she had another two years to wait before she could inherit as his widow.
How much simpler if he'd died in her garage six months ago...
"'Do you have a photograph of James that you could lend me, Mr. Streeter? Preferably a full-face one. I can let you have it back by Tuesday."
...and how frustrating if she couldn 't prove it...
"The police must have searched James's bank accounts at the time he disappeared," he said, taking the snapshot Kenneth Streeter produced for him. "Did they find anything that shouldn't have been there?"
"Of course not. There was nothing to find."
"Have you told them your suspicions about Amanda's newfound wealth?"
A look of weariness crossed the older man's face. "So regularly that I've had an official caution for wasting police time. It's harder than you think to prove a man's innocence, Mr. Deacon."
He phoned an old colleague, now retired, who had spent most of his working life on the financial desks of different newspapers, and arranged to meet him that evening in a pub in Camden Town. "I'm supposed to be off the bloody booze," growled Alan Parker down the wire, "so I can't invite you here. There's not a drop worth drinking in the house."
"Coffee won't kill me," said Deacon.
"It's killing me. I'll see you in the Three Pigeons at eight o'clock. Make mine a double Bells if you get there first."
Deacon hadn't seen Alan for a couple of years and he was shocked by the sight of his old friend. He was desperately thin and his skin had the yellow tinge of jaundice. "Should I be doing this?'' Deacon asked him as he paid for their whiskies.
"You'd better not tell me I look like death, Mike."
He did, but Deacon just smiled and pushed the Bells towards him. "How's Maggie?" he asked, referring to Alan's wife.