Chapter Nine
"So, Collins - what do we have from the hunt for sightings of Tombs?"
"Two things, sir - neither of which makes a great deal of sense."
"Go on," said Jack, sitting forward with interest. In his experience, the facts that didn't make sense were often the ones that pointed to the answer - and showed him he'd been asking the wrong question.
Collins got out his notebook. "Well, there's been a bunch of cranks as usual, who just want a chat but didn't actually see anything. Then there's the possible sightings that seem unlikely but we've recorded for follow up - like the positive sighting by a lady who lives in Essendon who swears she saw Tombs there."
He flipped over a couple of pages. "But then, there's these two. One, a merchant seaman, says he knows the guy but that he's called Rosy, and he's been AWOL from the ship since Monday. The other is even more weird - a chap who says he saw the guy for definite - on Wednesday. Alive, and walking around. With a suitcase."
"Collins, Tombs was in no condition to carry a suitcase on Wednesday," said Jack disbelievingly. "And about the sailor - is he really called Rosie?"
"Rosy-with-a-y, sir," explained Hugh. The last thing he wanted was to get into reminiscences about the boss' former wife. "On account of a tattoo, apparently. Of a flower."
Jack furrowed his brow, and sat back. There was something nagging at his memory.
"Thanks, Collins - give me a minute."
The sergeant nodded, and closed the office door as he left.
Something that Dawlish had said was a clue. He was sure of it. To do with the funeral? Come to think of it, he'd had to be reminded about the need for one. Then he'd worried about how much it would cost …
Insurance.
All of a sudden, the cogs in his brain were working furiously. How …? No. Surely not. The callous audacity was truly astonishing, if he was right.
"Collins!"
A head popped round the door.
"Get me the telephone number of the Australian Mutual Provident Society."
"Yessir". The head disappeared, and reappeared a minute later, along with the rest of the torso and a slip of paper with a number written on it. Snatching it from Collins' hand, Jack gestured to the seat before his desk with one hand and reached for the telephone with the other.
"Hello. This is Detective Chief Inspector Jack Robinson and I need to speak to someone in authority as soon as possible. Yes, if the Managing Director is available, he will want to know about this. Yes, I'll wait."
He drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently.
"Hello? Yes, DCI Jack Robinson speaking, but because of what I'm about to tell you, I'm going to encourage you most strongly not to believe me. I'll explain. I am investigating a murder, and I would be very interested to know if you have a policy in operation, insuring the life of one Seth Tombs, of Prahran. If you do, and if it was taken out recently, I would be particularly interested. However, as it's a case of potential fraud, I'm going to hang up now. What I would like is for you to check your company's position and then look up the telephone number of City South Police Station. Ask for me, and then you will be sure that, in this matter at least, you are dealing with the person who is what he claims to be."
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then a few brief words.
"I quite agree. I look forward to speaking to you soon."
Jack hung up, and looked at Hugh, whose brow was furrowed in confusion.
Jack explained his suspicion.
Hugh blanched. Then he offered to go and ask a key question of a potentially important member of the merchant marine; and the offer was accepted with alacrity.
In the few minutes that had taken, the telephone rang. Jack gestured to Hugh to remain seated as he picked up the receiver.
"DCI Robinson. Yes, I did. Have you … I see. Is that unusual? Yes. Today? Good Lord. What time? Please tell your people to say nothing, and to expect me. No, thank you."
He replaced the receiver.
"Get the car, Collins - I think we're about to catch a fraudster, who can lead us to a murderer."
