Neeve had them up all night, so Rafferty didn’t even have the chance to turn anything over the previous night. He dragged himself into work, like an old man. An old man who hadn’t had a wink of sleep the previous night. The only consolation – that if Llewellyn and Maureen succeeded in having a kid – he wouldn’t be able to look as bright-eyed as he did today. But it was small consolation, as Rafferty attempted to keep his eyes open.
He wanted an easy day, that was for sure. Even surer, he wasn’t likely to get it. Bradley was on his case, demanding updates, demanding Carver updates. There had been no movement there, so he prepared himself for a chew-out.
But, for once, Bradley was almost pleasant.
‘You’ll have to be as wily as Carver to have any chance of catching him.’
‘We could always try the Al Capone trick,’ said Rafferty, desperate to escape before his eyes closed. Wouldn’t that be a gift for Bradley?
‘What?’
‘Tax evasion. It’s what the Yanks got him for in the end. And Carver’s evading something, that’s for sure.’ Apart from us.
‘I want him, Rafferty. I want him so much it hurts. If we put our heads together, we might just pull it off.’
If there was one person Rafferty didn’t want to nestle heads with, all cosy-like, it was Superintendent Bradley. Half-heartedly, more as a defence than anything else, he said, ‘We could always get the forensic accountants to go over his books. There must be something. Crooks like him evade their taxes as a matter of principle. I’ll get on to Inspector Herrera. See if he can organise it.’ He hardly liked to mention budgets when he and Bradley were being all pally, but felt he had to protect himself. ‘Of course, the Spanish police are as cash-strapped as we are, so he might not be able to swing it.’
‘If you have any problems, pass him on to me.’ Bradley puffed out his chest. ‘I can always carve leeway in the budget for the essential. And this is. Just think, Rafferty. We could both be the blue-eyed boys with Region if we wrap this up and catch Charlie “Costa” Carver.’
Rafferty managed a sickly grin, because if there was one thing for certain, if they pulled it off, Bradley would claim all the kudos, nothing surer. But really, the way he felt, he was past caring.
***
Because of his suggestion, he was forced to spend the rest of the morning on the phone, wrestling with his Spanish. He stopped for long enough to swallow two headache tablets, swilled down with a mug of cold tea, and then he began again. He finally surfaced at two o’clock.
He dry-washed his face in relief. Herrera had managed to get his brass to agree to set their forensic accountants on Carver. God knew, though, how long it would be before they saw any results.
It was too late to get anything that hadn’t frazzled in their dishes from the canteen, so he made a unilateral decision. ‘I’m starved. You must be too if you’ve eaten your usual rabbit food.’ Llewellyn generally brought in a box of lettuce leafs and alfalfa, or some such muck. How he survived on such minimal eats, Rafferty didn’t even hazard a guess. He hadn’t noticed whether he’d even eaten it today, as he was busy wrestling with his Spanish in an attempt to ensure it didn’t turn into Portuguese again. Llewellyn would be sure to let him know if it did, nothing surer. ‘Let’s go up the Black Swan.’ They served way past the usual two o’clock. ‘We deserve it.’
‘Very well. Aren’t you going to report your result to Superintendent Bradley with regard to the Spanish—?’
‘No need. He only wants to know if Herrera’s bosses veto it. Otherwise, don’t bother him with trivialities.’ Like wrestling with his Spanish for half the day. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes. I’ve finished reading the reports.’
Llewellyn looked tired. Probably all the grammar and spelling mistakes got to him.
‘Do you have any spare Paracetamol? I neglected to replace mine.’
Rafferty chucked his pack over. ‘Keep them. I’ve got another. I must owe you a few packs by now, anyway.’
They went out and down to the car park. Soon they were sitting in front of substantial meals, steak and kidney pie and all the trimmings for Rafferty, and Spanish omelette and salad for Llewellyn.
‘We seem to have been side-tracked from Briggs’s murder by Bradley looking for glory. We need to get our heads back in gear before we lose sight of our suspects. We haven’t even looked at the two profs and Billy-No-Mates yet.’
‘Billy-No-Mates?’
‘Otherwise known as Mr Humphrey Wiggins, Site Supervisor at the dig. Very officious. Very proper. You’ll like him.’
‘Really?’ Llewellyn paused in his eating, and looked up. ‘I dislike unnecessarily officious types as much as you. But there’s nothing wrong with behaving properly.’ Having got that straight, he restarted his meal, and added, ‘Which of our professors are without an alibi?’
‘Wiley and Pace. Fanshaw’s, too, needs checking out, as he seems to be a law unto himself half the time. We’ll go and see them after lunch. Always supposing they’ll be there. Still, Humphrey Wiggins will be, throwing his officiousness about. We’ll see if, knowing he’s a serious suspect – even if he is at the bottom of the list – serves to make him cut the crap.’ Rafferty finished his meal, put his utensils down, and gave a satisfied sigh. ‘Want some coffee?’ Llewellyn shook his head. ‘Come on, then. Let’s head out to the dig. Good job it’s summer, with the light nights. Means they’ll still be there, instead of packed up and gone their separate ways.’
And they were. Hard at it. Rafferty saw Sven Daniels, and waved. Saw Humphrey Wiggins, and made a come-hither finger, rather than the middle finger, which was really what he’d like to give him.
They watched as Wiggins made their way towards him. ‘You talk to him, Dafyd. I don’t trust myself to do it and not apply the thumb-screws.’ His brow furrowed. ‘What the hell are thumb screws anyway?’
‘Now is perhaps not the best time to answer that question. Ah, Mr Wiggins. Thank you for coming to speak with us. Could we perhaps go somewhere more comfortable to discuss certain aspects of the investigation?’
Wiggins turned, without pausing to greet them, and made for the same caravan he’d made for before. They followed, and climbed up the steps after him.
It was empty, and Llewellyn and Wiggins sat at the table, while Rafferty occupied himself with looking at what he supposed were the latest funds. They were sitting nearer the door than the table. He was just about to poke his finger in amongst some interesting-looking pottery.
‘Don’t touch that!’
He jumped at the sharp, officious voice. Wiggins.
Rafferty turned and gave the man a false smile. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer if I addressed my attentions to you, Mr Wiggins?’
Wiggins looked as if he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. But he said, ‘I know my rights. You’re not allowed to browbeat me. I’ll answer any reasonable questions, but should your questions turn unpleasant, I will call a halt.’
‘Can we get clear what you regard as unpleasant? Would they be about where you were when Joey Briggs was murdered?’
Wiggins barely refrained from a scowl. ‘Not at all,’ he said. Though clearly that was exactly what they were.
‘Fine. We know you said you were in your room—’
‘That’s because I was in my room. Did you find anyone who claimed they saw me creeping out of the hotel, and getting into my car?’
‘We haven’t had a chance to ask everyone yet.’
‘Perhaps you’ll tell me if you do find such a person? I wouldn’t put it past some of those students to lie, so as to cause me aggravation. Some of them have now decided they don’t want to be archaeologists, after all. A sad waste of my time.’
Rafferty couldn’t help but wonder if Humphrey Wiggins had something to do with the students’ decision.
‘Good day to you, Mr Wiggins. We’ll be in touch.’
This time the scowl made did make an appearance, and Rafferty marked one up to him.
‘Rather a touchy gentleman,’ commented Llewellyn when they were back in the car. ‘Did you say something before that got his hackles up?’
‘Me? No. Just the usual. I told you. He’s the officious sort. And they don’t like their officiousness directed back at them.’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean, “Ah”?’
‘Me? Nothing at all. Shall we go and see if we can find the professors?’
’Yes, let’s.’
But the professors weren’t on site. However, it was a glorious day, and Rafferty, unwilling to be cooped up in the office, decided to take a walk around the dig. He observed Humphrey Wiggins glowering at a distance and gave a cheery wave.
‘Not trying to antagonise him, are you?’
‘Certainly not. Just being friendly.’
‘I don’t think it’s reciprocated.’
‘I noticed.’ He continued to walk about, nodding to the workers, and chatting to some, taking an interest in everything about him, and when he looked round again, Wiggins had disappeared.
‘I’d have rather liked to be an archaeologist, you know,’ he confided.
‘Really? It seems rather…dirty.’
Rafferty laughed. ‘Wouldn’t catch you digging, I take it?’
‘One can take an interest intellectually.’
‘I don’t think they go in for intellectual holes.’
‘No. I rather doubt they do paperless ones, either. They’re all measured thoroughly, researched for weeks or months, before they do any actual digging. Only rarely do they find anything that you’d regard as treasure. It’s not all like Howard Carter and Tutankhamun, you know.’
‘I know that. Still.’ Rafferty mooched about a bit longer, but his desire to be an archaeologist had faded. By now, the sun had gone behind a long dark cloud, and a chilly wind had sprung up. ‘I’ve seen enough, anyway. Let’s head back. We can see if Fanshaw’s at home on the way. And get someone around to the hotel where the dig workers are staying, will you? Tell them to talk to the staff, see if they noticed anything, particularly with reference to our Mr Wiggins. And another thing. Get somebody to go to Cambridge University, and find out where exactly the profs were supposed to be, and if anyone can vouch for them.’
He hurried off, back to the car and its heater, before Llewellyn could tell him he should have done both jobs by now. He knew that well enough, unfortunately he didn’t hold out much hope of satisfactory answers from either, professors being a law unto themselves, and Wiggins being the sort of man who was here, there and everywhere. Half the time you wouldn’t know if he was present and simply giving someone else a bawling out, or if he was somewhere else altogether.