‘Quite. And did you see the man get out and follow her?’
‘No. I told you, I stopped watching. I’d only looked out to see if the car was still there, and she happened to get out at that moment. I didn’t want to see any more. I pulled the curtains and went to bed. In the morning the car was gone, of course, and I didn’t see her. I understand she – her body – was hidden in the bushes. But I left very early, and of course I turned the other way out of the house, towards the station, so I wouldn’t have been looking in that direction anyway.’
‘Can you tell me anything about the car? Make, colour, registration number?’
He looked regretful. ‘I’m not very good on cars. I don’t have one myself – never taken the test, as a matter of fact. I prefer walking, and trains for long distances. Much more rational mode of transport. The car is the curse of modern society in my opinion. All I can tell you is that it was medium sized – not a Mini, for instance, and not one of those Chelsea Tractors, either. Just an ordinary car – a saloon, do you call them? It was dark blue, I think. I didn’t notice the number plate, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, thank you,’ Slider said, with an inward sigh. ‘That does help. Can you give me an estimate of the time this happened?’
‘Well, as I said, I got the last train to East Acton, which got in just before one o’clock. You could look it up if you wanted to be absolutely accurate. It’s only a few minutes to walk home from there. Then when I got in, I pottered around a bit, got some things together, laid the table for my breakfast, so it might have been a quarter past or twenty past one when I went upstairs. Maybe half past one. I don’t think it could have been later than that.’
‘Right,’ said Slider. Given that they knew she had died before two o’clock, the moment when she stumbled from the car was probably the beginning of the last scene, and unfortunately the audience had drawn the curtain on it. ‘Did you see anyone else about on your walk home?’
‘Only the other people who got off the tube with me. I think there were three or four – half a dozen, perhaps – but they scattered outside the station. No one else came in my direction. Oh, there was a couple standing by the council sports changing rooms – you know that concrete block on the edge of the common?’
‘Yes, I know. A couple?’
‘Well, a youth and a girl. Kissing, and – you know, fondling each other.’
‘Could you describe them?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said. ‘I most definitely didn’t look in their direction. I just caught sight of them out of the corner of my eye. Once when I accidentally looked at a couple doing that, the boy came over and was very rude and aggressive, asking who I was staring at and threatening to “punch my lights out”. And I hadn’t even been looking at them, just glanced in their direction and away again. As if I would look! There’s nothing to interest me in human beings acting like dogs on heat, I can assure you! There’s all too much of it around. So I made very sure not to look at them.’
‘Were they still there when you looked out of your bedroom window?’
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t have seen them from my window because they were at the other end, on the side away from the road. I could only see them coming from that end. There always seems to be someone doing that sort of thing around the changing rooms,’ he added with a burst of annoyance. ‘Why they have to go there I can’t think. And if it’s not couples it’s groups of youths in those hooded tops, smoking and drinking lager and making a noise. I feel quite threatened sometimes, and it must be worse for my neighbours, some of whom are quite elderly. But the police don’t seem to want to do anything about it.’ He had red spots of indignation on his cheeks now. ‘Well, perhaps now there’s been a murder they’ll take our complaints more seriously. There was a time when, if you rang the police, they came round. Not any more.’
Much as Slider sympathized with people like him whose lives were made hideous by gatherings of youths, he didn’t want to get into that. He had one last question to ask.
‘So apart from the young couple kissing, did you see anyone else hanging around? A funny-looking little man perhaps?’ He described Oates.
‘No, no one else. Just the couple by the sheds, and the girl further along putting her shoes on.’
‘And I suppose you don’t know who the young couple are?’
‘Well, I’d have said so if I did,’ he said, with indignation again. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of it. ‘I have the feeling I’ve seen them around locally, but I couldn’t say more than that. As I said, I try not to look at people on the streets late at night. It doesn’t pay. But they likely would be local, wouldn’t they, at that time of night and on foot?’
‘Very likely. Oh, you weren’t passed by a motorbike, I suppose? Or did you hear one going round the streets nearby?’
‘No, not that I noticed. But there’s so much traffic all the time, I might not necessarily hear it if there was one. It’s a sound you learn to shut out. That’s one of the reasons I have to get away from time to time, to the wilderness, just me and nature in all its primitive glory. With my little tent and my backpack, I can go where I please, and get right away from so-called civilization. It restores me. I don’t think I could cope otherwise.’
Which was all well and good, Slider thought afterwards as he went away, for those not actually fighting in the front line. But at least now he had a more solid time; and he knew that the car under the railway bridge was involved. Which looked rather like eliminating both Carmichael and Ronnie Oates.
And that left Wilding, damn it.
SIXTEEN
Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc
‘Well, that’s always the problem, isn’t it?’ Atherton said. ‘When the delicate mayfly of theory meets the speeding windscreen of evidence . . .’
‘You needn’t sound so pleased about it,’ said Slider.
‘I know you have a father’s sensibilities. But although I would never dream of saying “I told you so”—’
‘Try it, and you’ll be walking funny for the rest of the day.’
‘—I did always favour Wilding for suspect,’ Atherton concluded. ‘And there’s no difficulty about him. Motive – tick. Opportunity – tick. Means – a car and a pair of tights – tick. Alibi – big cross. And he lied to us.’
‘Motive depends on his knowing about Zellah’s external activities. And on disapproving of them being enough of a reason to kill your beloved only child,’ said Slider. ‘And if you say the words “religious nut” one more time you’re going home with a note.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Atherton said with large sincerity. ‘His religion is neither here nor there. His possessiveness and control-freakery are quite sufficient. Are you going to let Carmichael and Ronnie go?’
‘Not quite yet,’ Slider said. ‘If I let Ronnie out before naming another suspect the press will be all over him and wild stories will proliferate like triffids. And with Carmichael, I still want confirmation of his alibi. If we accept that the man in the car was the murderer, Ronnie’s ruled out because he can’t drive. But Carmichael could have borrowed a car.’
‘Or stolen one.’
‘Uncharitable. Anyway, I still have to make a decision about the drugs charge. I know I promised him I’d forget it, but there is the public good to consider.’
‘Not to mention your career if it ever got out,’ Atherton added. ‘A caution at least might be indicated.’
‘Meanwhile, we put everyone we can spare on looking for Wilding.’
‘We might get more response if we put out a public appeal.’