women on the street to step into his vehicle for a bit of you-know-what. As far as they could tell us - these phone callers who, by the way, wouldn't leave their names - he was just a suspicious type. Those letters of yours" - he indicated the forgeries from the college - "don't add anything to the mix. Seems to me the important bit is not that he forged them - "
"He didn't," Barbara said. "He can't read or write."
"All right. Someone else forged them. A mate of his. A girlfriend. Who knows. Have you ever considered that he wouldn't have got himself hired as an apprentice at his age had he not had something to show he was a worthwhile risk? I daresay that's all these letters show."
"True enough," Barbara said. "But the fact remains - "
"The fact remains that the important bit is whether he did his job well once he got it. And that's what he did, yes? He served a fine apprenticeship up in Itchen Abbas. Then he began his own business. He's built that business up and, as far as I know, he has kept his nose clean."
"Sir - "
"I think that's the end of the story, don't you?"
As it happened, she didn't, but Barbara said nothing. Nor did Nkata. And as she was careful not to look at Winston, so was he careful not to look at her. For there was something that the chief superintendent wasn't dealing with: They'd said nothing at all to him about Gordon Jossie's serving an apprenticeship to Ringo Heath or to anyone else, and the fact that Whiting knew about one suggested once again that there was more to Gordon Jossie and his life in the New Forest than met the eye. To Barbara there was no question about it: Chief Superintendent Zachary Whiting was fully apprised as to what the more was.
MEREDITH DECIDED FURTHER action was called for after the phone call from Rob Hastings. She could tell the poor man was equal parts crushed to the core and riddled by guilt, and since part of this was due to her mouth running on about matters best left unsaid, she took a step to rectify things. She had seen just enough cop shows on the telly to know what to do when she made the decision to go to Lyndhurst. She was fairly confident that Gina Dickens wouldn't be in the lodgings that she claimed was hers above the Mad Hatter Tea Rooms since Gina had seemed fairly intent upon establishing her life with Gordon Jossie. Meredith reckoned that, in the pursuit of this end, she likely hadn't darkened her own doorway in days. Should she actually be in, Meredith had her excuse ready: Came to say sorry for being such a pest. I'm just upset. That part was the truth, at least, although being upset was only the half of it.
She'd begged the rest of the day off. Splitting headache, the heat, and that time of the month. She'd work at home if they didn't mind, where she could put a cold compress on her head. She nearly had most of the graphic done anyway. An hour more was all it would take to get it finished.
That was fine with the boss and off she went, and when she got to Lyndhurst she parked by the New Forest Museum and walked the short distance up to the tea rooms on the high street.
Midsummer, and Lyndhurst was thick with tourists. The town sat squarely in the centre of the Perambulation and was generally the first stop for visitors wishing to familiarise themselves with this part of Hampshire.
Gina's lodgings above the Mad Hatter Tea Rooms were accessed by a doorway that was separate from the tea rooms themselves, from which at this time of day the scent of baked goods rolled out onto the street. There were two lodging rooms only and since from one hip-hop music was blasting, Meredith chose the other. It was here she applied the knowledge she'd gained from watching police programmes on the telly. She used a credit card to ease the catch back. It took five tries and she was drenched in sweat - both from nerves and from the ambient temperature in the building - before she got inside. But when she managed it, she knew she'd made the right decision. For a mobile phone on the nightstand was ringing and as far as she was concerned, the ringing was