Mimi.’
‘So there it is, sir. She was missing.’
But missing where?
‘What time was this?’
‘Colby says from nine till half-past.’
‘Did anyone else see her during that time?’
‘Nobody I’ve had a talk with yet, sir.’
I puffed expansively. It was fitting all right. At eight Peter Robinson had arrived at the Three Tuns. Had booked in and gone out, say at eight-thirty. Half-an-hour to contact Mimi. How had he done it?
‘Are any of the staff very friendly with the lady?’
‘Reckon all of them are, sir. The men especially.’
‘These young waiters. Is there one with a crush?’
Dutt looked blank. ‘As much one as another, sir. Though I did hear of one she sort of makes use of, gets to run errands, fetch things to her room.’
‘Who?’
‘The Bavents kid, sir. But he was off this afternoon. I haven’t talked to him yet.’
Dutt was using the reception office for interrogation, and there I had Bavents brought when he returned. He was looking even furrier in a T-shirt and jeans: like a narrow-faced Jesus fresh back from the wilderness. I pointed to a chair and he sat nervously. I had his statement to Hanson on the desk before me.
‘You are Adam Bavents?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I see it says here that you are a student.’
Bavents flicked back a lock from his nose. ‘I told the other man all about that.’
‘Now tell me.’
‘So that’s w-what I am, then. A third-year student at Norchester U.’
‘If you are a student, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m just filling in time till next term.’
Oh yes. ‘And why is that?’
He jerked a look over his shoulder. ‘I got sent down. It isn’t a secret. They said I was ring-leader of a demo.’
‘And were you?’
‘I might have been. I’m not ashamed of it. They were trying to sack a tutor for speaking out against racialism.’
‘Wasn’t that when the students smashed up a lecture-hall?’
He stared through his hair. ‘We had to make our point.’
‘But by violence.’
‘If you call that violence.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I call that violence. And violence is what I have come here about. So I seem to have reached the right quarter.’
His tresses rustled. ‘But that’s just talk! I don’t know anything about the other.’
‘But about anti-racialism you know something. Tell me, what are your feelings towards the French?’
A sweaty silence. His hair fondled the T-shirt, showed his nose through a Gothic window. A pink nose: and pink hands rucking the fade-spots in his jeans. Then his mouth loosened.
‘I didn’t kill him!’
‘Fine. What happened on Thursday evening?’
‘Th-Thursday?’
‘In the evening. When the men wanted a word with Madame Deslauriers.’
‘I – I—’
‘Where were you that evening?’
‘I – I was w-working on my car!’
‘You have a car?’
‘Yes! A Mini—’
‘And you were working on it – in the yard?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You were handy then. Handy for this man coming into the yard. Who wanted a message slipped to Madame Deslauriers. Fair hair, sideboards. What name did he give?’
‘He d-didn’t – I wasn’t—’
‘Oh come on, now. He was staying at the Tuns. Did you know that?’
‘I tell you—’
‘Drives a blue Viva. Come on, the name’s on the tip of your tongue.’
‘But I s-swear—’
‘You say you didn’t kill Quarles?’
‘No! I don’t know anything about it!’
‘So then let’s have the name of this man.’
He went into a huddle with his hair.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’ve let something slip. Now I know you ran the message for that man. And if you get nicked on a conspiracy charge you’ll be filling in time for longer than a term. So you’d better talk while you still have the chance.’
‘I d-don’t have anything to tell you.’
‘Because you love Madame so much?’
‘That isn’t t-true!’
‘I’ll remember to ask her.’
He jumped up from his chair.
‘Hold it,’ I said. ‘Is this your signature on the
‘So there it is, sir. She was missing.’
But missing where?
‘What time was this?’
‘Colby says from nine till half-past.’
‘Did anyone else see her during that time?’
‘Nobody I’ve had a talk with yet, sir.’
I puffed expansively. It was fitting all right. At eight Peter Robinson had arrived at the Three Tuns. Had booked in and gone out, say at eight-thirty. Half-an-hour to contact Mimi. How had he done it?
‘Are any of the staff very friendly with the lady?’
‘Reckon all of them are, sir. The men especially.’
‘These young waiters. Is there one with a crush?’
Dutt looked blank. ‘As much one as another, sir. Though I did hear of one she sort of makes use of, gets to run errands, fetch things to her room.’
‘Who?’
‘The Bavents kid, sir. But he was off this afternoon. I haven’t talked to him yet.’
Dutt was using the reception office for interrogation, and there I had Bavents brought when he returned. He was looking even furrier in a T-shirt and jeans: like a narrow-faced Jesus fresh back from the wilderness. I pointed to a chair and he sat nervously. I had his statement to Hanson on the desk before me.
‘You are Adam Bavents?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I see it says here that you are a student.’
Bavents flicked back a lock from his nose. ‘I told the other man all about that.’
‘Now tell me.’
‘So that’s w-what I am, then. A third-year student at Norchester U.’
‘If you are a student, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m just filling in time till next term.’
Oh yes. ‘And why is that?’
He jerked a look over his shoulder. ‘I got sent down. It isn’t a secret. They said I was ring-leader of a demo.’
‘And were you?’
‘I might have been. I’m not ashamed of it. They were trying to sack a tutor for speaking out against racialism.’
‘Wasn’t that when the students smashed up a lecture-hall?’
He stared through his hair. ‘We had to make our point.’
‘But by violence.’
‘If you call that violence.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I call that violence. And violence is what I have come here about. So I seem to have reached the right quarter.’
His tresses rustled. ‘But that’s just talk! I don’t know anything about the other.’
‘But about anti-racialism you know something. Tell me, what are your feelings towards the French?’
A sweaty silence. His hair fondled the T-shirt, showed his nose through a Gothic window. A pink nose: and pink hands rucking the fade-spots in his jeans. Then his mouth loosened.
‘I didn’t kill him!’
‘Fine. What happened on Thursday evening?’
‘Th-Thursday?’
‘In the evening. When the men wanted a word with Madame Deslauriers.’
‘I – I—’
‘Where were you that evening?’
‘I – I was w-working on my car!’
‘You have a car?’
‘Yes! A Mini—’
‘And you were working on it – in the yard?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You were handy then. Handy for this man coming into the yard. Who wanted a message slipped to Madame Deslauriers. Fair hair, sideboards. What name did he give?’
‘He d-didn’t – I wasn’t—’
‘Oh come on, now. He was staying at the Tuns. Did you know that?’
‘I tell you—’
‘Drives a blue Viva. Come on, the name’s on the tip of your tongue.’
‘But I s-swear—’
‘You say you didn’t kill Quarles?’
‘No! I don’t know anything about it!’
‘So then let’s have the name of this man.’
He went into a huddle with his hair.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’ve let something slip. Now I know you ran the message for that man. And if you get nicked on a conspiracy charge you’ll be filling in time for longer than a term. So you’d better talk while you still have the chance.’
‘I d-don’t have anything to tell you.’
‘Because you love Madame so much?’
‘That isn’t t-true!’
‘I’ll remember to ask her.’
He jumped up from his chair.
‘Hold it,’ I said. ‘Is this your signature on the
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