Guilty Pleasures (25 page)

Whoops, I really had offended him, hadn't I? I said humbly, ‘Thank you, Harvey. I'm really grateful. And if you recognize anyone else you'll promise to come straight back to me?'

‘Darling, of course. Now, you will take care, won't you? Just in case he's turned out badly. Promise?'

I promised. And this time I didn't have my fingers crossed behind my back.

TWENTY-FIVE

I
sent the JPEG to both Freya and Morris, plus Harvey's identification of the man as Burgess Rushton.

Morris phoned back immediately. ‘I'm sorry – I've had baby crisis here. But it's all cleaned up now, and the nanny's arrived and calm prevails. Every time I picked up the phone, there's been another squall. What didn't come out one end came out the other. I don't know if it's a bug or something she's eaten. Sorry, too much information!'

It was, definitely. But maybe that's what parenthood did to people.

‘Anyway, here I am, looking at Burgess Rushton and ready to run every check going. I'll be back to you the moment I have.'

It wasn't long before Griff wandered in. Hand on hips, he peered at the screen. ‘Why is it that every undistinguished face seems vaguely familiar? Even more than vaguely, perhaps . . . But with a name like Burgess Rushton, he ought to stand out.'

‘Why not look at the rest, with him in mind?' I suggested, pushing him into the chair and producing his reading glasses. If I hassled him, he'd remember something just to please me, so I went back to the Toby jug.

Not for long. The phone rang again, and Griff summoned me down to talk to Freya.

‘Have you heard from Robin yet?' she asked, almost breathlessly. Just as I'd ask about Morris.

‘Not yet. But the post comes at all hours.'

‘You're expecting a bloody postcard with a second-class stamp? Can't the bugger use the fucking phone?' I heard her draw breath. ‘Sorry, Lina. The whole situation's getting to me. And now I've got Morris to worry about too – though I shouldn't have said that, should I?'

‘I think I'd gathered already,' I said mildly. ‘I suppose there's no sign of Cashmere Roll-Neck, the guy you assume's a corpse?'

‘Simon Bonnaventure,' she said sharply. ‘No. Nor of Ms Pargetter.'

‘Tell me,' I interrupted her, ‘do you want Fi as a possible victim or as a likely criminal?'

‘No comment. No sighting of your putative siblings either. They've vanished into thin air. Why can't the bloody countryside have CCTV?'

‘What about the sighting of my double in Tenterden that Morris phoned you about? Last night, outside Griff's partner's house,' I prompted, giving his address.

She whistled. ‘That must be must be worth an arm and a leg.'

I didn't have time to discuss real estate. ‘Lots of CCTV coverage round there, he said.'

‘Shit, it's still on my To Do list. I'll get on to it. Now.' She cut the call.

It was a good job she did. It was nearly midday, for goodness' sake, and she still hadn't checked. I was so furious that I had a pick at the last few scabs from the gravel rash from my fall at St Jude's and made my knee bleed.

Cross with a lot of people, including myself, I still managed to work. I'd just signed off the Toby jug when Griff called. I went down expecting lunch; what I got was a printout.

‘Make-up artists in the Kent area,' he declared with a flourish. He picked up the sheets. ‘One or two of them known to me personally. I thought I might make a phone call or two. No, goodness me, not to interrogate them, but to ask if they had any dodgy colleagues.'

‘What if they turned out to be the dodgy one?' I asked. ‘Oh, Griff, you're as bad as I am for sticking your nose in. Leave it to Freya's team.' He was silent. ‘Oh, Griff, you already have, haven't you? OK, what did you discover?'

‘I only phoned my oldest contacts. And they knew nothing. I swore them to secrecy, incidentally – but then, you know what gossips all theatrical folk are. So I also made them swear to keep my name out of it. All the same, you might prefer not to mention me when you send the details to Freya?'

I hugged him. ‘I might indeed.' I didn't point out that even if Freya didn't have the time to delegate googling to one of her team, the MIT was supposed to be awash with people and technology. But she was in some strange competition with them, wasn't she, and might welcome Griff's bit of homework.

Lazing in the sun with an occasional bit of gardening would have been the best option for this afternoon, but now the Meissen called, and even when that was finished there was plenty waiting in the queue. I was just about to allow myself a stretch and a break for some of Griff's home-made lemonade when the office phone rang. Since I suspected Griff was asleep under that straw hat of his, I nipped down myself.

‘Darling Lina, I think I may have recognized another face in your rogue's gallery. A woman's, this time. The trouble is, I can't remember her name, not all of it. She married an actor and rather dropped out of the antiques scene. I'll send her photo through anyway. And to that copper of yours?'

‘Please.' The fact that he'd mentioned Morris gave me the right to mention his wife, didn't it? ‘Harvey, this is really awkward. Your wife—'

‘What about her?'

‘It's just that she knows Arthur Habgood.'

‘She has bad taste in friends as well as husbands, I'm afraid. I thought you handled the suggested visit to his twee little shop with great dignity, Lina. She knows I loathe the man; I think I may have mentioned to her the harm he's tried to do you. She was just being malicious, something she does very well. I think – please, never allude to this – I think losing . . . She had several miscarriages, and we never had the large family we both wanted. She's become more and more bitter. Perverse. And sometimes it's infectious. We both do things to annoy the other.'

‘So when we all ate together, Griff and I were pawns in your private chess game? Thanks a bunch, Harvey.'

‘I thought I'd be on my own when I invited you. She found out and insisted on coming. I'm sorry. Anyway, as far as I know, your possible grandfather has expanded his business by opening a cafe and local produce shop. I think he's too busy to be involved in any more malevolence against you. But my ear will be constantly to the ground.'

Did I recognize the woman in the JPEG? Maybe I did; perhaps she'd bought some paperbacks from me. But I couldn't swear to it. Griff squinted at the screen too, but eventually shook his head. He jabbed a finger at her eyes and temples. ‘A face job, and not a good one, I'd say. So she may be older than she wishes us to think. If only we could see her hands: always a giveaway. Was she with the other man – the one with the name like a firm of gentleman's outfitters or some Leicestershire village?'

‘Burgess Rushton. Not in any of the photos, not as far as I can see. But that doesn't mean anything either way.'

‘Thieves are like wolves, aren't they? They hunt in packs. And don't forget that there were three people involved when you first came across the snuffbox. One to make off with the box; a second to promise to dial nine nine nine; a third to trip you up. Maybe a fourth, to jemmy the van. Or one of the others could have done that, of course.'

‘A jemmy's not the sort of thing the average punter takes to a church fête, though. And in my day you could get arrested even for carrying one round, on the grounds you were going to use it for something.'

He looked at me sideways, as he always did when I referred to my teen years, the ones before he came on the scene. ‘They couldn't have known they might need to use it on your van, angel heart. But it does seem to me they must have known the box was going to be at the fête. Didn't you and Robin act on that principle when you went to see Colonel Bridger?'

I nodded. ‘Robin said they'd only have had to ask him and provide reasonable proof of ownership and he'd have handed it back. He might have asked them to reimburse me, but that's all.'

‘All the stuff on sale was brought along or collected from local people. No, bear with my poor slow brain for a moment. Someone sees you handling it; takes it; has to get rid of it – the sort of person who wouldn't want his or her reputation soiled by an accusation of theft. It's also someone who lives close enough to slip back home and return to the fête before you decamp in the van. Please don't frown – you'll end up with wrinkles.'

‘What about all the other odds and ends? The church itself being robbed? The double of mine going round assaulting people?'

‘I wish I had the answers. Meanwhile, perhaps some lunch in the garden – I've prepared a Salade Niçoise – might help you think.'

It did. But not the sort of thought he wanted.

‘Go down to the coast and flush her out? Are you out of your mind? What would dear Morris say?'

‘I didn't say I'd do it on my own. But if she is my half-sister, she may share my dislike of people muscling in on her territory. Dislike! I hate it, Griff. I don't care about Bonnaventure, apart from the crime scene being at your favourite haunt—' Hell, I'd not meant him to know that. ‘Near Hythe Waitrose,' I explained, quickly adding: ‘Then there's Josie down in Hastings, and Aidan in Tenterden. Poor X – Graham Parker – in Kenninge. Not to mention the attack on you in Bredeham. I want her out of here. Now.'

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me gently down beside him. ‘Striding round in this heat's going to get you hot and bothered and not much else. You're making too many assumptions, loved one. You're confusing actual crimes and the sightings of a woman who looks like you. She may have nothing to do with them, though I concede that things look bad for her in connection with that man Bonnaventure's disappearance. If she is involved with any or all of the others, look at it from another viewpoint – she wanted, and in this she's partially succeeded, to implicate you in her crimes. I know nothing about the ins and outs of DNA, but I do get the general idea that there are family similarities.' He coughed gently. ‘Have you discussed all this with Freya?'

‘No. But I'm sure if they'd found an exact match at any of the crime scenes she wouldn't be hobnobbing with me. And neither would Morris.' I suddenly heard Freya's voice, observing that I dragged his name into the conversation whenever I could. ‘I wonder if she's heard from Robin yet,' I said quickly, trying to change the conversation in my head as much as with Griff. ‘Oh, Griff, what if Tom, the rural dean, is part of it? He saw me with Cashmere Roll-Neck, after all, which means, looking at it another way, I saw Tom with Cashmere Roll-Neck, doesn't it? Simon Bonnaventure,' I added, cross with myself for forgetting his name.

‘Not quite. You saw them near each other, but not in conversation. And taking you to pray, slice it how one may, doesn't sound like the work of a bad man. Trust your instincts, sweet one. Just as your friends trust your instincts about you. Even Harvey, whose treatment of you wasn't particularly admirable, still cares enough about you to try to identify strangers in bad photographs, not to mention sending work your way.'

I snorted. ‘I sometimes wonder if he only cares for me because he knows I shall bring his precious china and porcelain back from the dead.' I got to my feet. ‘I'd better go and do a bit more res . . . resuc . . . Oh, Griff, these words are so difficult and I try so hard. Resuscitation!' I grinned. ‘It sounds as if I've got bad hay fever, doesn't it?'

The computer was still purring away in the office. Remembering that I ought to be green, I reached to switch it off. The mouse movement brought up the email in-box, complete with the photo Harvey had sent. I looked at the JPEG, again doctored so that the woman's face was brighter than everyone else's. No, I didn't recognize it. But I did recognize the woman she was talking to: Fi Pargetter. And then I remembered that Robin and Simon Bonaventure weren't the only people to have gone walkabout. I emailed the photo to Freya. Her problem.

TWENTY-SIX

‘
L
ock me safely in, if you want, but for goodness' sake free my poor child from what has become her cage and take her on a lovely walk. She's been cooped up in her workroom all day and needs to stride out and get some air in her lungs.'

I looked from Griff to Morris and back again. I ought to insist that Morris take Griff too, but my mouth wouldn't quite manage it.

‘I might take a taxi over to Tenterden and let Aidan babysit me: surely that would be safe enough?'

‘I'm sure it would,' Morris said. ‘Especially if you were driven over and then collected by a police officer.' A policeman, giving up his evening so two old men could enjoy each other's company? It seemed a bit extravagant. Or did I smell a rat? The two of them had been talking for several minutes before I could let go the piece I was working on and run down to join them. But then, as Morris smiled at me, the penny dropped. ‘Besides which, we need to change the hire car, and you have to do that in person, Lina. Then we can drop you in Tenterden, Griff. I don't know if there are any exciting walks near there, but I'm sure we'll find one.'

At first I thought it was strange that Morris kept Griff and me talking outside Aidan's house, when the two old ducks were plainly ready to go and eat whatever feast Aidan had bought. It was only after he took my hand and led me away, promising to return in a couple of hours, that it dawned on me that he'd kept me within sight of the nearest CCTV camera, probably facing it most of the time.

‘All this stuff about a brisk walk,' Morris began.

‘Don't know where that came from. Unless,' I added slowly, thinking of the plan I'd let slip to Griff, ‘you'd fancy a trip down to Hastings, to see—'