“The difference between them. Between Jay Moriarty and Mark Foo.” McNulty’s face was alight, as if he’d cracked the case on his own and was waiting for Bea to say “Just call me Lestrade.” When she did not, he continued, perhaps less enthusiastically but certainly no less doggedly. “Don’t you see? That bloke with the Defender?Jago Reeth?he said the poster at LiquidEarth was Mark Foo. Mark Foo on the wave that killed him, he said. But here?right here?” McNulty tapped a few keys, and a photo identical to the poster appeared. “This is the same picture, Guv. And it’s Jay Moriarty, not Mark Foo at all.”
Bea thought about this. She didn’t like to dismiss anything out of hand, but McNulty appeared to be reaching, his own enthusiasm for surfing taking him into an area that bore no relevance to the case in hand. She said, “All right. So. The poster at LiquidEarth was misidentified by Jago Reeth. Where do we go with that?”
“To the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” McNulty proclaimed.
“Just because he’s misidentified a poster he likely didn’t mount on the wall in the first place?”
“He’s blowing smoke,” McNulty said. “Mark Foo’s last ride is part of surfing history. Jay Moriarty’s wipeout is the same. Someone green to the sport might not know who he was and what happened to him. But a longtime surfer…? Someone who says he’s hung round the scene for decades…? Someone who says he’s been all over the world following waves…? He’s going to know. And this bloke Reeth didn’t. And now we’ve got his car near the spot where Santo Kerne fell. I say he’s our man.”
Bea thought about this. McNulty was borderline incompetent as a detective, it was true. He would spend his life at the Casvelyn police station, never rising above the level of sergeant and even that advancement would come only if he was extremely lucky and Collins died with his boots on. But there were times when out of the mouths of babes and just as much out of the mouths of the bungling dribbled the truth. She didn’t want to overlook that possibility just because most of the time she wanted to smack the constable on the side of his head.
She said to Sergeant Collins, “What’ve we got on the prints from the Kerne boy’s car? Are Jago Reeth’s among them?”
Collins consulted a document, which he unearthed from a pile on Bea’s desk. The boy’s prints were everywhere on the car, as one would expect, he said. William Mendick’s were on the exterior: on the driver’s side. Madlyn Angarrack’s were nearly everywhere Santo’s were: interior, exterior, inside the glove compartment, on the CDs. Others belonged to Dellen and Ben Kerne, and still others remained to be identified: from the CD and the boot of the car.
“On the climbing equipment?”
Collins shook his head. “Most of those aren’t any good. Smears, largely. We’ve got a clear one of Santo’s and a partial that hasn’t been identified. But that’s the limit.”
“Mush,” she said. “Cold porridge. Nothing.” They were back to those cars from the vicinity of the fall. She spoke more meditatively than directly to anyone present, saying, “We know the boy met Madlyn Angarrack for sex at Sea Dreams, so that takes care of Jago Reeth’s access to his car, prints or not. I’ll give you that, Constable. We know the boy got his surfboard from LiquidEarth, so there you’ve got Lewis Angarrack. For that matter, as he was dating Madlyn Angarrack, he would’ve been at her home one time or another. So Dad could’ve picked up the knowledge of the climbing kit there as well.”
“There’d be others, though, wouldn’t there?” Havers asked. She was looking at the china board where DS Collins was working on activities. “Anyone who knew the kid?his mates and even his own family, yes??probably knew where he kept his kit. And wouldn’t they have easier access?”
“Easier access but perhaps less motive.”
“No one stands to gain from his death? The sister? Her boyfriend?” Havers turned from the china board and seemed to read something on Bea’s face because she added deferentially, “Devil’s advocate, Guv. Seems like we don’t want to slam any doors.”
“There’s Adventures Unlimited,” Bea noted.
“Family business,” Havers pointed out. “Always a nice motive.”
“Except they haven’t opened yet.”
“Someone wanting to throw a spanner in, then? Stop them from opening? A rival?”
Bea shook her head. “Nothing’s as strong as the sex angle, Barbara.”