Then the ideas emerged quickly. Metal worker, iron worker, even a sculptor. What about a blacksmith? Well, that wasn’t likely.
“My mum-in-law could do it with her teeth,” someone said.
Guffaws all round. “That’ll do,” Bea said. She gave Sergeant Collins the nod to make the assignments: set out and find the tool. They knew their suspects. Consider them, their homes, and their places of employment. And anyone who might have done work for them at their homes or their places of employment as well.
Then she said to Havers, “I’d like a word, Sergeant,” and she had that word in the corridor. She said, “Where’s our good superintendent this morning? Having a bit of a lie-in?”
“No. He was at breakfast. We had it together.” Havers smoothed her hands on the hips of her baggy corduroy trousers. They remained decidedly baggy.
“Did you indeed? I hope it was delicious and I’m thrilled to know he’s not missing his meals. So where is he?”
“He was still at the inn when I?”
“Sergeant? Less smoke and more mirrors, please. Something tells me that if anyone on earth knows exactly where Thomas Lynley is and what he’s doing, you’re going to be that person. Where is he?”
Havers ran a hand through her hair. The gesture did nothing at all to improve its state. She said, “All right. This is stupid and I’ll wager he’d rather you didn’t know.”
“What?”
“His socks were wet.”
“I beg your pardon? Sergeant, if this is some kind of joke…”
“It’s not. He hasn’t enough clothes with him. He washed both pairs of his socks last night and they didn’t dry. Probably,” she added with a roll of her eyes, “because he’s never had to personally wash his socks in his life.”
“And are you telling me…?”
“That he’s at the hotel drying his socks. Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. He’s using a hair dryer and, knowing him, he’s probably set the building on fire by now. We’re talking about a bloke who doesn’t even make his own toast in the morning, Guv. Like I said, he washed them last night and he didn’t put them on the radiator or wherever. He just left them…wherever he left them. As far as the rest of his kit goes?”
Bea raised her hand. “Enough information. Believe me. Whatever he may have done with his pantaloons is between him and his God. When can we expect him?”
Havers’s teeth pulled at the inside of her lower lip in a fashion that suggested discomfort. There was something more going on.
Bea said, “What is it?” as, from below, a courier’s envelope was brought up the stairs in the hands of one of the team members already heading out on his assignment. It had just come, the constable told her, two blokes having been working with the relevant software for hours. Bea opened the envelope. The contents comprised six pages, not fixed together. She flipped through them as she said, “Where is he, Sergeant, and when can we expect him?”
Havers said, “Dr. Trahair.”
“What about her?”
“She was in the car park when I left this morning. I think she was waiting for him.”
“Was she indeed?” Bea looked up from the paperwork. “That’s an interesting wrinkle.” She handed the sheets to Havers. “Have a look at these,” she told her.
“What are they, then?”