‘Covering for him?’

‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘And with Bobby Mahon out of it …’

Anderson flicked off the recorder, almost shaking with excitement. ‘You see? You see? She’s reached exactly the same conclusion we did, from the inside!’

‘That really is one clever lady!’ Crane forced himself to look as jubilant as he sounded. ‘Well done, Geoff! It’s all circumstantial, but once the police have a chance to interview them separately, Hellewell and Hebden, they could be home and dry. If Hellewell really is in the frame I reckon Hebden’s going to crack about that alibi.’

‘Oh, Geoff, I’m so glad!’ Patsy said. ‘It’s going to mean so much to Mam and Dad if they can see an end to it.’

Crane wished he could feel genuinely pleased. He was certain the reporter had got there. And he was equally certain Kirsty Hellewell would never have talked to him as she’d talked to Anderson. Anderson had had an incredible stroke of luck, and though Crane was exasperated with himself he knew he was going to feel upset about the Donna Jackson case whenever it came into his mind, even though all that mattered was nailing the killer. Amateurs, one, pros, nil, he thought bitterly, behind his smile.

‘Well,’ he said wryly, ‘while you were writing up all this gold-plated stuff from Kirsty, I was in Ilkley talking to a Miss Julia Gregson. She’s one of the Js in Donna’s diary. There seem to be two Js, but I doubt if the second one’s relevant.’

He gave them an outline of what he’d been told at Cheyney Hall, writing up the key points on a sheet of the chart he’d set aside for Julia. Anderson became unusually silent as he talked and scribbled, and when he turned back to them he’d begun to go pale with what looked to be barely controllable anger, an anger so powerful he seemed almost to be quivering. But he quickly forced his usual amiable smile and bantering tone, though Crane sensed it was not without considerable effort.

‘Christ, Crane, is there anyone your equal for turning up jokers?’

‘I’m not with you,’ he said, genuinely puzzled.

‘Well, from where I’m standing it now looks as if the killer could be any one of three.’

‘Oh, come on, Gregson’s not in the same league as Hellewell. Nor is Fletcher. Why the frustration, you’ve brought the bacon home? Gregson was genuinely heartbroken and she’d kept what looks to be a genuine diary.’

‘They’re all heartbroken. And the diary could have been written after the event, as you said yourself. And why didn’t she tell the police? She’d been with Donna at Tanglewood, just like Hellewell.’

Crane watched him in a surprised and uncertain silence. The intensely competitive animal that Anderson was still thought he was outclassing him. Only that could explain the barely concealed fury. But his powerful reactions were raising fresh doubts in Crane’s own mind. He’d virtually ruled out Julia on hearing the tape, but she’d had a long time to make her story authentic, even if her emotions had to have been totally genuine. But then he saw he was overlooking the crucial aspect of this very complex case. ‘Ollie Stringer!’ he said. ‘Don’t forget Ollie. I ask him about Adrian and two days later he’s lying in a hollow left for dead.’

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Hellewell and Gregson might have colluded, Frank? You say Gregson’s sturdy, so she’d have had the strength to see off a small woman like Donna. But what if she was seen the night they sat on the bench? What if one of the gays told Adrian, out of spite? Adrian certainly knew Donna was with Gregson a lot. What if he twigs Gregson did it and puts the bite on her for some of her loot? He’d still have the motivation to duff up Ollie if he thought Ollie was asking too many of the wrong kinds of questions.’

It hadn’t occurred to him that Adrian and Julia might be in it together. The cocky, quick-thinking beggar had him there. At one time he’d not have thought a woman like Julia Gregson could possibly have been involved in such a scene, but having been in the police he’d quickly come to accept that almost anyone could be involved in almost any bloody thing.

‘Good thinking, Anderson,’ he said, trying for the other’s affable manner with the same limited success. He believed he had it sussed now, why the reporter had been so incensed. He’d had his ace trumped with what Crane had uncovered at Cheyney Hall. Instead of winning the race he had merely dead-heated.

‘Well, why aren’t you jumping up and down, you two?’ Patsy asked, in amazement. ‘With all the new things you’ve found out between you?’

Crane knew it was because they were both too evenly matched, both very, very touchy about their skills, and were in a situation that was like one of those games of chess where it seemed that neither player was going to win.

TEN

Crane saw Benson in the Toll Gate. He gave him a rundown of everything he and Anderson had found out. Earlier, he’d phoned him with the vehicle number Julia Gregson had taken from the car at the Raven restaurant. The National Computer had shown it as registered to Leaf and Petal.

‘And the description she gave roughly matches Joe, slash, Adrian Hellewell,’ Crane told him, ‘but it could mean she has her own devious reasons for wanting him in the frame.’

‘It’s not looking good for either of them. She knows bloody well she should have come forward.’ Benson stubbed out his second cigarette, then added, with obvious reluctance, ‘Good work, Frank. Terry’s going to be pleased.’

When they’d both been in the force, best mates, frequently working together, Benson had never really been aware by how much Crane had outclassed him, as Crane, out of friendship, had always encouraged the impression that their decisions had been taken jointly. When Crane had left he knew that Benson had then been forced to accept himself at his true value. And hadn’t much liked it.

‘Anderson had the breakthrough.’ Crane tried to sound gracious. ‘He had luck; Kirsty fancies him rotten. It did him no end of good when it came to soul-baring time.’

‘I knew the bugger would go far.’

‘What’s the form now?’

‘I’m going to Leaf and Petal this afternoon with a DC, get Hellewell and the shirt lifter in for questioning. I’ll be in touch.…’

Crane got on with routine work with a routine feeling of flatness that a challenging case might soon be out of his hands, bar the tying up of loose ends. But in the early evening things suddenly began to happen.

‘Ted here, Frank. Hellewell’s legged it.’

‘Go on.’

‘Kirsty says he worked alone over at Leaf and Petal last night. Someone picked him up, she doesn’t know who. Left his own car.’

‘Hebden?’

‘No, he’s been in London since yesterday lunchtime. It checks out.’

‘What does Kirsty think?’

‘That he’s somehow caught on she’s grassed him to Anderson. She’s not keen to see him back if he thinks she knows too much as well. I’ve left the DC with her, just in case.’

‘What gives now?’

‘We start searching. We’ll find him sooner or later, God knows what it’ll take in man hours. If the fairies have him squat it could take weeks.’

Crane’s mobile rang again the second he’d cleared it. ‘Oh, Frank, I’m so glad I got through,’ Patsy gasped. ‘I’ve been broken into! When I got home from work the door was ajar and the lock smashed.’

‘I’m on my way. You’ve told the police?’

‘Before I rang you.’

‘Much missing?’

‘That’s the trouble, nothing I can see. They’ve not taken the telly or the DVD-player and my few bits of jewellery aren’t worth nicking.’

This made Crane uneasy. When he got to the flat she was sipping from a mug of tea, hands trembling. ‘Am I glad to see you?’

He took out his mobile. ‘I’ll get someone to fit a new lock. We can sort it with the insurers in the morning.’ He gave details to a locksmith contact. ‘You’re sure nothing’s been taken?’