‘No one’s that unlucky.’
Acland pressed his palm over his eyepatch, grinding the heel into the throbbing nerve ends. ‘If I am, it’s working in your favour,’ he pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t have the phone if Jackson hadn’t followed me and the boy hadn’t fallen sick. A different doctor or a healthy kid, and the stuff would still be untouched in the rucksack.’
‘Assuming it was there in the first place. How long were you alone with the lad before Dr Jackson arrived?’
‘Never. The older guy was already in the alleyway when I got there.’
‘So there was no opportunity to switch items from the lad’s bag to yours, or vice versa, without anyone seeing you do it?’
‘No.’
‘And no opportunity to conveniently lose –’ he smiled again as he put emphasis on the word – ‘anything he was carrying for you?’
‘No . . . but that’s not what he was doing.’
‘Why should I believe that?’
Acland put out a hand to steady himself against the edge of the table. ‘I don’t know,’ he said harshly, ‘unless the boy tells you the same . . . except you won’t believe him either.’
‘You look ill,’ said Jones unemotionally. ‘I suggest you sit down before you fall over.’
‘No thank you. I’d rather stand.’ The lieutenant stepped away from the table and squared his shoulders.
Jones gestured peremptorily at Jackson. ‘He needs attention, Doctor . . . looks as if he’s about to faint. Will you see to him, please?’
She shook her head. ‘Only if he asks for my help . . . not otherwise. It’s well outside my remit to wrestle unwilling patients to the floor. I’ll leave the rough stuff to you and the constable here –’ she watched the superintendent push his chair back – ‘although I wouldn’t advise any unnecessary use of it,’ she finished mildly.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Jones rose impatiently to his feet and walked round the table. ‘Sit down, man,’ he said, gripping Acland’s arm and pushing him towards a chair. ‘This isn’t Guantanamo Bay.’
He barely had time to finish the sentence before Acland seized his wrist and spun him round in a classic half nelson, using one hand to force Jones’s chin on to his chest and the other to put torque on the bones of the forearm. ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he murmured into the man’s ear. ‘I wasn’t bothering you . . . I wasn’t threatening you . . . and I’ve made it clear several times that I don’t like being touched.’
Jones made no attempt to resist. ‘You’ve made your point, Charles. Now let me go before you find yourself in serious trouble.’
Jackson took a step backwards to block the detective constable. ‘You heard the man, Lieutenant. You can put him down now. It’s not a fair fight, anyway. He’s twice your age and three times as flabby . . . and our friend here wants to arrest you.’
Acland stared at her for a moment, then released his hold and pushed the superintendent away. ‘What’s a middle-aged Gruppenfu¨hrer to you?’ he asked. ‘I thought you didn’t like bullies.’
‘I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want them to die of apoplexy.’ She jerked her chin towards the corner of the room. ‘You look as if you’re on the brink of throwing up, so do us all a favour and sit on the floor over there with your head between your knees.’ She watched him retreat, then shifted her attention to the constable. ‘If you’re willing to take the other corner, I’ll see to your boss . . . If you’re not, I’ll hold the line here to prevent another clash. You’re a little too pumped up for my liking.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’m all right,’ said Jones, resuming his seat and loosening his collar. ‘No harm done.’ He took a couple of breaths and addressed his next remark to Jackson. ‘You think me unreasonable to ask tough questions of the lieutenant? We’ve been on this inquiry for months . . . tonight is the first time we’ve had any meaningful leads . . . and they’ve both involved this young man.’
Jackson shrugged. ‘The first one didn’t. It might have seemed that way for a while, but you proved to your own satisfaction that he wasn’t responsible for the attack on Mr Tutting. You might just as well argue that I’ve been involved in both leads – you’d still be searching for the lieutenant if I hadn’t delivered him to you – so why aren’t you asking tough questions of me?’ She smiled slightly. ‘And why isn’t the recorder on?’
‘It’s a good thing it isn’t, otherwise the assault would have been caught on tape and your friend would face charges.’ Thoughtfully, he rubbed his wrist as he studied Acland’s bent head. ‘You’re not dying on me, are you, Charles?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so. That’s one hell of a grip you have.’ He took another deep breath. ‘I’ll string your guts for garters if you try to sue me. This inquiry’s already strapped for cash . . . and I’m damned if I’ll approve compensation because a witness has issues about his personal space.’
‘You weren’t overly keen on yours being invaded.’
‘True . . . but I’m a police officer, and the law protects me in a way that it doesn’t protect you. How far would you have gone if Dr Jackson hadn’t been here?’
‘If you’re asking whether I’d have beaten you to death, then the answer’s no,’ said Acland. ‘That particular method of killing isn’t encouraged in the army. It takes too long. If I’d wanted you dead, I’d have crushed your spinal cord.’
‘Why mention beatings?’
‘That’s how Kevin Atkins was killed.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The doctor Googled his name on the hospital computer.’
Jones glanced at Jackson and she nodded. ‘It’s common enough knowledge,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been following the cases in the newspapers, Charles?’
‘No.’
‘But you were in London when Kevin Atkins was murdered. You discussed the case with Dr Campbell.’
Carefully, Acland raised his head and stared hard at the superintendent. ‘If I did, I don’t remember. I only remember staying in my room most of the time to stop her discussing anything with me. She talked for talking’s sake, and I don’t recall that much of what she said was worth listening to.’
Having been on the receiving end of Susan Campbell’s homily on short-term memory loss, Jones had some sympathy with him. ‘So who was this other man in the alley?’
‘Ask Jackson. She spoke to him more than I did.’
‘Doctor?’
‘He called himself Chalky, claimed to be mid-fifties, and said he was a corporal during the Falklands War. Five-foot-tennish . . . dark, greying hair and beard . . . brown overcoat... stank to high heaven and looks older than he is. He refused to come with us, but I imagine he’s fairly well known on the streets. From what he told us, he’s been homeless for twenty years.’
The Falklands War ignited Jones’s interest. ‘Had you met him before?’ he asked Acland.
‘Once. I saw off a group of drunken teenagers who were bullying him, then helped him climb the railings into the alleyway. That’s how I knew it was there.’
‘What were the teenagers doing?’
‘Kicking him.’
‘Was the sick lad one of them?’
Acland hesitated. ‘I don’t know. There was a boy urinating on Chalky . . . but I never saw his face. He was wearing a hoodie. The rest were girls.’
‘I don’t think Chalky would have helped him tonight if he’d taken a thrashing off him,’ said Jackson drily. ‘He told me he’s been trying to protect Ben from shirt-lifters. He wanted me to pass on to you that the streets aren’t safe for boys or girls. The dealers get them hooked and the kerb crawlers take immediate advantage.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Jones said equally drily. ‘Are you saying this Chalky’s homophobic?’
Jackson was ahead of him. ‘Along with a goodly percentage of the population, Superintendent. I don’t think it means he’s a killer.’