TWENTY-SEVEN

Helen Morrison was a pear-shaped, middle-aged woman with frizzed hair and a moon face, the skin around her eyes red and puffy from recent shedding of tears. The dark suit she was wearing looked to have been bought when she was at least one dress size smaller. This, together with the nervous tremor in her hands, made Harry want to comfort her with a hug. But bland words were all that he felt able to offer.

'It's good of you to see us, Mrs Morrison,' he said, as he and Chipchase settled in their chairs round the corner table where they had found her waiting for them in the bar of the Caledonian Hotel. 'Jabber — your father — was a good friend to us back in our National Service days. His death's a real tragedy.'

'But we didn't have anything to do with it,' said Chipchase, his bluntness causing Harry to suppress a wince. 'The police have got it all wrong.'

'I know,' said Mrs Morrison.

'You do?' Harry could hardly disguise his surprise.

'That's why I'm, well, glad you phoned. I haven't told Mum, by the way. Arranging for Dad's body to be flown back to Cardiff is as much as she can cope with at the moment. As for this… murder business… well, she can't really get her head round it.'

'The police are trying to connect the deaths with a company I used to run,' said Chipchase, in a tone that implied it could have been ICI.

'So they said. But that doesn't make sense.'

'Delighted you realize that, Mrs Morrison.'

'What makes you so sure it doesn't?' asked Harry, catching but ignoring a glare from Chipchase.

'Well, for a start Dad never invested in… whatever it was called.'

'No. But—'

'And then there was the chat I had with him over the phone Saturday evening. Real worried, he was, after what had happened to Peter Askew; Crooked, as he called him. He wanted me to check the room Crooked had slept in Thursday night. See if he'd left anything there. Well, he hadn't, unless you count the contents of the wastepaper basket. I'd emptied it by then, of course, but Dad wanted me to fish through the rubbish to see what there was. I told him not to be so daft, but he sounded that worried I promised to do it. I went through it with a fine-tooth comb. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. I phoned Dad later and told him so.'

'How did he take the news?'

'He seemed… disappointed. I asked him what he'd been hoping for. And he said: “Something linking this with the other deaths.” Those were his exact words. “Something linking this with the other deaths.”'

'You repeated that to Chief Inspector Ferguson?'

'Oh yes. And the other thing Dad said. The last thing, before he rang off. The last thing he ever said to me, apart from '“Bye, love”. “Ossie doesn't see it. But I do.”'

'“Ossie doesn't see it,”' Harry echoed under this breath. '“But I do.”'

'You're Ossie, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'That's what convinced me you couldn't have… well, killed anyone.'

'It doesn't seem to have convinced Ferguson,' said Chipchase.

'No, well, he never stopped going on about that company of yours. Fraudulent, he called it.'

'He would.'

'When I told him what Dad had said about “other deaths”, he said to his sergeant, “We'll have to trawl through all the investors.” I took him to mean he thought some more of them might have… been killed.'

'Bloody hell. Doesn't he ever give up?'

'But I don't think those could have been the deaths Dad meant. I don't think that's what he had in mind at all.'

'No,' said Harry. 'I don't think so either.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Helen Morrison asked two favours of them as they were leaving. 'Please don't come to the funeral. My brothers are hot-headed and don't think straight at the best of times. I'll have to tell them what the police have said about you two in case they get to hear about it some other way and think I'm holding out on them. There might be trouble. And Mum couldn't take that. But if you find out what really happened — why Dad was killed — you will call me, won't you? I want to know. Whatever it is. Good or bad. I want to know.'

—«»—«»—«»—

They retreated to the Prince of Wales to talk over what they had learned. To Harry's surprise, Chipchase did not dispute which deaths Lloyd must have been referring to, especially after he had heard more about the Welshman's behaviour during the reception on the castle roof.

'It's got to be the Clean Sheeters who have died over the years, hasn't it?'

Harry nodded. 'Reckon so.'

'Have you still got Danger's round-up of who's done what and where?'

'Right here.' Harry pulled out his by now seriously crumpled copy of Dangerfield's letter and smoothed it flat as best he could. 'Four dead'uns and one as good as.' He ran his finger down the names. 'Babcock: stroke; Maynard: AIDS; Nixon: drowned; Smith: heart attack; Yardley: motorbike crash.' The recital of the names stirred a recent memory. 'Askew talked abut Nixon's death on the train. I've just remembered. He asked me if I thought Nixon might have been murdered.'

'And Lloyd heard him ask?'

'He'd have been bound to.'

'Did Askew mention the others?'

'No. There was some ... joke running. Yardley came into it. I… can't quite recall.'

'Pie-eyed by that stage, were you?'

'We all were. Except Askew. He'd drunk a good bit, but he seemed . .. horribly sober, now I look back. I didn't take what he said seriously. Well, why would I? But now…'

'Victims of AIDS, a stroke and a heart attack we can forget about. I actually spoke to Maynard's old boyfriend when I called round to try and solicit an investment in Chipchase Sheltered Holdings. He gave me a graphic account of how the poor bugger had died. Not a diddy doubt about the nature of his demise, I think we can safely say.'

'Nor Smith's, I imagine.'

'Right. A motorbike crash and a drowning, on the other hand, could be iffy.'

'But they're both so long ago. Forty years in Yardley's case. Twenty in Nixon's.'

'Maybe the murderer's operating on a long cycle. You know, like a comet.'

'A comet?'

'There was this book on astronomy I read while I was in …' Chipchase studied Harry's bemused expression. 'Forget it. You're right. They are a long time ago. Too long for us to go ferreting after the facts.'

'Not necessarily. Danger doesn't spell out how he got all his information. But for Nixon — and for Smith, I see — he gives a widow's address, in case we might want to send them our condolences.'

Chipchase sighed. 'One of the best, Danger. Always… doing the right thing.'

'So he was.' Harry examined the note about Nixon with heightened concentration. 'This phrase he used to describe Nixon's drowning. “Circumstances unknown.” That's odd, isn't it, if he'd spoken to the widow? Surely she must know how her husband came to drown.'

'Perhaps she didn't want to talk about it.'

'Yeah? Well, perhaps it's time she was persuaded to. You know what they say. It's good to talk.'