Bea eyed her and saw that, in this, she was telling the truth. Or at least a partial truth. And because it was partial, Bea knew she would have to watch Havers closely and monitor her work. She didn’t like the idea?damn, was there no one on this case upon whom she was going to be able to rely??but she couldn’t see she had a choice.
Back in Casvelyn, the incident room displayed a gratifying scene of business in motion. Sergeant Collins was making notations on the china board about activities; Constable McNulty was beavering away at Santo Kerne’s computer; in the absence of a civilian typist one of the TAG team officers was working at transcribing a stack of notes into HOLMES. In the meantime, the DVLA had weighed in with a list of owners of cars like the two seen in the vicinity of Santo Kerne’s cliff fall. The Defender, as Bea had assumed, had been the easier one when it came to comparing listed owners of such vehicles with all the principals in the case. Jago Reeth owned a Defender very similar to the car seen in Alsperyl approximately one mile to the north of the cliff where Santo Kerne was doing his abseiling. As to the RAV4, the vehicle seen to the south of that same cliff likely belonged to one Lewis Angarrack.
“Madlyn’s stand-in granddad and Madlyn’s father,” Bea told Havers. “Isn’t that a lovely detail?”
“As to that…?” It was Constable McNulty speaking, half risen from behind Santo Kerne’s computer. He sounded something between hopeful and excited, “Guv, there’s?”
“Vengeance,” Havers agreed. “He takes the girl’s virtue and cheats on her. They take care of him. Or at least one of them does. Or they plan it together. That sort of thing plays strong when it comes to murder.”
“Guv?” McNulty again, fully upright now.
“And both Reeth and Angarrack would’ve had access to the boy’s equipment,” Bea said. “In the boot of his car? They would’ve likely known it was there.”
“Madlyn telling them?”
“Perhaps. But either one of them just could have seen it at one time or another.”
“Guv, I know you wanted me off the big-wave thing,” McNulty broke in. “But you need to have a look at this.”
“In a minute, Constable.” Bea motioned him down. “Let me follow one thought at a time.”
“But this one relates. It’s part of the picture.”
“Damn it, McNulty!”
He sat. He exchanged a black look with Sergeant Collins. Bloody cow was its message. Bea saw this and said sharply, “That’ll do, Constable. All right, all right. What?” She approached the computer. He tapped frantically at the keyboard. A Web site appeared, featuring an enormous wave with a flea-size surfer upon it. Bea saw this and prayed for patience although she wanted to drag McNulty from the computer by his ears.
“It’s what he said about that poster,” McNulty told her. “That old bloke over LiquidEarth. When you and I were talking to him. See, first of all that kid on the wave?riding Maverick’s, he said, remember??couldn’t’ve been Mark Foo. That’s a picture of Jay Moriarty?”
“Constable, this is all sounding rather too familiar,” Bea cut in. “But wait. Look. Like I said, it’s a picture of Jay Moriarty and it’s famous, least among surfers who ride big waves. Not only was the kid sixteen, but he was the youngest surfer ever to ride Maverick’s at the time. And that picture of him was taken during the same swell that killed Mark Foo.”
“And this is critically important because…?”
“Because surfers know. At least surfers who’ve been to Maverick’s know.”
“Know what, exactly?”