****
He parked at the railway station, took his briefcase and walked down Queens Road, purchasing an
Argus
en route. In Western Road he found a cafe, drank a cappuccino and checked the paper.
The e-fits were a letdown. He could see the vagueness, the strangeness that wouldn’t correspond to any living being. The barmaid’s verbal descriptions were more useful than these.
The coffee finished, he went into the Gents and locked himself in a cubicle. Sitting with the briefcase on his lap, he used spirit gum to fix a neat moustache, made from real human hair. He added the glasses, and considered false teeth, before deciding that might be too much.
He ambled down North Street and reached the office for ten o’clock. Both cars were still present, along with a more modest Peugeot saloon. As he drew level with the front window, Stemper saw a man perched on one of the desks inside. But he was in his mid-forties, with thinning blond hair and a hefty beer belly. Not one of the two men in the pub.
After studying the letting notices in the window, Stemper went inside. The man was talking on a mobile, his posture suggesting that he wouldn’t be staying long. Teresa Scott was also on the phone, massaging her cheek as if to distract herself from the conversation.
That left the Asian woman. She stood up as he approached and gave him a bright, professional smile.
‘Good morning. How may I be of assistance?’
‘I’m applying for a promotion that would see me moving to Sussex for at least six months. I’d like to see what sort of home I can rent for my money – that is, my employer’s money.’ He laughed, and so did she, and he thought:
I’m in
.
****
And he stayed in for nearly half an hour, by virtue of the fact that he took a slow, methodical look at every current property that met his potential requirements: minimum three bedrooms, maximum rent of four thousand a month. The Asian woman, who’d introduced herself as Indira, expressed only polite admiration for the sum involved, but from then on her eye contact was a lot more frequent, her smile far wider than before.
He gave her a false name and address, but the email and mobile details were valid. She promised to keep him informed of each new property as soon as it came on their books.
‘That’s very good of you.’ He made a show of looking around. The blond man had long since departed, and Teresa Scott had continued to field a succession of calls. ‘I am glad I spotted this place. Are there other branches?’
‘No, we’re very much a boutique business here.’
‘And surviving the recession, I’m pleased to see.’
‘Well, it’s a struggle, but we have the benefit of a great reputation, as well as the fact that Brighton – and the rest of Sussex – remains very popular.’
‘Certainly seems busy. Is it a large team?’
‘Oh, there’s ...’ She closed her eyes to count. ‘Six, no, seven of us, so not many. It’s a family firm.’
‘Really?’
Indira gave a subtle nod in Scott’s direction. ‘Teresa’s the owner. She started as a property developer, and the lettings agency grew out of that.’
‘And her children work here, too?’
‘Her son, yes. Her daughter’s a lawyer. We sometimes use her firm for legal work.’
‘Well, why not? Good to see small companies can still compete with those huge faceless corporations.’
‘Quite,’ she said. ‘Who is it you work for?’
‘A huge faceless corporation, I’m afraid.’
Cue appropriate laughter. It was tailing off when Teresa Scott slammed her phone down and muttered: ‘Fuckwit.’ She immediately glanced in their direction, frowning in apology, but Stemper pretended not to have heard.
****
He emerged to find a number of missed calls from Jerry. Stemper decided to take his briefcase back to the car, then stay in the vicinity of Compton’s for another couple of hours.
He now knew that the proprietor had a son. Added to the presence of the BMW, this seemed extremely promising. But why was Indira driving the BMW?
Jerry greeted him with his customary agitation. ‘Busy down here today, and it ain’t good news.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘This joiner’s van drove in and she’s got them changing locks. All of ’em. Windows, too.’
‘That’s no surprise, after the break-in.’
‘And this other bloke’s turned up, looks a bit flash. Young guy, suit and briefcase.’
‘What car?’
‘A Citroen Picasso. Nothing special.’
‘Have you managed to get a look at him?’
‘Only from behind.’
‘See if you can get closer. And take some photographs.’
‘I have. I’ve got the reg plate, clear as a bell.’
‘Not just the car. The man.’
‘Yeah, easy for you to say ...’ Jerry trailed off, muttering to himself.
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s just ... it’s like I’m expected to work bloody miracles.’
Stemper faked a sympathetic sigh. ‘You and me both, Jerry. You and me both.’
Robbie was five minutes late reaching the farmhouse. Not bad by his usual standards, but with Hank’s sister he wanted to make a good impression from the start. He had a feeling she’d be a stickler for timekeeping.
The delay was partly because, after driving a safe distance from Maureen Heath’s, he’d sent Bree a text:
Just met her, cant say Im impressd. Goin bck this pm. Can u hve a discrt wrd, tell her to improve personl hygiene asap! x
She replied immediately:
Sorry, hun. Thought she had sorted that!
Great
. And this was Bree’s idea of an easy introduction to the role of gigolo.
Hank O’Brien’s home was located at the end of a short private lane. The double gates stood open and there were two vehicles on the drive: a silver Lexus and a van bearing the livery of a carpenter and joiner.
Robbie parked, checked his appearance in the mirror and suppressed an image of Maureen Heath, naked and ravenous for pleasure. That was the last thing he wanted in his head right now.
He picked up his briefcase and strode towards the front door. He couldn’t deny a twinge of trepidation. There was a chance that DS Thomsett had already told Cheryl Wilson why her brother had been in the pub on Tuesday night – and if he had, it would be in terms that were less than complimentary to Robbie.
Could Hank’s sister be luring him into a trap? The possibility had occurred to him on the drive over. Any hint of it and he would simply walk away.
The woman who came to the door was perhaps slightly younger than Maureen Heath, and not that dissimilar in shape. But she was taller, and broader in the shoulders, and she carried herself in a way that projected confidence and self-esteem. There was no attempt to look glamorous or alluring. She was smart rather than stylish, handsome rather than pretty, neat rather than feminine.
‘Robbie Scott,’ he said.
‘Mr Scott. Thank you for coming.’ Her smile, although stingy, seemed genuine enough, and Robbie decided that, for the time being at least, he was safe in her company.
****
Willie Denham kept a modest, cluttered office on the ground floor. Away from work he had a passion for motorbikes, especially Nortons. The walls were adorned with framed action shots from the TT races on the Isle of Man, which he’d attended religiously for almost forty years.
Dan was waved to a seat in front of the desk. He moved aside a stack of glossy brochures for Dyson washing machines and sat down. The idea that he might lose his job had engendered a bizarre sense of calm: in his mind, the worst had already happened.
Denham cleared his throat, as if preparing to embark on a speech. But all he said was, ‘Now then,’ and gazed thoughtfully at a spot on the wall just above Dan’s shoulder.
‘I’m very sorry. It was completely unprofessional.’
‘Indeed.’ The old man’s tone was grave. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, that’s my impression. Without wanting to pry into your affairs, I do have to say that I’m concerned. You and Hayley have been an item for ... how long is it now?’
‘Seven years, on and off.’
‘My word, is it really? I’ll admit, when you started courting I had my reservations. Never easy, working with the other half, especially when she’s a direct report.’
Lips pursed, he nodded at the truth of his statement.
This is where he suggests that one of us has to resign
, Dan thought.
And it will have to be me
.
‘Of course,’ Denham continued, ‘I was delighted that you found a way to make it succeed. I have a high regard for you both – well, you know that. I wouldn’t have wanted to lose either of you.’
Then a dismayed silence that seemed to say:
The ball’s in your court
.
‘So what happens now?’ Dan asked.
‘That’s the question. I suppose it depends ultimately on where you feel your future lies.’
Dan shrugged. It wasn’t like the old man to be so oblique. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No. It’s awkward.’ Denham gave a nervous laugh. ‘I hesitate to say this, because I’m aware that marriage is ... well, if not on the cards, then certainly a possibility. Or am I wrong?’
Startled by the question, Dan said, ‘We have talked about it, but nothing’s set in stone.’
‘I see.’ Denham was blushing, his white hair a stark contrast to his cherry-red cheeks. ‘Please consider this as the benefit of an outside perspective – not that I regard myself as any sort of expert. But ... have you considered that perhaps the two of you aren’t actually suited for each other?’
This was about the last thing Dan had expected. He stared at his boss and didn’t know if he should be outraged, or amused – or even impressed.
Denham added, ‘I mean no offence, Daniel. But, as I say, sometimes it takes an outsider’s view to illuminate the, ah, place in which we find ourselves. Especially, as I sense with you, it’s by no means a happy place at present.’
****
Enemy territory
. The thought gave Robbie a thrill as he stepped into the house. For all of Hank’s threats as he’d stormed out of the pub, it was Robbie who had triumphed in the end.
He could hear the whirr of an electric screwdriver from one of the living rooms, but decided to let Cheryl explain it in her own time.
He said, ‘I’ve brought along the relevant paperwork in case you want to go ahead, but there’s no pressure to decide today. I’ll answer any questions you have, then leave you to mull it over.’
‘Very reasonable. Now, I assume you’d like the grand tour?’
‘Please. Do you know if he’d had any work done?’
‘No, I don’t. I wasn’t a frequent visitor.’ She gave Robbie a penetrating stare. ‘Hank and I were not close, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
He nodded, without quite conceding that he’d been fishing for information. He could see a resemblance to Hank in her features: the small round nose and in particular the rosebud mouth. They looked a lot better on her than they had on Hank. Her eyes were lively and astute, and as he smiled he was thinking:
Now if Bree had found me a woman like this ...
‘I was sorry to hear about Mr O’Brien’s death,’ he said as she led him upstairs.
‘It was quick, at least. He was walking on the wrong side of the road, so he didn’t even see it coming.’ In her chuckle, Robbie detected a hint of malice. ‘Not that it would have made much difference. Try as I might, I can’t picture my brother diving nimbly out of the way.’
****
They reached the landing. Robbie took a quick look round the master bedroom, which he thought might have been redecorated. He was aware that he shouldn’t push his luck, but there was a delicious pleasure to be had, discussing Hank’s death in this way.
‘I suppose it’s a comfort to know he didn’t suffer?’
‘Mm. It certainly isn’t the end I’d have predicted for him.’
‘Oh, why’s that?’
‘He had the most appalling diet. He drank heavily, smoked foul cigars. He was always travelling, stuffing himself with rich food. Propping up hotel bars and no doubt boring people rigid. It’s a miracle he didn’t keel over years ago.’
‘What was it that he did—?’
Cheryl flapped a hand: she wasn’t finished. ‘In fact, if clogged arteries hadn’t seen him off, I always thought it would be something violent, like being knifed to death on a dance floor for pawing someone else’s wife. He was a rascal, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, he had his own weird and wonderful talents, but getting on with people was not one of them. Ignoring the convention that you don’t speak ill of the dead, he was an obnoxious bastard, wasn’t he?’
Robbie shrugged. ‘Well, I, er, I didn’t ...’
‘Of course, you feel you must be diplomatic. But I’d much rather hear the unvarnished truth.’
She smiled. There was a definite glint in her eye. An invitation of sorts, and not just to speak his mind.
‘We only spoke on the phone a couple of times. I never actually met him.’ He reacted to the sudden bang of a hammer and said, ‘You’re having some building work done?’
‘Just repairs. There was a break-in. Well, more like an act of vandalism. I can’t see that anything’s been taken.’
Robbie swallowed. ‘And it happened since your brother’s death?’
‘As far as I know. The odd thing is that the alarm wasn’t activated.’ Cheryl looked troubled for a second or two. ‘Since I have no idea how many sets of keys might be out there, I thought it prudent to change all the locks.’
‘Absolutely. Very wise.’ Robbie hoped his voice sounded normal, but his mind was going into overdrive. He could easily guess how Dan would react if he heard about this.
There was something else going on here. Another game in play.
Cate slept late after a restless night, beset by dreams of violence. When she woke, it was a relief to run through the events of the previous evening and see that they hadn’t been as terrifying as the nightmares they’d inspired.