'I'm not saying he did, sir. But he could have got someone else to go and rough Jackson up, couldn't he?'
Morse nodded. 'Carry on!'
'He's got a wife, sir.'
'I can't exactly see her pushing Jackson upstairs, can you? He was no youngster, but he was a tough and wiry little customer, I should think. Though perhaps it might not be a bad idea to find out exactly where she was that night…' His voice drifted off, and characteristically he married a few stray drops of beer on the table with the little finger of his left hand, his eyes seeming to stare into the middle distance.
'He's got a brother, too,' added Lewis quietly.
Morse's eyes refocused on his colleague immediately and a faint smile formed round his mouth. 'The brother? Yes, indeed! I wondered when you were going to get around to him. I've been giving our Conrad a little bit of thought myself this morning, and I reckon it's time we had a quiet little word with him.'
'We've got some jolly good prints, sir-as good as anything the boys have seen for quite some time. And it wouldn't be much trouble getting Conrad's dabs, would it?'
'No trouble at all.'
'Well'-Lewis looked at Morse rather hesitantly-'shall we go and see him?'
'Why not? We'll just have another pint and then-'
'No more for me, sir. Do you want-'
'Pint, yes please. You're very kind.'
'I've been, thinking, sir,' began Lewis when he came back from the bar.
'So have I. Listen! We'll nip over there together. There are two calls we'd better make. Conrad Richards for one, and then there's that girl friend Charles Richards told me he was with when-'
'But why see her? You've already-'
'Let's toss up, Lewis. You can drive us out there. Heads you go to see Conrad-tails I do. All right?' Morse took out a 10p piece, flipped it in the air, and then peered cautiously underneath his palm before immediately returning the coin to his pocket. 'Heads it is, Lewis. What was it we agreed? Heads was you to see Conrad, wasn't it? Excellent! I shall have to take it upon myself to visit Mrs. Whatsername.'
'Hills, sir.'
'Ah yes.' Morse relaxed and lovingly relished the rest of his beer. Someone had left a copy of the Daily Mirror on the next table and he picked it up and turned to the racing page. 'Ever have a flutter these days, Lewis?'
Lewis placed his empty glass in the middle of the plate and laid his knife and fork neatly to the side of it. 'Very seldom, sir. I'm not quite so lucky at gambling as you are.'
As they got up to go, Morse suddenly remembered his bet with the police surgeon. 'Do you think there's any way, Lewis, in which Jackson could have been murdered before eight o'clock that night?'
'No way at all, sir.'
Morse nodded. 'Perhaps you're right.'
Chapter Twenty-Eight
If you have great talents, industry will improve them; if you have but moderate abilities, industry will supply their deficiency.
– Sir Joshua Reynolds
Almost immediately Lewis found himself liking Conrad Richards, the junior partner who worked in an office no smaller than that of his brother's below, though designated by no nameplate on the door. Lewis explained the purpose of his visit, and his reasonable requests met with an amiable cooperation. Conrad had exhibited (as Lewis was later to tell Morse) some surprise, perhaps, when the subject of fingerprints was broached, but he had willingly enough pressed the fingers and thumbs of both hands upon the inkpad, and thence onto the cards.
'Just a matter of elimination,' Lewis explained.
'Yes, I realise that but…'
'I know, sir. It sort of puts you on the record, doesn't it? Everyone feels the same.'
Conrad now held his hands out awkwardly, like a woman just disturbed at the kitchen sink who is looking around for a towel. 'Do you mind if I just go and wash-'
'It's all right, sir. I'll be off now. There's only one more thing-just for the record again, of course. Can you tell me where you were between 8 and 9 p.m. on the evening of the 19th October?'
Conrad looked vague and shook his head. 'I can't, I'm afraid. I can try to find out for you-or try to remember, but I-I don't know. Probably at home reading, I should think, but…' Again he shook his head, his voice level and seemingly unconcerned.
'You live alone, sir?'
'Confirmed bachelor.'
'Well, if you can have a think and let me know.'
'I will. I expect I'll be able to come up with something, but I've got an awful feeling I'm not going to produce any convincing alibi.'
'Few people do, sir. We don't expect it.'
'Well, that's good news.'
Lewis got up to go. 'There is just one more thing. I'd like to have a quick word with your brother. Is he-'
'He's in Spain, officer. He's there on business for a week or so.'
'Oh! Well, never mind! We shall have to try to see him when he gets back.'
For five minutes after Lewis had gone, Conrad Richards sat silently at his desk, his features betraying no sign of emotion or anxiety. Then he reached for the phone.
Morse, too, sat waiting, depressed, impatient, and irritated, on a low wooden bench beside the church in Radley. He had told himself (with a modicum of honesty) that he was still vaguely worried about Charles Richards' whereabouts on the day of Anne Scott's death; but he could only half convince himself on the point. Perhaps the simple truth was that he liked interviewing women whose voices over the phone promised a cloud nine of memorable mouths and leggy elegance. But whichever way it was, his visit had been fruitless. The house was locked firmly front and back, the shrill bell echoing through an ominously vacant property. Pity! A lovely female firmly sunk in fathoms of leisure-and just at this moment she had to be out! A bit more than out, too, according to the neighbours. Away. Abroad.
Morse was still staring glumly at the ground when the white police car finally drew alongside.
'Any luck?' asked Lewis, as Morse got in beside him.
'Interesting!' Morse feigned a vague indifference and fastened his seatbelt.
'Nice looker, sir?' ventured Lewis after a couple of miles.
'I didn't bloody see her, did I?' growled Morse. 'She's in Spain.'
'Spain?' Lewis whistled loudly. 'Well, well, well! The birds seem to be flying from their nests, don't they?' He recounted the details of his own eminently more successful mission and the impression he'd formed of Conrad Richards; and Morse listened in silence. Lewis had often noticed it before: over a beer table it was usually difficult to get the chief to shut up at all, but in a car he was invariably a taciturn companion.
'What d'you think, then, Lewis?'
'Well, we can get those prints checked straight away-and I've got the feeling we may just about be there, sir. As I see it, Charles Richards must have brought his brother along with him when he came to give his talk; then dropped him somewhere in Jericho and told him to go and scare the living daylights out of Jackson.'
'He must have taken him completely into his confidence, you mean?'
Lewis nodded as he turned on to the A34 and headed north. 'Charles Richards must have traced Jackson-he probably followed him after leaving the money somewhere-and then, as I say, he must have asked Conrad to help him. Quite neat, really. Charles is completely in the clear and nobody's going to think Conrad had anything to do with it. Anyway, things must have gone wrong, mustn't they? I doubt whether Conrad ever actually meant to kill Jackson-I reckon he'd have been far more careful about leaving any prints if he had. In fact, I doubt if he knew what to do, poor chap. Jackson's bleeding like mad, and Conrad just panics up there in the bedroom. He gets out quick and rings the police. Perhaps his one big worry was to save the old fellow.'