Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“And neither had seen the other. It’s too much of a coincidence! Two boys called Trevor who look so much alike?”
“Quite a coincidence. But when you’ve been in this game as long as I have, you’ll have seen plenty stranger. How about what the girl said about Trevor? Him being chummy with our victim and going off with him? You reckon that’s true?”
“I don’t see any reason to doubt it, sir,” Megan said stiffly.
“She wasn’t just getting her own back after he dropped her, maybe?”
“No, I’m sure she wasn’t. She wouldn’t have told me about that if I hadn’t told her Trevor might be in danger from whoever killed Norman Wilmot.”
“Ah, so that’s how you got it out of her. Tricksy!”
“Well, he might.”
“Or he might have killed him. You didn’t tell her that.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“She could have worked it out for herself. It leaves open the possibility that she has it in for him.”
“I think she’s truly fond of him.”
“If so, suppose he finds her: Whose side is she going to be on?”
Megan had no answer. “If that’s what you think, that she might side with Trevor even if she finds out he’s a murderer, then why did you send her to stay with my aunt?”
“It was your idea. Look, I realise you hadn’t much choice but to bring her with you.
I can’t just let her wander loose either, and I’ve got no grounds whatsoever to hold her.
I wouldn’t have sent her with Mrs Trewynn if I’d been able to come up with any better alternative.
Can you, now you’ve had time to think about it? ”
“No,” she admitted. “Except taking her home, and she wouldn’t tell me where her parents live. Nor even her surname.”
Scumble shrugged. “So there we are. For what it’s worth, I tend to believe her story, and the chance of Trevor finding her seems remote.
But I have to remember the fact that we both want to believe her.
You found her; you have a stake in her. She’s my only witness to the identity of the victim; I can’t count on the Bristol coppers finding someone else willing to name him, or on any more useful tips coming in.
If she’s not telling the truth, we’re stuck. ”
“There doesn’t seem to be much we can do whether she’s lying or not.”
“This is where we go through all the reports, looking for patterns, or details that don’t mesh, or statements that sound a bit off, or any bloody hint at all of what to do next.”
“I’d better ring my aunt first, hadn’t I, sir?”
“You haven’t talked to her yet today?”
“I thought I’d better wait to see if we got any new information overnight that might affect her. And you said, sir—” She paused to listen pointedly to the clock on St Mary Magdalene’s tower, just across the square, chiming twelve. “—you said not to come in till noon.”
“Did I?” he asked blandly, reaching for one of the piles of papers on his desk. “Well, let me see what was waiting when I arrived. The CRO says none of the dabs in the Hillman are on record.”
“Either they’re new to crime, or they’ve never been caught.”
“More likely they’re the salesman’s and the previous owner’s, as everyone else seems to have been very careful to wear gloves. Whichever, it’s not of any interest to Mrs Trewynn.”
“And not much help to us.”
“Not that the Criminal Records Office has ever been much help to us poor bloody provincials. More to the point, another call came in, a schoolmaster, private school in the Midlands. Last week, end-of-term stuff kept him too busy to read the newspapers. Yesterday evening his wife, who never reads the papers, used an old one to wrap some potato peelings, noticed our photo of the victim, thought she recognised him, and drew it to Mr . . . Here it is, Mr Chewly . . . to Mr Chewly’s attention. ”
Megan was certain he was throwing all this unnecessary detail at her just to be annoying. “And?” she said.
“He’s an old boy, a rather unsatisfactory old boy, by the name of Norman Wilmot.”
“Cam was telling the truth!” What’s more Scumble had known it perfectly well when he asked her opinion of the girl’s credibility.
“So it would seem.”
“Which makes it the more probable that she told the truth about Trevor. That he was Wilmot’s mate.” Megan reached for the phone. “I must warn Aunt Nell.”
“No!” His voice was so adamant, she let the receiver drop back into its cradle.
“Why not? Suppose he turns up—”
“Highly unlikely. You can’t plead ignorance of the weather after coming in here and leaving a puddle on the floor. Bristol’s not the only place that’s got gales and flooding. If the men I sent to follow your aunt last night—”
“You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you imagining I thought she was in any danger.
I don’t. I just don’t want the girl hopping it, and supposing Trevor had turned up before the weather got so bad, I wanted him nabbed.
I was going to relieve them this morning, of course, but when they radioed in, they said they’d rather take it in turns sleeping on old rugs in the stockroom than try to drive back over the moor in this.
” He gestured at the rain lashing down the window.
“In the stockroom? Haven’t they been keeping obbo outside?”
“Your aunt and the artist spotted them, and she invited them in.”
“She would,” Megan said with a grin. “All right, she’s got guards, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t warn her about Trevor, all the same.”
“Think about it,” Scumble advised, and returned to his paperwork.
Megan thought. He had a point, though she didn’t altogether agree. Still, if Aunt Nell knew about Trevor, she might let it slip to Camilla, and they couldn’t be absolutely sure Camilla was not in league with Trevor.
On the other hand, forewarned was forearmed—but the DI was dead set against it, and he was the boss.