Twelve Red Herrings Part 5

"I can't remember," I said, trying to focus on the back of a mop of fair, curly hair.

"Think, man. Think. It's our best chance yet," said Donald, trying not to sound as if he was cross-examining an old lag.

I knew I had come across that face somewhere, though I felt certain we had never met. I had to rack my brains, because it was at least five years since I had seen any woman I recognised, let alone one that striking. But my mind remained blank.

"Keep on thinking," said the Don, 'while I try to find out something a little more simple. And Jenny - don't get too close to her. Never forget she's got a rear-view mirror. Mr. Cooper may not remember her, but she may remember him." Donald picked up the carphone and jabbed in ten numbers.

"Let's pray he doesn't realise I've retired," he mumbled."DVLC Swansea. How can I help you?"

"Sergeant Crann, please,'

said Donald.

"I'll put you through."

"Dave Crann."

"Donald Hackett."

"Good afternoon, Chief Superintendent. How can I help you?"

"White BMW K273 SCE," said Donald, staring at the car in front of him.

"Hold on please, sir, I won't be a moment." Donald kept his eye fixed on the BMW while he waited. It was about thirty yards ahead of us, and heading towards a green light.

Jenny accelerated to make sure she wouldn't get trapped if the lights changed, and as she shot through an amber light, Sergeant Crann came back on the line, "We've identified the car, sir," he said.

"Registered owner Mrs. Susan Balcescu, The Kendalls, High Street, Great Shelfor& Cambridge. One endors.e.m.e.nt for speeding in a built-up area, 99, a thirty-pound fine. Otherwise nothing known."

"Thank you, sergeant. That's most helpful."

"My pleasure, sir."

"Why should Rosemary want to contact the Balcescus ?" Donald said as he clipped thephone back into place. "And is she contacting just one of them, or both?" Neither of us attempted to answer.

"I think it's time to let her go," he said a moment later.

"I need to check out several more leads before we risk coming face to face with either of them. Let's head back to the hotel and consider our next move."

"I know it's only a coincidence," I ventured, 'but when I knew him, Jeremy had a white BMW."

"F173 BZK," said Jenny. "I remember it from the file." Donald swung round. "Some people can't give up smoking, you know, others drinking. But with some, it's a particular make of car," he said. "Although a lot of people must drive white BMWS," he muttered almost to himself.

Once we were back in Donald's room, he began checking through the file he had put together on Professor Balcescu. The Times report of his escape from Romania, he told us, was the most detailed.

professor BALCESCU first came to prominence while still a student at the University of Bucharest, where he called for the overthrow of the elected government.

The authorities seemed relieved when he was offered a place at Oxford, and must have hoped that they had seen the last of him. But he returned to Bucharest University three years later, taking up the position of tutor in Politics.The following year he led a student revolt in support of Nicolae Ceausescu, and after he became president, Balcescu was rewarded with a Cabinet post, as Minister of Education. But he soon became disillusioned with the Ceasescu regime, and within eighteen months he had resigned and returned to the university as a humble tutor.

Three years later he was offered the Chair of Politics and Economics.

Professor Baicescu's growing disillusionment with the government finally turned to anger, and in I986 he began writing a series of pamphlets denouncing Ceausescu and his puppet regime. A few weeks after a particularly vitriolic attack on the establishment, he was dismissed from his post at the university, and later placed under house arrest. A group of Oxford historians wrote a letter of protest to The Times, but nothing more was heard of the great scholar for several years. Then, late in I989, he was smuggled out of Romania by a group of students, finally reaching Britain via Bulgaria and Greece.

Cambridge won the battle of the universities to tempt him with a teaching post, and he became a fellow of Gonville and Caius in September 199o. In November 991, after the retirement of Sir Halford Mckay, Balcescu took over the Chair of Eastern European Studies.

Donald looked up. "There's a picture of him taken when he was inGreece, but it's too blurred to be of much use." I studied the black-and-white photograph of a bearded middleaged man surrounded by students. He wasn't anything like Jeremy. I frowned.

"Another blind alley," I said.

"It's beginning to look like it," said Donald. "Especially after what I found out yesterday. According to his secretary, Balcescu delivers his weekly lecture every Friday morning, from ten o'clock to eleven."

"But that wouldn't stop him from taking a call from Rosemary at midday," interrupted Jenny.

"If you'll allow me to finish," said Hackett sharply.

Jenny bowed her head, and he continued. "At twelve o'clock he chairs a full departmental meeting in his office, attended by all members of staff.

I'm sure you'll agree, Jenny, that it would be quite difficult TRIAL AND ERROR for him to take a personal call at that time every Friday, given the circ.u.mstances." Donald turned to me. "I'm sorry to say we're back where we started, unless you can remember where you've seen Mrs.

Balcescu." I shook my head. "Perhaps I was mistaken," I admitted.

Donald and Jenny spent the next few hours going over the files, even checking every one of the ten phone numbers a second time.

"Do you remember Rosemary's second call, sir," said Jenny, indesperation. ' "The Director's not in at the moment."

Might that be the clue we're looking for?"

"Possibly," said Donald. "If we could find out who the Director is, we might be a step nearer to Jeremy Alexander." I remember Jenny's last words before I left for my room.

"I wonder how many directors there are in Britain, chief."

Over breakfast in Donald's room the following morning, he reviewed all the intelligence that had been gathered to date, but none of us felt we were any nearer to a solution.

"What about Mrs. Balcescu?" I said. "She may be the person taking the call every Friday at midday, because that's the one time she knows exactly where her husband is."

"I agree. But is she simply Rosemary's messenger, or is she a friend of Jeremy's?" asked Donald.

"Perhaps we'll have to tap her phone to find out," said Jenny.

Donald ignored her comment, and checked his watch. "It's time to go to Balcescu's lecture."

"Why are we bothering?" I asked. "Surely we ought to be concentrating on Mrs. Balcescu."

"You're probably right,'

said Donald. "But we can't afford to leave any stone unturned, and as his next lecture won't be for another week, we may as well get it over with. In any case, we'll be out by eleven, and if we find Mrs.

Balcescu's phone is engaged between twelve and twelvethirty ... '

After Donald had asked Jenny to bring the car round to the front of the hotel, I slipped back into my room to pick up something that had been hidden in the bottom of my suitcase for several weeks. A few minutes later I joined them, and Jenny drove us out of the hotel carpark, turning right into the main road. Donald glanced at me suspiciously in the rear-view mirror as I sat silently in the back.

Did I look guilty ? I wondered.

Jenny spotted a parking meter a couple of hundred yards away from the Department of European Studies, and pulled in. We got out of the car and followed the flow of students along the pavement and up the steps. No one gave us a second look. Once we had entered the building, Donald whipped off his tie and slipped it in his jacket pocket. He looked more like a Marxist revolutionary than most of the people heading towards the lecture.

The lecture theatre was clearly signposted, and we entered it by a door on the ground floor, which turned out to be the only way in or out. Donald immediately walked up the raked auditorium to the back row of seats. Jenny and I followed, and Donald instructed me to sit behind a student who looked as if he spent his Sat.u.r.day afternoons playing lock forward for his college rugby team.

While we waited for Balcescu to enter the room, I began to lookaround. The lecture theatre was a large semi-circle, not unlike a miniature Greek amphitheatre, and I estimated that it could hold around three hundred students. By the time the clock on the front wall read 9.55 there was hardly a seat to be found.

No further proof was needed of the professor's reputation.

I felt a light sweat forming on my forehead as I waited for Balcescu to make his entrance. As the clock struck ten the door of the lecture theatre opened. I was so disappointed at the sight that greeted me that I groaned aloud. He couldn't have been less like Jeremy. I leaned across to Donald. "Wrong-coloured hair, wrong-coloured eyes, about thirty pounds too light." The Don showed no reaction.

"So the connection has to be with Mrs. Balcescu,"

whispered Jenny.

"Agreed," said Donald under his breath. "But we're stuck here for the next hour, because we certainly can't risk drawing attention to ourselves by walking out. We'll just have to make a dash for it as soon as the lecture is over. We'll still have time to see if she's at home to take the twelve o'clock call." He paused. "I should have checked the layout of the building earlier." Jenny reddened slightly, because she knew I meant you.

And then I suddenly remembered where I had seen Mrs.

Balcescu. I was about to tell Donald, but the room fell silent as the profes...o...b..gan delivering his opening words.

"This is the sixth of eight lectures," he began, 'on recent social and economic trends in Eastern Europe." In a thick Central European accent he launched into a discourse that sounded as if he had given it many times before. The undergraduates began scribbling away on their pads, but I became increasingly irritated by the continual drone of the professor's nasal vowels, as I was impatient to tell Hackett about Mrs.

Balcescu and to get back to Great Shelford as quickly as possible. I found myself glancing up at the clock on the wall every few minutes.

Not unlike my own schooldays, !

thought. I touched my jacket pocket. It was still there, even though on this occasion it would serve no useful purpose.

Halfway through the lecture, the lights were dimmed so the professor could ill.u.s.trate some of his points with slides.

I glanced at the first few graphs as they appeared on the screen, showing different income groups across Eastern Europe related to their balance of payments and export figures, but I ended up none the wiser, and not just because I had missed the first five lectures.

The a.s.sistant in charge of the projector managed to get one of the slides upside down, showing Germany bottom of the export table and Romania top, which caused a light ripple of laughter throughout the theatre. The professor scowled, and began to deliver his lecture at a faster and faster pace, which only caused thea.s.sistant more difficulty in finding the right slides to coincide with the Professor's statements.

Once again I became bored, and I was relieved when, at five to eleven, Balcescu called for the final graph. The previous one was replaced by a blank screen. Everyone began looking round at the a.s.sistant, who was searching desperately for the slide.

The professor became irritable as the minute hand of the clock approached eleven. Still the a.s.sistant failed to locate the missing slide. He flicked the shutter back once again, but nothing appeared on the screen, leaving the professor brightly illuminated by a beam of light. Balcescu stepped forward, and began drumming his fingers impatiently on the wooden lectern. Then he turned sideways, and I caught his profile for the first time. There was a small scar above his right eye, which must have faded over the years, but in the bright light of the beam it was clear to see.

"It's him!" I whispered to Donald as the clock struck eleven.

The lights came up, and the professor quickly left the lecture theatre without another word.

I leapt over the back of my bench seat, and began charging down the gangway, but my progress was impeded by students who were already sauntering out into the aisle. I pushed my way past them until I had reached ground level, and bolted through the door by whichthe professor had left so abruptly. I spotted him at the end of the corridor. He was opening another door, and disappeared out of sight.

I ran after him, dodging in and out of the chattering students.

When I reached the door that had just been closed behind him I looked up at the sign: PROFESSOR BALCESCU Director of European Studies I threw the door open, to discover a woman sitting behind a desk checking some papers. Another door was closing behind her.

"I need to see Professor Balcescu immediately," I shouted, knowing that if I didn't get to him before Hackett caught up with me, I might lose my resolve.

The woman stopped what she was doing and looked up at me.

"The Director is expecting an overseas call at any moment, and cannot be disturbed," she replied. "I'm sorry, but ... ' I ran straight past her, pulled open the door and rushed into the room, where I came face to face with Jeremy Alexander for the first time since I had left him lying on the floor of my drawing room. He was talking animatedly on the phone, but he looked up, and recognised me immediately. When I pulled the gun from my pocket, he dropped the receiver. As I took aim, the blood suddenly drained from his face.

"Are you there, Jeremy?" asked an agitated voice on the other end of the line. Despite the pa.s.sing of time, I had nodifficulty in recognising Rosemary's strident tones.

Jeremy was shouting, "No, Richard, no! I can explain !

Believe me, I can explain !" as Donald came running in. He came to an abrupt halt by the professor's desk, but showed no interest in Jeremy.

"Don't do it, Richard," he pleaded. "You'll only spend the rest of your life regretting it." I remember thinking it was the first time he had ever called me Richard.

"Wrong, for a change, Donald," I told him. "I won't regret killing Jeremy Alexander. You see, he's already been p.r.o.nounced dead once. I know, because I was sentenced to life imprisonment for his murder. I'm sure you're aware of the meaning of "autrefois acquit", and will therefore know that I can't be charged a second time with a crime I've already been convicted of and sentenced for.

Even though this time they will have a body." I moved the gun a few inches to the right, and aimed at Jeremy's heart. I squeezed the trigger just as Jenny came charging into the room. She dived at my legs.

Jeremy and I both hit the ground with a thud.

Well, as I pointed out to you at the beginning of this chronicle, I ought to explain why I'm in jail - or, to be more accurate, why I'm back in jail.

I was tried a second time; on this occasion for attemptedmurder despite the fact that I had only grazed the b.l.o.o.d.y man's shoulder. I still blame Jenny for that.

Mind you, it was worth it just to hear Matthew's closing speech, because he certainly understood the meaning of 'autrefois acquit'. He surpa.s.sed himself with his description of Rosemary as a calculating, evil Jezebel, and Jeremy as a man motivated by malice and greed, quite willing to cynically pose as a national hero while his victim was rotting his life away in jail, put there by a wife's perjured testimony of which he had unquestionably been the mastermind. In another four years, a furious Matthew told the jury, they would have been able to pocket several more millions between them. This time the jury looked on me with considerable sympathy.

"Thou shalt not bear false witness against any man," were Sir Matthew's closing words, his sonorous tones making him sound like an Old Testament prophet.

The tabloids always need a hero and a villain. This time they had got themselves a hero and two villains. They seemed to have forgotten everything they had printed during the previous trial about the overs.e.xed lorry driver, and it would be foolish to suggest that the page after page devoted to every sordid detail of Jeremy and Rosemary's deception didn't influence the jury.

They found me guilty, of course, but only because they weren'tgiven any choice. In his summing up the judge almost ordered them to do so. But the foreman expressed his fellow jurors' hope that, given the circ.u.mstances, the judge might consider a lenient sentence. Mr.

Justice Lampton obviously didn't read the tabloids, because he lectured me for several minutes, and then said I would be sent down for five years.

Matthew was on his feet immediately, appealing for clemency on the grounds that I had already served a long sentence. "This man looks out on the world through a window of tears," he told the judge. "I beseech your lordship not to put bars across that window a second time." The applause from the gallery was so thunderous that the judge had to instruct the bailiffs to clear the court before he could respond to Sir Matthew's plea.

"His lordship obviously needs a little time to think,"

Matthew explained under his breath as he pa.s.sed me in the dock.

After much deliberation in his chambers, Mr. Justice Lampton settled on three years. Later that day I was sent to Ford Open Prison.

After considerable press comment during the next few weeks, and what Sir Matthew described to the Court of Appeal as 'my client's unparalleled affliction and exemplary behaviour', I ended up only having to serve nine months.

Meanwhile, Jeremy had been arrested at Addenbrookes Hospital byAllan Leeke, Deputy Chief Constable of Cambridgeshire.

After three days in a heavily guarded ward he was charged with conspiracy to pervert the course of public justice, and transferred to Armley Prison to await trial. He comes before the Leeds Crown Court next month, and you can be sure I'll be sitting in the gallery following the proceedings every day. By the way, Fingers and the boys gave him a very handsome welcome. I'm told he's lost even more weight than he did trooping backwards and forwards across Europe fixing up his new ident.i.ty.