‘As I told you, it’s only in the testing stage at present. We add this compound to the engine oil, which reduces friction. Several firms are working on it, success depends on who gets it perfected and commercially available first.’
‘Does it work?’ asked Lewis. This query was not part of the enquiry, he was just curious.
‘Sure, there’s no doubt of that! The problem is getting the right concentration in the oil and making it stay there.’
‘So what’s the “it”? You did tell me and I’ve forgotten.’
‘Molybdenum sulphide – physically, it’s a lot like graphite, the molecules are flat and slide over each other, reducing friction and wear.’ Laskey became enthusiastic and insisted on getting into detail. ‘The molybdenum atoms are sandwiched between two layers of sulphur, which bonds to the metal of bearings, so the stuff slips sideways.’
Lewis, who years ago did General Science for his School Certificate, had a vague idea what Laskey was talking about, but returned to the purpose of his visit.
‘Now then, have you started using it in engines yet?’
‘God, yes, for the last three years! We have special fixed engines on test beds, which we run for a long time, then take to bits to see how they are wearing. Lately, we’ve been testing it on vehicles actually on the road.’
‘That’s just what I want to know, sir. Which vehicles in particular?’
Laskey looked a little furtive. ‘Why on earth do you want to know that? Look, Inspector, there’s a lot of competition in this field, until we get patents arranged on our final products, we wouldn’t want any information to be bandied about outside this building.’
Lewis hastened to reassure him.
‘This is purely a police matter, Mr Laskey. All I want to know is how many vehicles in the Swansea area would have molybdenum in their sumps?’
Still mystified, the other man began ticking off on his fingers. ‘There are the two vans we use for running around – though one of them is God knows where, as it’s been stolen. Then we have a Bedford truck for heavier stuff. Two of our floor engineers are trying it out – and then of course myself and Michael Prentice have joined in the testing.’
This was what Lewis wanted to know. ‘That would be in his Jaguar, I presume?’ he asked.
‘That’s right, he’s been using it for almost a year, the same as I’ve had it in my Lanchester. These are very peculiar questions, Inspector. Can’t you tell me why you want to know?’
The detective shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir, not at the moment. What I would like is a small sample of this molybdenum that’s in Mr Prentice’s crankcase.’
Laskey was very reluctant to hand over any of their secret substance, but after Lewis had assured him that he was not involved in any industrial espionage and hinted that he could get a magistrate’s order if it wasn’t handed over, he caved in. Taking him down to the workshop floor, he took a small bottle of oil labelled with a serial number from a locked cupboard and handed it to the policeman. ‘That’s the one we’re testing now, the code on the label refers to the strength of molybdenum in that particular batch.’
Laskey was very uneasy as he watched the inspector drive away, then went back to his office and picked up the telephone.
There was a hiatus in both cases for the next few days.
Agnes Oldfield went back to her gloomy house in Newnham and started searching through her nephew’s belongings in the hope of finding something that would help in her crusade to prove that the reservoir remains were his. When he left his flat in Cheltenham, he had come to stay with her and had his own large room upstairs, for which he paid her rent, as well as a weekly contribution for food and household expenses. Their relationship was not always cordial and he spent a lot of time away, either staying with friends in various parts of England or going abroad on undisclosed trips. When he was there, he often went fishing or attending the races, both the Chepstow and Cheltenham courses being a favourite haunt for him to meet his friends.
The circumstances of his final departure had been gone over with her repeatedly by Edward Lethbridge and Tony Mitchell, but threw little light on where he might have gone.
‘I went for a long weekend to stay with an old schoolfriend in Hove,’ she had told them. ‘When I returned on the Monday, he was gone. I thought little of that, as Anthony was always taking it into his head to disappear on an impulse without telling me, but this time he never came back.’
Pressed to explain why she thought he might have turned up at the reservoir, she had no real answer, except that he had often gone for walking trips in that area and was very fond of the Golden Valley and the borders of Wales and Herefordshire.
‘He would sometimes spend a week there, staying in inns and small hotels,’ she declared. ‘So that place where the body was found was right where he might be expected to be.’
Now, with almost a hundred thousand pounds at stake, Agnes was more than keen to find evidence that would prove him dead, but all her efforts to find something proved fruitless. She had vague ideas about discovering a receipt or a guarantee for an Omega wristwatch or a Blood Transfusion Service Donor’s Card, but there was nothing in the few papers he had left in a desk in his room. She wondered if he had left anything with his bank or in a safe-deposit box somewhere, but had no idea how to follow that up – she must ask Lethbridge about it, she decided.
While Mrs Oldfield was rooting around at her home, eighty miles to the west Michael Prentice was pacing around his living room at Bella Capri in a much greater state of concern.
He was trying to make sense of Eric Laskey’s phone call, to tell him of the detective’s visit to the factory. What earthly connection could their research into lubricant additives have to the matter in hand? And why did the inspector insist on taking some of the new product away with him? Like his business partner, Prentice was unhappy that a sample of their closely guarded innovation had left the premises, but even he could not believe that a police officer had any commercial motives.
He poured himself a strong whisky and added a spot of water, then marched out into the garden with the glass in his hand. Walking around the corner of the house, he went to where his car was parked in front of the garage and stared at it, as if seeking inspiration. He circled the Jaguar, but saw nothing that triggered any explanation.
Opening the boot, he looked inside and felt around the carpeted floor, again without result. Mystified he slammed it shut and stood back to sip his drink. As he stood there contemplatively looking at the ground, his eyes focused between his feet and became aware of scattered black stains on the concrete.
‘Bloody useless mechanics!’ he hissed. After the first two thousand miles his car had travelled since the molybdenum had been added to the engine oil, the condition of the main bearings and big ends had recently been checked. It seemed obvious now that when the sump pan had been replaced, either the ring of bolts had not been tightened sufficiently or the gasket had not been renewed, leading to a slight oil leak.
He hurried back into the house, then came out again with a raincoat and went to the garage, where he found a wire brush on the workbench, which he pushed into his pocket. With rapid strides, he set off eastwards along the track, scanning the uneven stones as he went.
FOURTEEN
Richard Pryor could stay up working or reading late into the night without protest, but once in bed, he detested having to get up again. That was the one thing about forensic medicine that he disliked, the frequency of being called out in the early hours.
It was fortunate then, that just before midnight on Sunday, he was still reading in his room when the phone went and his presence was requested in a wood about twenty miles away. The call came from a Detective Superintendent Tom Spurrel in Cheltenham.