Authors: Peter Lovesey
“I saw it from a little way off. I was waiting on the other side, in front of the Watershed,” Lee said.
“What you don’t know is that Nathan kidnapped me on the ship—tied me up and brought me here. When I phoned you this morning, he was sitting right beside me. He was using me to get you back.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. It wasn’t nice, deceiving you. But I know why he went to all that trouble. He adores you.”
Lee squeezed her eyes shut as if the words hurt and then opened them. “I know, and I feel guilty. I encouraged him. In spite of everything, he’s … Well, look around you. He altered his house for me, built this huge extension. I went along with it, slept with him, let him think I was in love with him, but I wasn’t. I was faking. He’s been so helpful in my music career that I
am
fond of him, but not enough to share his life forever.”
“You tried to escape.”
“I’m getting really well known in the pop world now and I need professional help to guide me. Nathan calls himself my manager and tries his best, but in all truth he doesn’t know much about the business or the people in it. It’s not what you know, but who you know. If I want to make it big, mega big, I need to be in there with the movers and shakers.”
“Makes sense.”
“I was saying this to Marcus when we first discussed the video and he said he was thinking himself that I needed a better manager. He thought I could simply walk away. He didn’t
understand that I’m a prisoner here. Nice prison, yes, but not easy to escape from. I told him my relationship made breaking away from Nathan incredibly difficult. So Marcus offered to help. He said I could stay with him in Clifton until I got my career sorted out. No hidden agenda. Actually I think he’s gay. He was acting from the goodness of his heart.”
“And probably didn’t know much about Nathan. He does now.”
“You’re so right—which is why I feel so bad that he got roughed up. He had no idea what he was taking on. I should have warned him Nathan wouldn’t give me up without a fight, but I was thinking only of myself. Do you think he’s okay?”
“Marcus? He’ll be fine. It could have been a lot worse. They could have used guns.”
Lee put her hand to her mouth. “That would have been awful.” Significantly, she didn’t show disbelief that Nathan might have access to a gun.
Ingeborg said, “I tried to make sure they weren’t armed. Nathan told me he wouldn’t put you at risk and he meant it.” She took a long sip of the wine. “But you were going to tell me more about him. I’m interested.”
“You won’t put this into print?”
“God, no. I may be a hack, but I have my standards.”
“Okay.” Lee rested her glass on the side and brought her arms around her raised knees. “Nathan won’t ever say how he got to be so rich, even when I ask. He gives the sort of smart answers he was giving you in the car today. I’m naturally curious to know the truth about the man I go to bed with.”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“He does heaps of business on the phone and then people—nearly always men—come to see him here. They never stay long. And he doesn’t employ a PA or a secretary like you would expect for somebody running a business. The guys who work for him are all part of the housekeeping side of things.”
“Or protection,” Ingeborg said.
“He calls that housekeeping as well. I guess it is, in a way.
But you’d think he’d need someone to keep records of his dealings. There don’t seem to be any records. It’s all word of mouth. I asked him once if he employed an accountant and he laughed and said something about mental arithmetic.”
“So what’s the explanation?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I’m afraid it must be illegal.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Ingeborg said.
Lee looked right and left and then leaned forward. “I was thinking drugs.”
“Really?”
“When he talks about dealing in hardware I think he must mean hard drugs, like cocaine and heroin. It’s a play on words, and it obviously amuses him.”
“That passed me by, I have to say,” Ingeborg said in all sincerity. “Is there any proof?”
“Nothing for certain. He doesn’t do drugs himself, I’m sure of that. But then dealers are in it to make money, not to use the stuff themselves.”
“If he’s dealing on a big scale he must have a stash in the house somewhere. Where does he store it, do you think?”
“I haven’t seen all over the house. There’s a locked room on the same floor as his bedroom. One afternoon when he was out, I did some exploring upstairs, hoping to find out more. I’ve often heard him go up there with his customers, as he calls them.”
“Why would he do that?” Ingeborg asked, trying to sound calm while her heart was pumping harder than the jacuzzi. “The customers don’t need to see what he stores up there.”
A look of uncertainty crossed Lee’s face. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“It would be a huge risk, showing them his stash of drugs. A dealer doesn’t want people knowing how much he has.”
“That’s true.” She was crestfallen.
“Did you get into the room?”
“No. Like I say, it’s kept locked.” Lee hesitated. “If he doesn’t deal in drugs, what else could he have in there? A machine for printing banknotes? No, he wouldn’t invite
people in there to see. How about fake paintings? He’d need to let the customers have a sight of them if he was selling.”
“He isn’t the artistic type,” Ingeborg said. “Believe me, I’ve met a few artists and Nathan doesn’t cut it as a Leonardo. Even a Picasso.”
They both laughed.
“I don’t think I’ve seen a single picture in this house.”
“You’re right.” Lee sighed. “I’m running out of ideas. Do you have a theory yourself?”
Ingeborg did, but she wasn’t ready to reveal it. First, she needed to coax more information from Lee. “Maybe there’s something to be learned from the people he calls his customers. Are there any regulars?”
“I don’t think so. The ones I’ve seen have been different each time. And they’re all sorts, going by their cars, beat-up old bangers to Rolls-Royces.”
“Local people, would you say?”
“I can’t tell. I haven’t spoken to many of them.”
“Do they come alone?”
“Nearly always, and almost all of them are men.”
“Thinking back over the last two or three weeks, can you remember any in particular?”
“Now you’re asking.” Lee sank up to her neck in the churning water, and for a moment Ingeborg thought she was about to duck the question as well. “I did open the door last week to a man who came in a Range Rover and said he was sorry he was early, but he’d miscalculated the journey, so I guess he came from a long way off. He said his name was Rollo, and he was expected at three. This was about two thirty and Nathan was having a siesta, as he calls it. Anyway, I sat Rollo down in one of the living rooms and gave him a magazine to look at. I’m sure it was his first time here. He was so twitchy, as if he was nervous of meeting Nathan.”
“Do they often seem nervous, his visitors?”
“Now you mention it, they do. A man who came one day last month asked if he could use the toilet as soon as he came through the door. He almost pushed me over, he was
in such a hurry. I never discovered what his name was. As a rule, they’re not keen to give their names.”
“And none of them say what they’re here for?
“Not to me. They’ll say they have an appointment with Nathan, or Mr. Hazael, if they’re really being polite. And of course, most times Nathan or one of the staff lets them in. The exceptions are the valuers, who come to look at the armour and stuff we’re trying to sell off. They nearly always have a visiting card and show it as soon as they arrive. And they treat the place as if they own it.”
“Nathan was telling me about this. He wants to give the house a more modern look.”
“Yes, but he discovered that some of the armour is really old and valuable, and he doesn’t want it undersold. That’s why he had a series of valuations done. Most of the swords are worth four or five grand and some of the armour even more.”
“Wow! Nathan could ditch his main business and live off the proceeds of what’s hanging on the walls.”
“I don’t think he’d enjoy that,” Lee said, treating the remark seriously. “He gets a lot of pleasure from his business. It seems to give him a sense of power, and guys can’t get enough of that. I’m different. I want fame and attention and loads of awards. He’s happy to keep a low profile, as he calls it. And he seems to make plenty of money.”
Ingeborg decided this was the time for straight talking. She dipped lower in the water, on a level with Lee. “Have you ever thought he might be supplying criminals with guns?”
Lee bit her lip. “I don’t want to believe that. I hate guns.” Something in her eyes suggested she’d known all along and refused to admit the truth. She glanced away. “Where would he get them from and where would he keep them?”
“I can answer the second part. He’d have them in that locked room.”
The singer’s look returned to Ingeborg, fixing on her as if she’d only just noticed her. She didn’t speak.
“It could be the reason why he invites his customers up there, to choose which weapon they want.”
Lee had lost all the colour the warm water had given her. “Oh God, you could be right. I’m living with an illegal arms dealer.”
“Have you ever seen him with a gun?”
“A shotgun, but he says he has a licence for it. He shoots rabbits and pigeons sometimes. I don’t go anywhere near.”
“Small arms? Revolvers and automatics?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “At one time he set up a target behind the house and was firing at it with one of his customers. They were using handguns. When I asked him about it later, if it was legal, he said pistol shooting is an Olympic sport.”
“Sounds more like a demonstration than a competition. There are strict rules about firearms. He’ll need to have a firearms certificate as well as one for the shotgun. The guns have to be stored securely to prevent unauthorised persons from using them. The law doesn’t state exactly how, but you get inspected by the police and they insist on a steel gun cabinet that locks.”
Lee shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that in this house.”
“It needs to be flush to the wall and secured with coach bolts so it can’t be prised away.”
“How do you know all this?”
Went overboard there, Ingeborg chided herself. “I’m a journalist. We’re picking up information all the time.”
“I’m scared now.”
“It’s only a theory,” Ingeborg said, backtracking a little.
“But he must keep the shotgun somewhere. And the handguns. It all adds up,” Lee said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You’ll be okay. He’d never point a gun at you.”
“If I threaten to leave him, he might.”
“He loves you.”
“But I need to break up with him. What am I going to do?”
Lee’s distress was getting to Ingeborg and it was impossible to give honest advice—another consequence of going undercover. She dug deep for the right words. “I think you need to empower yourself more.”
“How exactly?”
“By learning the truth about him and what goes on here. If we can find out for certain that he’s providing criminals with firearms, you’ve got every reason for leaving him. And if he objects, you threaten to report him.”
Lee clasped her hand to her head. “That seems so ungrateful.”
“Don’t look at it like that. He’s kept things from you that could get you into trouble as an accessory. If he’s investigated and you’re living with him it will be difficult to prove you didn’t know what was going on.”
She nodded. “I know what you’re going to say. I must work out a way of getting inside that room. God knows what I’ll find there.”
Enough evidence to put away Nathan for the foreseeable future, not to mention some of the top criminals in the southwest, Ingeborg thought. Ballistics would have weeks of fun finding which weapons had been used to commit crimes in and around Bristol. But the main prize would be a list of Nathan’s clients. Surely he must need to keep a record of who hired or bought which weapons. And surely it was inside that locked room.
“Listen, if you can get the key,” she said, “I’ll look inside while you keep Nathan distracted. Does he carry a set of keys with him?”
Lee nodded.
“You can bet the key to the gun room is one of them. Will he want to sleep with you tonight? He was all over you in the car.”
“I guess he will.”
“He’s mentally shaken. He’s looking for reassurance. When he undresses, where does he put his clothes?”
“Over a chair mostly. If he’s had a few drinks or he’s eager to get into bed with me, they’ll be scattered over the floor.”
“Does he remove the keys from his pocket?”
“No.”
“Do you think you could get them and pass them to me if I wait outside the bedroom?”
Lee looked alarmed.
“When he’s in the bathroom or something?”
Lee was looking as if she wished she’d never started this conversation.
Ingeborg said, “Is he a heavy sleeper?”
“Not especially.”
“After sex he is—I bet.”
“I suppose.”
“Could you do it then? Is he likely to make love to you soon after going to bed?”
She nodded.
“Let me guess. He doesn’t take long.”
A fleeting smile. “That’s how I put up with it.”
“You could wait twenty minutes and, when he’s breathing deeply, slip out of bed, get the keys and put them outside the door. I’ll be ready outside. Could you do that? It’s really important that you know the truth about what’s going on.”
“I suppose. But how will you get them back to me?”
“Same way. I’ll open the door—or you can leave it ajar—and I’ll put them inside. You can choose the right moment—go to the bathroom or whatever—replace them in his pocket. Job done.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I’ll need to do a recce first, so I know which door to unlock. Is the gun room anywhere near the guest room I’m in?”
“Very close. We can go up there now if you like. We both need to change into some fresh clothes.” She hesitated. “I just remembered a saying: good clothes open all doors.”
“Nice,” Ingeborg said, “but I think we’ll need the key, even so.”