Patrick just missed Liz. She had left for the office five minutes before he arrived at her flat, said Manolakis, who let him in.
‘I’m glad you’re still here, Dimitri,’ said Patrick, temporarily banishing to the back of his mind questions raised in it about the sleeping arrangements at Bolton Gardens. ‘I’ve found Sam Irwin. I want some advice.’
‘But, my friend, I know you have found Sam Irwin. This is not news,’ said Manolakis.
‘He isn’t dead,’ Patrick said. ‘The woman who identified him – the body from the water, that is – she didn’t exist. She gave a false name and address. And the one who officially identified him at the inquest committed perjury. I suppose they’re both working for Special Branch. Or think they are. I shall have to get on to the police. Sam mustn’t go through with this.’
He had taken care to promise Sam only that his secret would be kept as long as was necessary. That allowed plenty of licence for interpretation.
‘Sit down and explain,’ said Manolakis.
Patrick realised that he had had no breakfast.
‘Any coffee going?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Come along,’ said Manolakis, like a kindly housewife.
‘You seem quite at home,’ Patrick could not resist remarking.
‘I am. I am so glad that Elizabeth is not your lady, Patrick. I would not like to walk on your feet.’
‘You mean tread on my toes,’ said Patrick.
But he had. The fact that he said this proved what had happened.
Patrick hurried on.
‘I’ve been to see him – he’s at a hotel—’
‘Eat first, then explain,’ advised Manolakis, putting bread in the toaster.
Patrick, between mouthfuls of toast and honey, described his abortive visit to Putney, Leila Waters’ remark about the colour of Sam’s beard, and his own suspicion, since confirmed by Sergeant Bruce, that the corpse must have been a genuine redheaded man, or the postmortem report would have mentioned the inconsistency. There was body hair, not only the beard.
‘If it wasn’t Sam who was pulled from the river that night, he might be alive. You’d mentioned, in another context, the question of identity. If a dead body was supposed to be Sam’s, he might be posing as someone else. I’d seen photographs of him in make-up. I knew what might be done. We’ve all seen him in his disguise, Dimitri – you, Liz and me – and he’s deceived us all.’
Manolakis listened to this intently, nodding his head as Patrick spoke.
‘I don’t like it, Dimitri. He thinks he’s doubling for a man who’s ill, for the good of a cause. But Tina didn’t commit suicide because she thought he was dead – he was nothing special to her. That newspaper beside her body was a blind. So why did she die?’
‘This other actor,’ Manolakis said. ‘This Joss. It would be good, perhaps, to talk to him.’
‘I quite agree. And very likely Detective Chief Inspector Frobisher has already done it, but not about Sam. About the stolen paintings,’ Patrick said. ‘And I doubt if he had anything at all to do with them.’