‘Who can change their clothes in less than two seconds?’ asked Lesley. ‘Do me a favour.’
All the evidence files are linked, so I checked to see whether the Murder Team had managed to track WITNESS A as he left the crime scene. They hadn’t and, according to the action list, finding him had become a priority. I predicted a press conference and an appeal for witnesses. Police are particularly interested in talking to . . . would be the relevant phrase there.
Smurf Hat had been tracked all the way down New Row, exactly the route Nicholas had said he’d taken, but vanished off the surveillance grid in St Martin’s Lane. According to the ‘action’ list, half the Murder Team were currently scouring the surrounding streets for potential witnesses and clues.
‘No,’ said Lesley, reading my mind.
‘Nicholas …’
‘Nicholas the ghost,’ said Lesley.
‘Nicholas the corporeally challenged,’ I said, ‘was right about the murderer’s approach, the method of attack and cause of death. He was also right about the getaway route, and we don’t have a timeline where WITNESS A is visible at the same time as Smurf Hat.’
‘Smurf Hat?’
‘The murder suspect,’ I said. ‘I need to take this to the Murder Team.’
‘What are you going to say to the SIO?’ asked Lesley. ‘I met a ghost and he said that WITNESS A put on a mask and did it?’
‘No, I’m going to say that I was approached by a potential witness who, despite leaving the scene before I could get his name and address, generated potentially interesting leads that may further the successful outcome of the investigation.’
It made Lesley pause at least. ‘And you think that’ll get you out of the Case Progression Unit?’
‘It’s got to be worth a try,’ I said.
‘It’s not enough,’ said Lesley. ‘One: they’re already generating leads over WITNESS A, including the possibility that he was wearing a mask. Two: you could have got all that information from the video.’
‘They won’t know I had access to the video.’
‘Peter,’ said Lesley. ‘It shows someone’s head being knocked off. It’s going to be all over the internet by the end of the day, and that’s if it’s not on the ten o’clock news.’
‘Then I’ll generate more leads,’ I said.
‘You’re going to go looking for your ghost?’
‘Want to come?’
‘No,’ said Lesley. ‘Because tomorrow is the most important day of the rest of my career, and I am going to bed early with a cocoa and a copy of Blackstone’s Police Investigator’s Workbook.’
‘Just as well,’ I said. ‘I think you scared him away last night, anyway.’
Equipment for ghost hunters: thermal underwear, very important; warm coat; thermos flask; patience; ghost.
It did occur to me quite early on that this was possibly the most absurd thing I’d ever done. Around ten I took up my first position, sitting at an outdoor table of a café, and waited for the crowds to thin out. Once the café closed I sauntered over to the church portico and waited.
It was another freezing night, which meant that the drunks leaving the pubs were too cold to assault each other. At one point a hen party went past, a dozen women in oversized pink t-shirts, bunny ears and high heels. Their pale legs were blotchy with cold. One of them spotted me.
‘You’d better go home,’ she called. ‘He’s not coming.’
Her mates shrieked with laughter. I heard one of them complaining that ‘all the good-looking ones are gay’。
Which was what I was thinking when I saw the man watching me from the across the Piazza. What with the proliferation of gay pubs, clubs and chat rooms, it is no longer necessary for the single man about town to frequent public toilets and graveyards on freezing nights to meet the man of their immediate needs. Still, some people like to risk frostbite on their nether regions – don’t ask me why.
He was about one-eighty in height – that’s six foot in old money – and dressed in a beautifully tailored suit that emphasised the width of his shoulders and a trim waist. I thought early forties with long, finely boned features and brown hair cut into an old-fashioned side parting. It was hard to tell in the sodium light but I thought his eyes were grey. He carried a silver-topped cane and I knew without looking that his shoes were handmade. All he needed was a slightly ethnic younger boyfriend and I’d have had to call the cliché police.