But yes. It was her. A dark shape detached itself from the cover of one of the tree trunks in his lopsided field of vision. She had stopped shooting and was running hard now, deeper into the woods. This time, she did not look back. A black, fleeing figure, moving fast, threading between the trees, like a deer fleeing the hunter. But in this case the deer was the hunter. And she had made a kill.
THIRTY-TWO
For much of the rest of the day, Harding dwelt only half in the real world. Part of his mind-and, strangely, it also seemed to him, his body-was absent, banished to some realm where the events of the past twelve days assembled, dismantled and reassembled themselves slowly and inexorably before him, obedient to a logic he had understood too late. Barney Tozer was dead. Hayley Foxton had taken her revenge. And Harding had been there to witness it happening.
The sluggishness of his reactions posed no problem to the Kriminal-Polizei officers who interviewed him at Munich Police HQ for several long, laborious hours. The British Embassy had supplied an interpreter and the translation of the officers’ questions and Harding’s answers slowed the proceedings to a crawl. He told them as much of the truth as he knew. Tozer’s death had rendered any kind of subterfuge or suppression not merely futile, but obscene. Not that the police evinced much interest in the complexities surrounding the case. To them, it was simple. Hayley Foxton blamed Barney Tozer for her sister’s death. Tozer had foolishly failed to take the intrusion at his apartment in Monte Carlo as the danger signal it undoubtedly was. He had even more foolishly agreed to meet Hayley in an exposed and isolated location. And he had paid the price.
Harding emphasized that no one could have imagined Hayley would possess a gun-let alone know how to use it. But the police, it seemed, routinely imagined such things. They pointed out that she could have been practising target-shooting for months with this moment in mind. He was, they implied, lucky to be alive himself; unless, of course, she had missed him deliberately, wanting him to identify her as the murderer, needing there to be no doubt what she had done and why.
The search for Hayley had commenced long before Harding’s questioning had ended. By the time he was thanked for his assistance and sent on his way, late that afternoon, she might, for all he knew, already be under arrest. There was nothing he could do for her now. If they had not found her yet, they soon would. The future she had made for herself allowed for no turning back.
Tony Whybrow was waiting for him in the station’s reception area, a layer of grimness added to his habitual calm.
“I hope they haven’t given you a hard time, Tim.”
“They just wanted as many details as I could supply.”
“You look all in.”
“Shock, I expect. Delayed reaction. Sorrow most of all. I never saw this coming. Not in a million years.”
“Carol and I flew up here on the same plane. She’s at the morgue now.”
“Oh God.”
“You’re going to have to go through it all again, I’m afraid.”
Harding sighed. “We should have contacted the police after she threatened Carol, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes. I blame myself for that.”
“Barney was confident he could come to an understanding with Hayley. He was… looking forward to meeting her, I think, in a strange kind of way.”
“And she was looking forward to meeting him. In a very different kind of way.”
“Yes.” Harding nodded glumly. “Apparently she was.”
***
Carol joined them in the bar at the Cortiina. She seemed numbed by her visit to the morgue, so overwhelmed by what had happened that she was not even visibly upset. Her face was a mask, her gaze barely focused. She listened to Harding’s account of how her husband had died with little reaction beyond a few faltering questions, though one of those was in its way more difficult to answer than any the police had posed.
“Do you think Barney knew who’d shot him?”
“Maybe. But he only had a second or so to know anything. It was quick, Carol. That’s the only consolation I can think of.”
“It’s not much of one.”
“I know.”
“Do they execute murderers in Germany, Tony?”
“No, Carol. They don’t.”
“Pity.”
“But they imprison them for life. And I’m sure that’s what they’ll do to Hayley Foxton when they catch her.”
“If they catch her.”
“They will, I’m sure. Soon, probably.”
“How soon?”
“The police will let us know immediately if there’s any news.”
“I’ll have to tell Humph.”
“D’you want me to do that?” Harding offered.
“No. He’s not the only one I have to notify. I’d better just… get on with it.”
“I’ll deal with everybody on the business side who needs to know,” said Whybrow “And I’ll handle all the form-filling to get Barney back to Monaco.”
“Or Cornwall,” said Carol. “I’ll have to discuss that with Humph.”
“All right. But don’t take too much on yourself. We don’t need to make any decisions until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Tomorrow. Yes.” Carol looked at Harding, a spark of her normal self gleaming in her gaze. “I want to go to Nymphenburg tomorrow, Tim. To see where it happened. Will you take me?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll organize a car,” said Whybrow.
“No need,” said Carol. “We can take a taxi. And… I’d like it to be just Tim and me.” She glanced at Whybrow. “If you don’t mind, Tony.”
Whybrow smiled tightly. “No problem.”
“That was interesting,” said Whybrow, when Carol had gone up to her room-Barney’s room, where his clothes and toiletries were still waiting for him, but which he would never use again.
“Interesting?” Harding dragged his thoughts back to the present once more, away from his memories of the gentle, truth-seeking Hayley he could still not reconcile with the Hayley he had seen running away through the trees at Nymphenburg that morning.
“Carol’s a surprisingly resilient person,” Whybrow mused. “She’s already adjusting to the new reality. As I suppose we’ll all have to.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well, I assume Carol will inherit everything from Barney. Including Starburst International. She’ll be in charge from now on.”
The point had not yet occurred to Harding. Tozer’s death had cut the ground from beneath Whybrow’s feet. His hold over them had been his threat to tell Tozer about their affair. Now it did not matter. Carol had become a power in the land. And Whybrow was going to have to accept that she was the boss.
Or was she? Harding’s mind grasped a more complex and disturbing possibility in the instant before Whybrow put it into words. “One should never underestimate the ability of the police to misread situations, of course. If certain information came into their possession, they might think you and Carol had a motive for murdering Barney. And they only have your word for it that it was actually Hayley who shot him.”
Harding took his time before responding. He looked at Whybrow unwaveringly determined not to rise to the bait by losing his temper. “A woman walking her dog on the other side of the canal saw the whole thing. The police told me they’d interviewed her.”
“But will she be able to identify Hayley-when they pick her up?”
“I don’t know.”
“No matter. I’m sure the police will settle for a straightforward interpretation of the facts. Provided nobody… muddies the water.” Whybrow smiled thinly. “It might be a good idea if you mentioned that to Carol tomorrow, Tim. During your visit… to the scene of the crime.”
Harding walked himself into a state of exhaustion that night round the streets of Munich. Horrified by what had happened and sickened by his failure to understand the way Hayley’s mind had been working, he could be sure of only one thing. He would have to extricate himself fro
m the affairs of the Tozer family. He would have to start his life afresh, without Carol, without Hayley, without the hope-as well as the anguish-the recent past had brought him. There was no other way. He had done it before. He could do it again. Somehow or other, the future would have to be faced.
THIRTY-THREE
Nymphenburg once more. The weather had changed; a cold wind was blowing across the park beneath a slate-grey sky. A long stretch of the canalside path and a large chunk of the woodland bordering it had been cordoned off. Uniformed police were dotted around the perimeter to ensure the cordon was not breached. The search for evidence continued within, though out of sight from the path on the other side of the canal, where Harding stood with Carol, muffled up against the chill, gazing across at the spot where Barney Tozer had died.
The news of Hayley’s arrest, which Harding had half expected to hear that morning, had not come. She had either slipped through the net and fled the city or was lying low somewhere, waiting for the intensity of the search to fade. They would catch her eventually, though. That he did not doubt. Even if Carol seemed to.
“I don’t want her to get away with this, Tim. Barney was a nice guy. Maybe I never loved him. But I was fond of him. And I already miss him. More than I’d ever have thought possible.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “They’ve got to find her.”
“And they will.”
“Humph talked as if it was Barney’s own fault somehow. Heartless bastard. They were flesh and blood. Though you’d never have known it.” She lit a cigarette, Harding holding her hand for a moment to steady the flame of her lighter. “Anyway, his attitude settled it for me. He took it as read Barney would be buried in Penzance. But he’s got another thing coming.”
“It’s your decision.”
“Like quite a lot else now, hey? You know, I can’t believe Tony thinks he can still push me around. Let him tell the police about us if he wants. Hayley did what she did. There’s no way we can be dragged into that.”
“He wouldn’t go to the police direct, Carol. I imagine the tape of your message would find its way to them anonymously.”
“He doesn’t care that Barney’s just been murdered, does he? He only cares about safe-guarding his position. One of the first things I’m going to do after the funeral is hire an independent accountant to go through Starburst’s books line by line. It wouldn’t surprise me if Tony had been cheating Barney.”
“It might pay to keep on the right side of Tony. At least for the time being.”
Carol took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette. “Yeah. I suppose so. Until they catch Hayley, anyway. She won’t try to wriggle out of it. She’ll be proud to admit what she did. Then Tony’s threats will be worthless. And he’ll find out what it’s like to have me as his boss.”
“I guess Barney’s stake in Jardiniera makes you my boss too.”
“I’ll write that off as a gift, Tim. You don’t need to worry about me trying to run Jardiniera.” She turned to look at him. “It’s probably best if we… don’t have any reason to see much of each other in the future.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It must have been what you wanted. When you slept with Hayley.” She let him absorb the point for a moment, then went on. “Of course, you didn’t know she was a homicidal maniac then, did you? But maybe it was a smart move after all. Maybe it’s why she didn’t shoot you as well as Barney.”
“I didn’t cause any of this, Carol. You know that.”
“I guess not. If only Barney hadn’t sent you to Penzance. He should just have ignored Humph. Then…”
“Hayley would have made her move sooner or later. You know that as well.”
“Yeah. And what will happen to her anyway? Some smooth-talking lawyer will persuade the court she wasn’t really responsible for her actions. Tragic death of twin sister. History of mental trouble. Extenuating circumstances by the bucket-load. She’ll probably only serve a few years in prison.”
“Just before it happened, Barney was saying… how much he regretted not having made his peace with Hayley.”
“So, you think it was his fault, do you?”
“No.”
“Whose side are you on, Tim? I’d really like to know.”
“Do there have to be sides?”
“Oh yeah. There have to be. I’m surprised life hasn’t taught you that.” Carol looked back across the canal.
Following her gaze, Harding noticed two men in plain clothes walking slowly through the wood, within the police cordon. He recognized the taller and leaner of the two as Streibl, the Kriminal-Polizei officer who had asked most of the questions the previous day. The other man was stocky, grey-haired and trench-coated, probably the older, possibly senior in rank. Harding had never seen him before. An animated conversation appeared to be in progress between them, complete with emphatic gestures and energetic nods.
“Do you know those two?” asked Carol neutrally.
“The one on the left is Streibl. He’s in charge of the investigation. The other bloke… I don’t know.”
“So that’s Streibl, is it? I’m due to meet him this afternoon. Has he finished with you?”
“He asked me to stay in Munich for twenty-four hours in case there was anything they wanted to check. After that…”
“You’ll be free to go?”
“I guess so.”
“And will you?”
“I suppose. Unless you want me to…”
“No.” She looked at him regretfully but unapologetically “I don’t think I do.”
Harding opted not to share the taxi for the journey back into the centre. It was impossible to tell whether Carol was grateful for this. More likely Harding reflected as he set off on foot, she did not care. Barney’s death had laid bare her inner strength. She was distressed to lose her husband, but not grief-stricken. She was shocked by what Hayley had done, but not overwhelmed. As heiress to Barney’s considerable estate, she would soon control the resources she needed to make her life whatever she wanted it to be. And she had already made it clear that Harding would have no place in it.
He was not a religious man. He had never resorted to prayer during Polly’s illness, nor lit candles for her after her death. She would not have wanted him to and, as a good agnostic, he had always respected her atheism. Quite why, after the long, cold walk from Nymphenburg, he went into the Frauenkirche, sat himself down in the rearmost pew in the nave and gazed vacantly along the tunnel of pillars towards the distant altar, he could not properly have explained. There had been a choice of ways to make matters right. But Hayley had chosen a different course. Now Barney Tozer was dead. And her act of revenge, however satisfying in the moment of its commission, was unravelling into the ruin of her life. There was nothing Harding could do for her. And the only thing he could do for himself was to abandon her to her fate. He felt empty of hope and purpose, drained of foresight. Above all, he felt alone. And solitude, as he knew from previous experience, was a bleak place to be.
***
But solitude in the literal sense was not destined to last long. He was suddenly aware of a figure looming beside him. Glancing up, he was astonished to see the grey-haired man who had been talking to Streibl out at Nymphenburg. He was smiling down at Harding, a roll of fat around his chin distorted by the upturned collar of his coat, his blue eyes twinkling almost mischievously beneath drooping lids and bushy brows.
“Mind if I sit down?” the man asked, doing so without waiting for an answer. His accent was North Country English. He was clearly not from the Kriminal-Polizei. “The name’s Unsworth. Chief Inspector Unsworth. Fraud Squad. On secondment to Europol.” He flourished a warrant-card. “Ever been to The Hague, Mr. Harding?”
“What?”
“It’s where Europol’s based. Boring city, let me tell you. Munich, on the other hand…” Unsworth gazed about him, apparently savouring the Gothic architecture. “More style. More character.”
“Did you… follow me here?”
THIRTY-FOUR
Harding had little appetite for lunch. Chief Inspector Unsworth, on the other hand, attacked his double order of toasted ham-and-cheese sandwiches with a trencherman’s vigour, whilst eyeing the Café Kreutzkamm’s cake display with dessert clearly in mind. Acerbic observations on the shortcomings of the Dutch capital and variations on a theme of how much he envied Harding his Riviera existence had delayed an explanation of what he actually wanted so long it seemed it might never come. But with one sandwich swallowed and the second commenced in slightly less urgent style, he came to the point at last, albeit by an indirect route.
“Which way did you vote in the Common Market referendum, Mr. Harding-back in 1975?” Harding was too bemused by the question at first even to attempt an answer. And Unsworth saved him the bother by snapping his fingers suddenly. “Hold on. Of course. You were born in 1958. So, just too young to vote in ’ seventy-five.” This, Harding could only assume, was a bizarre method of telling him that Unsworth knew more about him than he might have supposed. “Well, I voted no. Would again if they gave me the chance. Don’t let the Europol credentials fool you. I’d pull us out tomorrow if it was up to me. More corrupt than your average banana republic, that outfit in Brussels. Put a stop to one scam and ten more sprout in its place. What’s that stuff you gardening types go in fear of? Bondweed?”
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