Good. Stemper studied the folded card which listed the breakfast menu. He didn’t look up until he sensed Quills approaching.
‘Good morning! What can I get you?’
‘Well, I was going to say just coffee, but those breakfasts look delicious. May I have scrambled egg on toast?’
Quills beamed. ‘My pleasure. Anything else?’
‘That’s all. Thank you.’
They maintained eye contact. Then Quills glanced at the retired couples before leaning forward and confiding: ‘I woke up this morning, convinced that I’d had the most
wonderful
dream.’
‘Really?’
‘I can’t get it out of my mind. Truth be told, I can’t get
you
out of my mind.’
A burst of laughter from the other table diverted their attention. Quills quickly reached out and brushed his hand against Stemper’s arm.
‘It sounds so ... clichéd, but it’s true. And I don’t make a habit, I really don’t ... I mean, I’d be mortified if you thought I was ... well, a predator or something.’
Stemper chuckled. ‘Rest easy, Bernard. You’re no predator.’
****
The holidaymakers kept him busy, but once or twice Quills stole a moment to sidle over and engage Stemper in conversation.
‘A day to yourself, is it? A chance to see the sights?’
‘I’m afraid not. More meetings.’
‘Oh, dear. All work and no play ...’
Stemper nodded. ‘I am a dull boy, indeed.’
‘And what is it you do, exactly?’
‘
Exactly
?’ Stemper echoed, with a glint in his eye. ‘Well, you probably know that silly phrase: “I could tell you, Bernard, but then I’d have to kill you.”’
And for half a second there was silence, before Stemper laughed and Quills, looking slightly uneasy, joined in, slapping his guest affectionately on the shoulder.
‘You’re a scream, Mr Hooper. So deadpan. You really should be on the stage.’
****
Stemper left the guest house at eight o’clock. He wore a grey suit and a reversible raincoat, beige side out. He was whistling to himself, cheerful about the tasks that lay ahead. He would earn the first of his bonuses today.
Last night he’d set out his proposal in detail. The Blakes had marvelled at his ingenuity, although his favoured approach was one he’d used on several occasions, and it was far from original. But it was undeniably effective, and it sent the authorities down all kinds of blind alleys.
The Blakes had readily agreed to help with the preparation, freeing up Stemper’s time for the immediate priority: Compton Property Services.
Its offices were located in a narrow street a short distance from Queens Road. Stemper was able to pull in at the kerb within sight of the property’s frontage, but he was already debating his next move. It wouldn’t be long before the city’s parking wardens came prowling.
He took out his phone and pretended to be engrossed in a series of texts. In twenty minutes only half a dozen vehicles passed him, including a Royal Mail van making deliveries. He saw the first warden, too, crossing the end of the street and giving him a professional once-over.
A pity. Before he moved on, Stemper wanted something: a development, a sign, a little bit of luck.
He got it.
In spades
, as the saying went.
****
A car roared past and braked sharply, darting into a marked-out bay in front of the office. Stemper sat forward in his seat, and used the camera on his phone to take a series of shots.
The car’s only occupant was a woman in a trouser suit: thirtyish, tall and statuesque. She might have been a candidate for the woman with Hank, except that she was too tall, too heavy, and she was Asian. Stemper guessed that even Traci was sharp enough not to have omitted such a detail.
He waited until the woman had unlocked the door and gone inside, then he called Jerry.
‘The BMW on Wednesday night. Could it have been a 335i Coupe?’
Jerry hummed as he thought about it. ‘Maybe. I’ll check one out on the net later and let you know. Can’t do it now. The Blakes have got me back at the farmhouse.’
‘Really?’ Stemper said, although he knew precisely what Jerry was doing today.
‘Yeah, and it’s gonna chuck it down later.’ Jerry’s next complaint was inaudible, and then he said, ‘Oh, you need to get the local paper, for the e-fits.’
‘I’ll take a look. I’m scoping out the property company at the moment.’
‘Is that where you saw the Beemer? It’s gotta be them, hasn’t it?’
‘Possibly. I hope to confirm it soon.’
‘You will, I’m sure.’ He sniffed. ‘Well, I’ve gotta say it, you know your stuff.’
‘Thank you, Jerry. I appreciate that.’
When it came to spinning those plates, manipulating people and situations with consummate skill, Robbie didn’t think there was much you could teach him. But he had to admit that Dan had done him a favour with the warning about the mystery photographer.
Before leaving the office last night he’d enquired after Indira’s plans for the weekend. Hearing that she was working tomorrow morning, then visiting family in Hertfordshire on Sunday, he had a proposal for her.
‘Why don’t you have the BMW and I’ll use your car?’
Sheer disbelief on her face. ‘What do you want in return?’
‘Nothing. I only have local calls, so anything's all right with me. Better that you and the family travel in comfort, eh?’
He could see the doubt in her eyes, but it didn’t stop her snatching the keys from his hand. Indira was a speed freak, and she’d coveted his BMW for years.
It meant Robbie was saddled with a five-year-old Citroen C4 Picasso. Bree would be less than impressed if she knew, he thought, as he located the address for his next chore of the day.
****
Maureen Heath lived in a detached house in Shirley Drive, to the east of Hove Park. It spoke of money, if not quite on the scale of Jimmy and Bree, whose home was only a couple of minutes away. Maureen had returned his call yesterday, suggesting they meet up first.
‘You look great from the pictures Bree’s shown me, but before I make up my mind I wanna see you in the flesh.’
Like he was a piece of meat
. Afterwards Robbie had wondered if he should be charging her for this: she was paying for his time, after all.
He put it to Bree when she called for an update, and she said, ‘Oh, don’t be a meanie. Just pop round and say hello. I bet she’ll be all over you like a rash.’
Nice image. It came back to him now, after a brief journey spent brooding about Jed. No way was that hundred quid going to this mate of his – more likely heading straight for Jed’s nearest off-licence or bookie.
If he screws me over, I’ll throw him out on his ear
.
But the Geordie was unpredictable. To get rid of him safely Robbie would need assistance, ideally in the form of a couple of granite-faced bouncer types. Buy a one-way ticket back to Newcastle or Sunderland or wherever it was, then tell the hard men to haul Jed out of the flat and dump him on the train.
Such an enticing plan, but it felt tantalising somehow, as though it could never go anything like as smoothly in practice. Robbie tutted, and was jolted back to the here and now because he was at the front door and she must have seen him on the path because the door was opening and—
****
Holy Jesus and Mary ...
For a second Robbie thought he had said it out loud. He blinked furiously, but the sight before his eyes refused to transform into something more appealing.
At worst he’d anticipated someone on the heavy side, maybe a bit tired-looking, but essentially well-maintained. Bree’s friends were, after all, moneyed women with a lot of time on their hands.
He’d been told Maureen was in her early fifties, around the same age as his mother. That couldn’t be right, could it?
He said a silent prayer:
Let this be
Maureen
’s
mother
.
‘Hiya, Robbie. I’m Maureen.’ She smiled, revealing uneven yellow teeth that appeared to be edged in boot polish. She was wearing way too much make-up, and the pink dress that encased her frame was obviously something designer, but was never going to flatter a shape like hers. She wasn’t much over five feet tall, and nearly as wide.
Bree, I’m going to kill you for this
.
Even worse was the poor personal hygiene, masked, but not entirely, by a sweet suffocating perfume. Beneath it lurked the odour of a dried-out harbour on a summer afternoon.
There was a meanness in her eyes that didn’t match her smile. When she registered the way he was looking at her, the smile vanished but the meanness stayed put. Her gaze dropped and she appraised him from the shoes up, taking her time at groin level, focusing on the bulge that, in the car, he had tweaked and encouraged, because at that point he’d still intended to make the best possible impression.
‘Hmm.’ She reached out and squeezed one of his biceps. ‘Yeah, good. Come on in.’
‘I thought this was only—’
‘Oh no, just nerves, that was.’ Her voice was fast and fluttery, like that Essex girl from
The X Factor
whose name escaped him.
‘Well, let’s see if we can sort out a date that’s convenient – if you’re sure you want to go ahead?’
‘Nah, I’m sure. Why doncha come in here and get your kit off?’
‘I can’t. I have to see a client.’
‘Bree said I was gonna be your first.’
‘No, my day job. I’m due out near Steyning in half an hour.’
‘Come back after, then.’ She stared him out, pouting. Her lips looked solid and grotesque: collagen?
Robbie swallowed, knowing that it would seem like a gulp. ‘This afternoon?’
‘Yeah. Bree tells me you’re shit-hot. I wanna see for myself.’
Robbie was trapped. He needed the money. More than that, he needed Bree’s alibi.
‘All right. Should be around two o’clock.’
He started to turn away but she called out: ‘Oy, not so fast,’ and before he could react she delivered a quick slobbery kiss with all the seductive skills of a clumsy dog. A dog that didn’t wash itself adequately.
****
Whatever his other failings, Dan considered himself a professional when it came to his conduct at work. The idea that he was capable of arguing with Hayley on the shop floor would have appalled him.
She sought his help after being ensnared by a classic time-waster: a young man wearing slacks and a bright green cagoule. He required a detailed comparison of plasma, LCD and LED televisions, and he wanted a demonstration that high-performance HDMI cables provided a better picture than ‘bog-standard’ cables.
Dan launched his well-practised spiel. Aware that any sign of impatience would invite more questions, his tactic was to display an almost manic enthusiasm for his subject, to the point where, having been out-anoraked, the time-waster became disgruntled and left.
Hayley stayed to enjoy the spectacle. It was showing signs of success when Dan happened to look at an array of televisions just as the e-fits flashed up on every screen. Dan froze mid-word, then forced a grin and tapped his temple.
‘Sorry, lost my train of thought there. What was I ...?’
‘Advances in 3D.’ The young man greeted the interruption with delight: he’d take this as a points victory. ‘I think I have what I need for now.’
He strode off without a word of thanks. When Dan turned back, the news had moved on but Hayley was studying him carefully.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Apart from wanting to strangle him with a bog-standard cable, yeah.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ she said. ‘Those pictures.’
‘What pictures?’
She moved directly in front of him. ‘Those photofit things. You looked really freaked out.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. What are you keeping from me, Daniel?’
‘Leave it, please.’ He tried to retreat but there was a display unit in the way.
‘You’re hiding something. Tell me what it is.’
‘Hayley, you’re wrong.’ He indicated the shop. Other customers were milling around, some of them waiting for assistance. ‘And like you said, this isn’t the time or place—’
‘I don’t care any more. Can’t you see how hurtful this is?’
And in that instant, terrified by the thought that on the next bulletin she would examine the e-fits and spot the likeness to Robbie or himself, he lost his temper.
‘Christ, Hayley, will you leave it alone? Do you think this makes me look forward to married life with you, knowing I’ll have to account for every bloody moment of my day?’
A discreet cough, and Denham was alongside, nodding Hayley in the direction of a couple who were gaping at the outburst. To Dan: ‘A word in my office, Mr Wade.’
Stemper remained in position until just before nine, when a Jaguar XK parked next to the BMW. The quality of the cars had him thinking that business must be booming, never mind the financial crisis.
Judging by her Jag and her suit, he guessed this was the company’s owner: Teresa Scott. Staff information on the website was sadly lacking, with only a couple of poorly taken group photographs. Perhaps estate agents, even on the letting side, took care not to be recognised in public.
After locking her car, the woman produced cigarettes and a lighter from her handbag and lit up as she approached the door to the building. She took a deep hungry drag, nudged the door open with her foot and began a conversation with someone inside – the Asian woman, presumably, as Stemper had seen no one else go in.
Tapping ash on to the pavement, she glanced along the street and gazed for a second or two at his car. Stemper ignored her, continuing his fictitious phone call until a full minute had passed, then started the car and drove away.