Her face grew even brighter. “King-Ryder thought Vi had the music. He hadn't found it at the flat. He hadn't found it when he followed Terry Cole and offed him and tore that camp site apart looking for it. So he came back to London and paid a call on Vi Nevin's flat when she was out. He was tearing it apart looking for that music when she surprised him.”
“That flat was destroyed. It wasn't searched, Havers.”
“No way, Inspector. The pictures show a search. Look at them again. Things're flung round and opened up and shoved onto the floor. But if someone wanted to put Vi out of business, he'd spray-paint the walls. He'd slice up the furniture and cut up the carpets and punch holes in the doors.”
“And he'd batter her face in,” Lynley injected. “Which is what Reeve did.”
“King-Ryder did it. She'd seen him. Or at least he thought she'd seen him. And he couldn't take a chance that she hadn't. For all he knew, she was wise to the music's existence too. because she knew Terry as well. At any rate, what does it matter? Let's haul him in and hold his feet to the flame.” For the first time, she seemed to see the suitcase that stood in the doorway. She said, “Where're you going anyway?”
“To make an arrest. Because while you were larking round London, DC Nkata—in compliance with orders—was doing the footwork he'd been assigned to in Islington. And what he's uncovered has sod all to do with Matthew King-Ryder or anyone else with that surname.”
Havers blanched. Next to her Helen set a sheet of music, which she'd been inspecting, onto the pile. She raised a cautionary hand, resting it at the base of her throat. Lynley recognised the gesture but ignored it.
He said to Havers, “You were given an assignment.”
“I got the warrant, Inspector. I set up a team for the search, and I met them. I told them what they—”
“You were directed to be a part of that team, Havers.”
“But the thing is that I believed … I had this gut feeling—”
“No. There is no thing. There is no gut feeling. Not in your position.”
Helen said, “Tommy …”
He said, “No. Forget it. It's done. You've defied me every inch of the way, Havers. You're off the case.”
“But—”
“Do you want chapter and verse?”
“Tommy.” Helen reached in his direction. He could see that she wanted to intercede between them. She so hated his anger. For her sake, he did his best to control it.
“Anyone else in your position—demoted, having barely escaped criminal prosecution—and with your history of failure in CID—”
“That's low.” Havers’ words sounded faint.
“—would have toed every line that was drawn from the instant AC Hillier pronounced sentence.”
“Hillier's a pig. You know it.”
“Anyone else,” he went doggedly on, “would have dotted every i in sight and double-crossed every t for good measure. In your case, all that was asked of you was a bit of research through some SO 10 cases, research which you had to be ordered back to on more than one occasion in the last few days.”
“But I did it. You got the report. I did it.”
“And after that you went your own way.”
“Because I saw those pictures. In your office. This morning. I saw that the flat in Fulham had been searched, and I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't hear me out. So what could I do?” She didn't wait for an answer, likely knowing what he would say. “And when Mrs. Baden handed over that music and I saw who'd written it, I knew we'd found our man, Inspector. All right. I should have gone with the team to Notting Hill. You told me to go, and I didn't. But can't you please look at how much time I ended up saving us? You're about to trot back up to Derbyshire, aren't you? I've saved you the trip.”
Lynley blinked. He said, “Havers, do you actually think I give credence to this nonsense?”
Nonsense. She mouthed the word rather than to speak it.
Helen looked from one of them to the other. She dropped her hand. Expression regretful, she reached for a sheet of the music. Havers looked at her, which sparked Lynley's anger. He wouldn't have his wife put into the middle.
“Report to Webberly in the morning,” he told Havers. “Whatever your next assignment is, get it from him.”
“You aren't even looking at what's in front of you,” Havers said, but she no longer sounded argumentative or defiant, merely mystified. Which angered him more.
“Do you need a map out of here, Barbara?” he asked her.
“Tommy!” Helen cried.
“Sod you,” Havers said.
She rose from the sofa with a fair amount of dignity. She took up her tattered bag. As she moved past the coffee table and sailed out of the room, five sheets from the Chandler music fluttered to the floor.
CHAPTER 26