The Jaguar was registered to Stephen Marris: a 1997 XJ in British Racing Green.
A repair shop had worked on the left rear bumper four days after Bull's second visit to Brookland. There had been a scrape and a shallow dent. Marris had said he struck a gatepost.
Eleanor read the date.
"Oliver saw the scratch before the repair."
"Yes," Relf said.
"That could be the car."
"It could."
He placed another sheet beside it.
Marris wore a size eleven. He had lived in Hong Kong from 1991 to 2001, and his right leg had been left with restricted movement after the climbing accident. He had rung at university and in Hong Kong, though he had not belonged to a local band for years.
"And Bull?" Eleanor asked.
"Called him twice in the week before he died."
She looked up.
"Now we go?"
Relf gathered the papers.
"Now we go."
Marris lived in a converted oast house.
He answered the door in slippers. He was thin, white-haired and moved with a stiff right leg. When Relf introduced Eleanor, Marris gave no sign of recognising her name.
"What's this about?"
"Dr Adrian Bull."
Marris stepped back from the door.
They followed him inside.
"How well did you know him?" Relf asked.
"Slightly."
"When did you last see him?"
"A few weeks ago."
"Not more recently?"
Marris considered.
"No."
"Did he telephone you last week?"
"He may have."
"Twice."
"If that's what your records say."
"What did he want?"
"I don't remember."
"Was it about church bells?"
Marris glanced at Eleanor.
"Possibly."
"You used to ring?"
"Yes."
"At university?"
"And elsewhere."
"Hong Kong?"
"Yes."
Relf made a note.
"Do you know Bernard Hatherley?"
"Yes."
"Benjamin Hale?"
"No."
Relf waited.
"I don't think so," Marris added.
"Would a photograph help?"
"Perhaps."
Eleanor watched him while Relf put away his notebook. Marris seemed relieved that the questions had stopped.
"The Jaguar outside is yours?"
"Yes."
"Have you had work done on the bumper recently?"
Marris looked towards the window.
"Is this about my car?"
"In part."
"Then you can examine it when you have the authority to do so."
"I haven't asked to examine it."
"I'm making my position clear."
Relf stood.
"Thank you for your time."
"That's all?"
"For now."
Marris led them to the door.
Three pairs of shoes stood against the hall wall. One was a pair of large black walking boots.
Eleanor looked at them briefly, then stepped outside.
At the car, Relf said, "I saw them."
"Can you have them examined?"
"We'll see what we can establish."
She looked back at the oast house. Marris had already shut the door.
He left forty minutes later.
Two officers followed the Jaguar into Rye. Marris parked, went into a charity shop and came out again. Then he drove towards the coast.
Beside a public litter bin, he stopped.
He got out carrying a plastic bag, pushed it into the bin and returned to the car.
One officer stayed with the Jaguar. The other recovered the bag.
Inside were the walking boots.
The subsequent examination found more than a match to the make. The size and wear corresponded with the impressions beside the tenor rope. A distinctive cut in the heel also corresponded with a mark in the dust.
Material lodged in that cut was consistent with debris from the ringing-chamber floor.
Relf telephoned Eleanor.
"We have Marris's boots."
She put down her pen.
"The ones in the hall?"
"Yes. He threw them into a litter bin."
"And they match?"
"The tread, the size and the wear. There's material in the heel we're comparing with the tower floor."
"Are you arresting him?"
"Yes. On suspicion of murder."
Eleanor looked at her notes. Marris's name was still underlined beside the car description.
"So he was downstairs."
"We have evidence that his boots were."
"He was wearing them, Arthur."
"That's what I think. We'll ask him."
"And whether he pulled the rope."
"Yes."
"Where are you?"
"On my way to his house."
"I could come —"
"No. I'll telephone when there's something to tell you."
She let him end the call.
For the first time, they had something recovered from a man they could question, rather than a name that might fit or a recollection from years ago.
She opened her notebook to the account of Bull's death.
The boots did not tell them what had happened when the bell moved.