Havers, he thought. Christ. What was it going to take? She'd never been the easiest officer to work with, but this was outrageous. It was beyond comprehension that she'd defied a direct order after what she'd already been through. Either she had a death wish or she'd lost her mind. No matter which it was, though, Lynley knew he'd finally reached the end of his tether with the woman.
“—took some time to track down which clamping unit works the area, but it paid off big,” Nkata was saying.
Lynley looked up. “Sorry,” he said. “I was miles away. What've you got, Winnie?”
“I checked Beattie's club. He's in the clear. I went on to Islington,” Nkata said. “I did a talk with the neighbours at the Maiden girl's old digs. No one matched up any visitors with Beattie or Reeve, even when I showed them pictures. Found one of each bloke at the Daily Mail by the way. Always helps to have snouts in the newspaper offices.”
“But no joy from that direction?”
“Not to speak. But while I was there I saw a clamped Vauxhall sitting on double yellow. Which got me to thinking 'bout other possibilities.”
Nkata reported that he'd phoned all the London wheel clamping agencies to see which of them served the Islington streets. It was a shot in the dark, but since no one he'd spoken to had been able to identify either Martin Reeve or Sir Adrian Beattie as visitors to Nicola Maiden's bed-sit prior to her removal to Fulham, he decided to see if anyone clamped in the area on the ninth of May might match up with anyone connected to Nicola Maiden.
“And that's where I struck gold,” he said.
“Well done, Winnie,” Lynley said warmly. Nkata's initiative had long been one of his finest qualities. “What did you get?”
“Something dicey.”
“Dicey? Why?”
“Because of who got clamped.” The DC looked suddenly uneasy, which should have been a warning. But Lynley didn't see it and, at any rate, he was distracted by feeling too decidedly positive about how things had gone with Martin Reeve.
“Who?” he asked.
“Andrew Maiden,” Nkata said. “Seems he was in town on the ninth of May. He got clamped round the corner from Nicola's digs.”
Lynley felt a tight sickness in the pit of his stomach as he closed his front door and began to climb the stairs. He went to his bedroom, pulled out the same suitcase he'd brought back from Derbyshire on the previous day, and opened it on the bed. He started to pack for the return journey, tossing in pyjamas, shirts, trousers, socks, and shoes without giving a thought to what he'd actually need when he got there. He packed his shaving gear and nicked Helen's bar of soap from the bath.
His wife came in as he was closing the lid on a packing job that would have sent Denton into fits. She said, “I thought I heard you. What's happened? Are you off again so soon? Tommy darling, is something wrong?”
He set the suitcase on the floor and cast about for an explanation. He went with the facts without attaching an interpretation to them. “The trail's leading back to the North,” he told her. “Andy Maiden appears to be involved.”
Helen's eyes widened. “But why? How? Lord, that's terrible. And you admired him so, didn't you?”
Lynley told her what Nkata had discovered. He related what the DC had learned earlier about the argument and the threat heard in May. He added to that what he himself had put together from his interviews with the SO 10 officer and his wife. He finished with the information that Hanken had passed along on the phone. What he didn't embark on was a monologue dealing with the probable reason that Andy Maiden had requested one DI Thomas Lynley—a notable washout from SO 10—as the Scotland Yard officer sent north to assist in the investigation. He would face that subject later, when his pride could stand it.
“It made sense to me at first to look at Julian Britton,” he said in conclusion. “Then at Martin Reeve. I stuck with one and then the other and ignored every detail that pointed anywhere else.”
“But, darling, you may still be right,” Helen said. “Especially about Martin Reeve. He has more of a motive than anyone, hasn't he? And he could have tracked Nicola Maiden to Derbyshire.”
“And out onto the moor as well?” Lynley said. “How could he possibly have managed that?”
“Perhaps he followed the boy. Or had the boy followed by someone else.”
“There's nothing to say Reeve even knew the boy, Helen.”
“But he may have learned about him through the phone box cards. He's someone who watches the competition, isn't he? If he found out who was placing Vi Nevin's cards and began to have him trailed just as he had Barbara and Winston trailed to Fulham … Why couldn't he have tracked down Nicola that way? Someone could have been following the boy for weeks, Tommy, knowing he'd eventually lead the way to Nicola.”