Sight Unseen

'I've missed the Wadworth's up in Derbyshire,' he announced, taking a deep swallow of 6X as he sat down. 'But it must be nectar for you after that gnat's piss you've had to make do with in Prague.'

'Was it the beer that took you to Devizes, George? The brewery's there, isn't it?'

'Very funny. I actually went to meet an old pal of mine. Johnny Rawlings. Just about the last serving police officer I still know. He's winding down to retirement with a desk job at Headquarters. He's the only one there I can be sure will do his best to help rather than hinder and will keep quiet into the bargain. I wanted to bend his ear about the Radd case. But we'll get back to what he told me later. What did you glean from Percy Nevinson?'

'What I gleaned was that his choice of fruit cake to sop up his tea was all too appropriate. He's convinced Tamsin was taken by government agents to frighten him into silence about his theory explaining the Martian origins of Avebury.'

'Still stuck in that groove, is he?'

'Never likely to emerge from it, as far as I can see.'

'So, like I said, a nutter.'

'Fully paid-up.'

'Unless

'Are you going to suggest it's all camouflage, George? A plan to have us think him a nutter when he's really… what, exactly? A co-conspirator of Tamsin's abductors?'

'You obviously don't think that's what he is.'

'No. I don't.'

'Then we'll agree to put him on the back burner for the time being. Not off the stove altogether, mind. I mean to keep my eye on him. Now, as for Johnny Rawlings -'

'Why didn't you tell me you were going to see him?'

'Oh, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. You were busy with the Man from Mars. I thought I ought to keep busy myself. Besides, I've been planning to drop in on Johnny. It was just a question of timing. I contacted him before I went to Prague, as a matter of fact. Asked a favour of him. Reckoned it wasn't too soon to check if he'd been able to swing it for me. When I phoned, he was up for an after-work pint, so I drove straight over.'

'What was the favour?'

'Two favours, really. One, the low-down on Radd's confession. Was it solicited? Was there a deal?'

'You said there couldn't have been.'

'Well, it seems I was right. Johnny's had a squint through the files. Radd confessed out of the blue. No-one here or at Thames Valley had even thought of pinning Avebury on him until he did it himself. And no-one can understand why he should have done – unless he was telling the truth.'

'Which we know he wasn't.'

'That brings me to favour number two. I asked Johnny if he could fix it for me to meet the man himself: Brian Radd. The best way to be sure if he's lying is to look him in the eye when he tells me his tale. Well, Johnny's come through with a visiting order. I'm in.'

'When will you go to see him?'

'When it suits. Radd's in Whitemoor, up in Cambridgeshire. That must be a three-hundred-mile round trip. It'll have to wait until we've spoken to Jane Questred.'

'She hasn't called.'

'She will.' Sharp grinned at Umber. 'I'm banking on it.'

SEVEN

Jane Questred never made the call Sharp had so confidently anticipated. But she was in touch, via her husband, who phoned Umber during a late breakfast the following morning. Hearing Edmund Questred's voice, Umber at once expected to be told that she had refused to see them. But not so.

* * *

Two hours later, Sharp nosed the van through the open gate next to Swanpool Cottage and pulled up in front of the garage. The cottage was timber-framed and thatched, every bit as chocolate-box as Abigail Nevinson had claimed. A swag of wisteria obscured the gable end. The brickwork, where visible, was intricately patterned and immaculately pointed. Grand it might not have been, but beautiful it certainly was.

The front door opened as they approached and Jane Questred stepped out to greet them. A slim, elegant woman in her mid-fifties with grey-blonde hair and delicate features, she was dressed plainly in a dark top and black trousers. Her expression was studiously neutral. She looked less wary than cautious, self-controlled and better equipped to cope with an intrusion from her traumatic past than her husband's protectiveness had suggested.

'Mr Sharp. Mr Umber.' They shook hands. 'You found your way, then.'

'Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mrs Questred,' said Sharp.

'Did I have a choice in the matter?'

The question went unanswered as she led them into a surprisingly large sitting room that looked as photogenic as the exterior, pastel-toned sofas and downland watercolours blending tastefully with exposed beams and a big, rough-hewn fireplace. There was an aroma of freshly ground coffee, explained by a cafetiere standing with some cups and saucers on a table in front of the fire.

'I've just brewed some coffee,' said Jane Questred. 'Would you like some?'

They accepted. Coffee was poured. Seats were taken. Umber's armchair put him at eye-level with a silver-framed photograph of a blonde-haired teenage girl in riding kit, being nuzzled by a pony. She looked happy and carefree, unburdened by any sense that she had succeeded or replaced two other girls who had never reached their teens. He half-heard Sharp uttering some 'Nice place you've got here' platitude. But it at once became obvious that Jane Questred had no intention of trading in platitudes.

'Edmund advised me not to meet you. I generally take his advice. In fact, the only reason I didn't in this case… was you, Mr Umber.'

'Me?'

'You're here for Sally's sake, I gather. Well, I'm seeing you for her sake as well. Oliver and I… eased some of our grief… by blaming her for what happened. I should have taken the trouble, if not at the time then later, to make it clear to her that I never truly held her responsible. If I'd been there instead of her, it would probably have turned out the same. When I heard she'd died… well, I'm so sorry… I neglected her feelings.'

'They were your daughters, Mrs Questred,' said Umber. 'It was only natural for you to blame Sally to some extent. She understood that – most of the time.'

'I'm glad she did.'

'What she couldn't understand was your willingness to accept Brian Radd's confession. She never wavered in her certainty that there were two men in the van.'

'It's easy to be confused in such a situation. I'm sure Sally believed there were two men. Eyewitnesses often contradict each other. Isn't that so, Mr Sharp?'

'It is, yes. But there's no contradiction here. There never were any eyewitnesses who swore there was only one man.'

Jane Questred spread her hands on her lap. She had schooled herself to remain calm, Umber sensed, to become neither angry nor upset, to answer their questions coolly and rationally. 'Why should Radd confess to something he hadn't done?'

'I mean to ask him that myself.'

'You do?'

'Is there some reason I shouldn't?'

'No. It's just… I didn't realize you meant to take things that far.'

'I should have made it my business to question Radd a long time ago.'

'Do you really believe he did it, Mrs Questred?' Umber asked.

'Yes.' Her certainty was implacable. 'I do.'

'I've only seen a head-and-shoulders press photograph of Radd, of course, but he doesn't look much like the man I saw at Avebury.'

'But you only had a fleeting glimpse.'

'True. I couldn't swear it wasn't Radd. What surprises me is your confidence that it was.'

'He confessed.'

'Even so…'

'Your daughter, Mrs Questred?' Sharp nodded towards the picture Umber had noticed earlier.

'Yes.'

'Nice-looking girl. Takes after you.'

'Thank you.'

'How old is she?'

'Katy's fifteen.'

'So, she must have been… a babe in arms… when Radd confessed.'