On the drive back to Rye, Eleanor worked through what Claire had told them.
"He denied seeing Bull. He denied ever ringing. His wife contradicted both."
"Yes," Relf said.
"The injury fits. So does Hong Kong. And his initials are in the diary."
"We haven't established that those initials refer to him."
"What more do you need?"
"Something that puts him in the church."
She looked across at him.
"The footwear?"
"We haven't examined his."
"His car?"
"Being checked."
"His alibi?"
"He says he was at home alone."
"And he knew about the bell frame."
Relf nodded, watching the road.
Eleanor waited.
"What bothers you?"
"His lies."
"They bother me too."
"Bull's death looked like an accident. If Hatherley arranged it, he did it well enough to leave us arguing about whether a crime occurred. Then he denies two things we can check by speaking to his wife."
"He might have panicked."
"He might."
Relf slowed behind a lorry.
"And the rope was left loose."
She remembered Martin's account: seven down knots, the tenor rope on the floor.
"An experienced ringer would have known how it should be left," Relf said.
"Knowing isn't the same as remembering to do it."
"No. I'm not ruling him out."
She watched the lorry's brake lights.
"But you don't think we've finished."
"We haven't started asking him the right questions yet."
The car did not fit.
Hatherley owned a Jaguar, but it was silver and six years old. Claire said he had never owned a dark green XJ. The ownership records they checked supported her.
That did not tell them who had driven Bull to Brookland.
Relf went back to Oliver.
"Are you certain it was an XJ?"
"Yes."
"Could it have been another model?"
"No."
"Another make?"
Oliver looked at him as though the question was unreasonable.
"It was an old XJ. Dark green."
He remembered the damaged bumper just as clearly. They still had no registration.
The footwear report arrived later.
Eleanor read it in Relf's office. The tread had been identified as belonging to a rubber-soled walking boot sold primarily through a Hong Kong retailer in the late nineties and early two thousands.
"Hatherley left in 1988," she said.
"He went back."
"How often?"
"Several times. Business, conferences, holidays."
She turned to the wear analysis.
It was consistent with a longstanding abnormality affecting the right leg: restricted ankle movement, or some other alteration in the wearer's gait. It did not identify the injury that had caused it.
Hatherley still fitted. So might someone else.
Eleanor put the report down.
"Who knew about his accident?"
"Family. Friends. People he worked with."
"Bull?"
"Yes."
She looked at the diary copy beside the report.
"We found an injured man whose name fitted the initials. We've been trying to attach everything else to him."
Relf leaned back.
"Go on."
"Suppose someone expected us to do that."
"You think he's being implicated deliberately?"
"I don't know. But we haven't even established that Margaret's Bernard is Hatherley."
Relf reached for the telephone.
Margaret Bull looked at the photograph Relf brought her.
"No."
"Take your time."
She moved it closer, then shook her head.
"That isn't the man I met."
"This is Bernard Hatherley. He knew your brother in Hong Kong."
"I'm sure he did. Adrian knew a great many people."
"You remember meeting Bernard only once?"
"Yes."
"And it was years ago."
"I know how long ago it was, Inspector."
Relf let the question rest.
Margaret looked at the photograph again.
"Perhaps Adrian knew two Bernards."
Then she stood.
"Wait here."
They heard her climb the stairs. A door opened overhead, followed by the sound of something being moved.
Eleanor kept her hands in her lap.
When Margaret returned, she carried a biscuit tin.
"Adrian sent photographs. I've kept them."
She emptied the tin onto the table.
There were ships, swimming pools, crowded dinners and people Eleanor did not recognise. In one, Bull stood beneath an umbrella in heavy rain, grinning at the camera.
Margaret sorted through them, setting some aside without more than a glance.
"This one."
Bull stood beside another man on a quayside. The man was thin and dark-haired, turned slightly away from the camera.
On the back, in faded blue ink, was written:
Adrian & Ben — HK, 1982
"Ben?" Eleanor asked.
Margaret read the inscription.
"That's what Adrian called him. I may have been wrong about Bernard."
"Do you remember a surname?" Relf asked.
"No. I'm sorry."
He turned the photograph over.
Behind the men, part of a sign was visible. With a magnifying glass they could read:
HONG KONG & KOWLOON GODOWN —
The rest was obscured.
"What did Ben do?" Eleanor asked.
"I don't know. Something to do with shipping, probably. So many of Adrian's friends out there did."
Relf placed the photograph beside the recent picture of Hatherley.
They were plainly different men.
"May we borrow this?" he asked.
Margaret nodded.
"Please bring it back."
They returned to Hatherley's house after dark.
This time he let them in without waiting for an explanation.
"You've spoken to Claire."
"Yes," Relf said.
"I imagine she told you I lied."
They followed him into the study. He poured himself a whisky, then sat with the glass in his hand.
"Why did you?" Relf asked.
Hatherley looked towards Eleanor.
"I haven't rung for years."
"You said you never had."
"Yes."
"And you told us you hadn't seen Bull recently."
Hatherley took a drink.
"I saw him on Monday."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Not at the church?"
"No."
"What did he want?"
For a while Hatherley watched the whisky settle in his glass.
"He wanted to ask about Ben."
Relf took out the photograph and laid it on the table.
Hatherley leaned forward. His hand stopped halfway to the glass.
"You know him?" Relf asked.
"Yes."
"His full name?"
Hatherley continued looking at the picture.
"Mr Hatherley?"
"You don't understand what Adrian was involved in."
"Then help us understand."
Hatherley drew the photograph towards him.
"Benjamin Harcourt."
Eleanor looked at Relf. He had turned towards her.
Hatherley noticed.
"What?"
"My surname is Harcourt," she said.
He studied her face.
"What was your father's name?"
She told him.
Hatherley set down his glass. He looked at the photograph once more, then back at her.
"Adrian didn't meet Ben by chance in Hong Kong," he said. "Ben was the reason he went."
Eleanor waited.
"Who was he?"
"Your uncle."