Free Name To a Face by Robert Goddard

turning towards evening by the time they left St. Ives. They had seen no more of Spargo. Hayley’s conclusion was that he had been frightened off by being spotted spying on them. Harding was far from convinced, though he did not say so. It seemed to him that the young man posed more of a threat than Hayley thought. He did not share her confidence that she could, as she put it, “handle Darren.” But he could hardly reveal why he was so doubtful. The theft of Harding’s phone gave Spargo the means to meddle painfully in his life. Whether he would was another question.
    Harding sensed Hayley was similarly holding back her reservations about his declared intention of probing the circumstances of Kerry Foxton’s diving accident. She thought he should leave well enough alone. That was clear. But she never actually said so. It was his decision. And she was happy to let him take it.
    It was a more complicated decision than she could know, of course. There was more to whet Harding’s curiosity than Barney and Carol’s conspicuous failure ever to have mentioned the incident. There was the need Harding was beginning to sense to arm himself against the unexpected-to learn as much as he could about two people he evidently did not know as well as they had let him suppose. Leaving well enough alone was not an option.
    He and Hayley parted outside Penzance railway station. During the train ride back from St. Ives, he had decided to ask her to dine with him at the Mount Prospect the following evening. He was surprised how disappointed he felt when she turned him down. But his disappointment did not last long.
    “I can’t tomorrow. But how about Tuesday? You’re not leaving until Wednesday are you?”
    “Tuesday’s fine.”
    “The auction will have come and gone by then. It’ll all be over.”
    “I suppose it will.” Somehow, though, Harding doubted it.
    “Until then, you’ll be careful, won’t you?”
    “You think I need to be?”
    “We all need to be.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thanks for today, Tim. I enjoyed it-despite Darren.”
    “So did I.”
    She smiled and nodded faintly. “Good.”
    There was only one Metherell in the directory with an Isles of Scilly address. Harding sat on his bed at the Mount Prospect, concocting a cover story even as he punched the numbers into the bedside phone.
    A woman answered. “Mercer House.”
    “Could I speak to John Metherell, please?”
    “Who’s calling?”
    “My name’s Hardy But he… doesn’t know me.”
    “Hold on.”
    Harding heard her call “John” and waited through a brief, muffled conversation before a gruff male voice came on the line.
    “John Metherell speaking. What can I do for you, Mr. Hardy?”
    “It’s a… delicate matter. I was wondering if I could come and talk to you about… Kerry Foxton.”
    There was a pause, during which Harding thought he heard Metherell sigh. “Oh yes?”
    “I gather you have a video… shot on the day of the accident.”
    Now there definitely was a sigh. “What’s your interest in this, Mr. Hardy?”
    “Kerry was a friend of mine. We lost touch. I only heard recently of her death. I’ve been… trying to understand what happened.”
    “What happened was a tragic accident. I don’t know that there’s anything more to be said. Especially not after all these years.”
    “It would really help me if you could… at least let me see the video.”
    “It won’t tell you anything.”
    “Maybe not. But-”
    “Where are you phoning from?”
    “Penzance. I’ve come a long way, Mr. Metherell. If you could just see your way clear to-”
    “All right.” A note of brisk compliance entered the man’s voice. “I don’t object to discussing it. Or showing you the video, come to that. If you’re willing to go to the trouble of flying over here.”
    “I am.”
    “Very well, then. When were you thinking of?”
    “Tomorrow?”
    Metherell clicked his tongue thoughtfully, then said, “Tomorrow it