“-so he felt compelled to give you an adequate idea of the size of the pleasure he was going to withhold as your punishment.”
“What a berk.”
“In a word.” Lynley took a sip of his coffee and changed down into second gear as Havers rounded a corner and stepped on the clutch. “But he did something more, Havers. And if you’ll pardon the expression, that’s the beauty of it all.”
“What, besides provide me with the best morning’s entertainment I’ve had in years?”
“He verified the story Elena told Terence Cuff.”
“How? What?”
Lynley changed to third and then fourth before replying. “According to what Elena told Dr. Cuff, Thorsson’s approach to her had included, among other things, references to the diffi culties he’d had when he was engaged to be married.”
“What sort of diffi culties?”
“Sexual ones, centring round the size of his erection.”
“Too much man for the poor woman to handle? That sort of thing?”
“Exactly.”
Havers’ eyes lit. “And how would Elena have known about his size unless he’d actually told her himself? He was probably hoping to get her interested in having a look. Perhaps he even gave her one to get her juices fl owing.”
“Indeed. And taken as a whole it’s not the sort of veiled invitation to intercourse that a twenty-year-old girl would cook up on her own, is it? Especially when it so exactly matches the truth. If the story were invention, she’d have been more likely to come up with something far more blatant on Thorsson’s part. And he’s capable of blatancy, as we’ve just seen.”
“So he was lying about the harassment situation. And”-Havers smiled with undisguised pleasure-“if he was lying about that, why not about everything else as well?”
“He’s definitely back in the running, Sergeant.”
“I’d say he’s about to win the race by a length.”
“We’ll see.”
“But, sir-”
“Drive on, Sergeant.”
They headed back into town where, after a minor snarl of traffic created by a collision between two taxis at the top of Station Road, they drove to police headquarters and unloaded the sack of clothing which they’d taken from Thorsson’s house. The uniformed receptionist buzzed them through the interior lobby doors with a nod at Lynley’s identifi cation. They took the lift up to the superintendent’s offi ce.
They found Sheehan standing next to his secretary’s vacant desk, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear. His conversation consisted mostly of grunts and damn’s and blast it all’s. He finally said impatiently, “You’ve had him jumping through hoops with that girl’s body for two days now and we’re getting nowhere, Drake…If you don’t agree with his conclusions, call in a specialist from the Met and have done with it…I don’t care what the CC thinks at this point. I’ll handle him. Just do it…Listen to me. This isn’t an enquiry into your competence as department head, but if you can’t in conscience sign off on Pleasance’s report and if he won’t change it, there’s nothing else to be done…I don’t have the power to give him the sack…That’s the way it is, man. Just phone the Met.” When he rang off, he didn’t appear pleased to see the representatives from New Scotland Yard standing in the doorway as further testimony to the outside help which the circumstances of Elena Weaver’s murder had forced him and his police force to endure.
“Trouble?” Lynley asked.
Sheehan picked up a batch of folders from his secretary’s desk and riffled through a stack of papers in her IN tray. “What a woman,” he said with a nod at her empty chair. “She called in ill this morning. She has a real sixth sense about when things are going to heat up, does Edwina.”
“And things are heating up?”
Sheehan grabbed three papers from the tray, stuck them with the folders under his arm, and lumbered into his offi ce. Lynley and Havers followed. “I’ve got my CC at Huntingdon breathing down my neck about devising a strategy for what he calls ‘renewed community relations’-a fancy title for coming up with a way to keep the nobs at the University happy so that you lot don’t start making regular appearances here in the future. I’ve got the funeral home and the parents asking after the Weaver girl’s body every quarter hour. And now”-with a look at the plastic sack dangling from Havers’ fi ngers- “I expect you’ve brought me something else to play with.”
“Clothes for forensic,” Havers said. “We’d like to make a match with the fibres on the body. If you can give us something positive, we might have what we need.”
“To make an arrest?”
“It’s looking possible.”
Sheehan nodded grimly. “I hate to give those two bickering old biddies something else to fight over, but we’ll have a go. They’ve been sniping over the weapon since yesterday. Maybe this’ll take their minds off that for a bit.”
“They’ve still reached no conclusion?” Lynley asked.
“Pleasance has done. Drake doesn’t agree. He won’t sign the report, and he’s been dragging his heels about calling in the Met for another opinion since yesterday afternoon. Professional pride, if you catch my drift, not to mention competence. He’s afraid at this point that Pleasance is in the right. And since he’s made such an issue about getting rid of the bloke, he stands to lose a lot more than just face if anyone confirms Pleasance’s conclusions.” Sheehan threw the folders and the papers down on his desk where they mingled with a stack of pages from a computer printout. He rooted through his top drawer and brought out a roll of mints. He offered them round, sank into his chair, and loosened his tie. Outside, in Edwina’s office, the phone began to ring. He ignored it. “Love and death,” he said. “Mix up pride with either of them and you’re done for, aren’t you?”
“Is it the Met’s involvement that’s bothering Drake or the involvement of any outsider?”
The double ringing of the telephone continued in the outer office. Sheehan continued to let it go unanswered. “It’s the Met,” he said. “Drake’s got himself in a dither over the implication that he’s got to be rescued by his London betters. The fact that you’re here has our CID boys in a rumble. Drake doesn’t want the same to happen in forensic where he already has trouble enough keeping Pleasance in line.”
“But Drake wouldn’t object if someone else-someone uninvolved with the Yard- had a look at the body? Especially if that someone worked directly with the two of them-Drake and Pleasance-gave them the information verbally, and allowed them to create the report.”
Sheehan’s features sharpened with interest. “What do you have in mind, Inspector?”
“An expert witness.”
“That’s not on. We don’t have the funding to pay an outsider.”
“You won’t have to pay.”
Footsteps rang against the floor in the outer office. A breathless voice answered the phone.
Lynley said, “We’ll have the information we need without the Met’s presence telegraphing to everyone that Drake’s competence is being questioned.”
“And what happens when the time comes for someone to testify in court, Inspector? Neither Drake nor Pleasance can get in the box and give evidence that isn’t his.”
“Either one can if he assists, and if his conclusions are the same as the expert’s.”
Thoughtfully, Sheehan played the roll of mints back and forth on the top of his desk. “Can it be arranged discreetly?”
“So that no one aside from Drake and Pleasance knows the expert witness was here in the first place?” When Sheehan nodded, Lynley said, “Just hand me the phone.”
A woman’s voice called out to Sheehan from the outer office, a diffi dent “Superintendent?” and nothing more. Sheehan got to his feet, joined the uniformed constable who had answered his phone. As they spoke together, Havers turned to Lynley.