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young chap”. How old would that be?’
    Mildred Jones said ‘about twenty’. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, that on the whole men of twenty don’t elope with women of fifty. I really need to talk to Mildred face to face.’
    Tom wrenched off his tie and sent for coffee. They sat in his glass office. A few men and women in uniform or plain-clothes passed by. There was something uncanny about seeing them, yet knowing they couldn’t see in.
    Tom said suddenly, ‘Are you anywhere near West Hampstead Cemetery?’ Wexford said he didn’t think so. ‘There’s a tomb in there to the Grand Duke Michael of Russia. He was some relation of the last Tsar, but he was exiled after he married a commoner. She was a countess but that wasn’t good enough for the Imperial family, so he had to leave Russia. A piece of luck or good judgement or you could say that God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. Michael would have met the same fate as the rest of them when the Revolution came. Instead he lived a peaceful life in Hampstead with the wife he was wise enough to marry and died of natural causes.’
    ‘I’ll go and have a look at his grave,’ said Wexford. He was to learn that Tom sometimes digressed in this way. Quite abruptly Wexford said, ‘Teeth!’
    ‘Yes, well, of course. Teeth were almost the first means of identification we thought of. But you know something? Teeth – or I suppose I should say dentition – aren’t the infallible clue to who someone is they used to be. We’ve such a large immigrant community. We have asylum seekers. Traffickedwomen, too, I’m sorry to say. A lot of these people who come here from Asia or even Eastern Europe have never been to a dentist. Or if they have the dentist may never be found. And with NHS dentists difficult to find, thousands of people who haven’t money to spare economise by not looking after their teeth.’
    ‘And this applies to the four in the coal hole?’
    ‘The patio-tomb is what I call it,’ said Tom.
    The vault, Wexford thought to himself. He repeated his question.
    ‘It would seem to apply to three of them. The older man’s teeth were what you might call in ruins. He’d lost a few and the remaining ones must have given him a lot of pain, but it appears he’d never been to a dentist. He’d had no treatment at all. Ever. The younger man also had had no attention to his teeth, but he was young and apart from one molar which needed a filling, his were all right. The younger woman had fairly bad teeth which must have pained her, but she’d had no dental treatment, while the reverse is true of the older woman. She had had a number of implants, crowns and bridges – very expensive dental work, but so far we’ve been unable to trace where this was done. It may even have been in America and we’ll find out, but it takes time.’
    ‘This again points to her being Harriet Merton.’
    Tom nodded abstractedly. He looked at his watch, said, ‘Well, I’m needed at this conference in half an hour’s time, but we’ll be in touch. I’ll ring you. Meanwhile, Lucy will drive you home.’
    Wexford told himself not to feel he had been peremptorily dismissed. If Tom had a conference to go to – and Wexford knew only too well how many conferences, seminars, symposia, launches, lectures, meetings and exchange-of-views groups now filled policemen’s lives – so well and good. He couldn’tcomplain. They had discussed everything that needed to be discussed. Tom would call him. But he refused the offer of a lift home. He would take a bus and walk the nicest part.
    Up Pattison Road to the West Heath in the sunshine. Someone had told him that the ex-King of Greece lived up here and he looked with a sightseer’s interest at the house he thought must be the one. But there was no sign of royalty and Wexford felt a certain disappointment as he had never seen a king. He paused to sniff at a branch of white blossom, but was disappointed. Still, the tree on which it