A Cast of Vultures (26 page)

I nodded acceptance that it was an honest mistake, and looked over at Jake. ‘So there were only two break-ins, if you don’t count Winslow.’ How had I reached a place where ‘only’ two people breaking into my flat was an improvement?

He began to agree, then frowned. ‘There were only two, including Winslow.’

‘The one when Steve’s papers went,’ I reminded him.

Jake got the same look on his face that Mr Rudiger’s had. ‘You thought someone came in and took Steve’s papers?’

‘Someone
did
come in and take Steve’s papers. He left them on the kitchen table, and when I looked for them later, they were gone. I searched the whole place.’

He sounded like Mr Rudiger, too. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Birthday bench or no birthday bench, this was not a good morning. ‘What are you sorry for?’ I folded my arms and let an unspoken
this time
dangle off the end of the question.

‘I didn’t like Steve working here. You knew that. So I took them. They didn’t disappear: I took them to run a check on him.’

I closed my eyes and told myself,
Do not mention that
that
is an illegal use of police resources. Or that he scared you out of your mind. Do
not
mention it
. So I didn’t. But I couldn’t manage more than that. I couldn’t manage a carefree,
Oh, it doesn’t matter
. ‘Why didn’t you say something when I told the policeman who came about the break-in that they were missing?’

He thought back to that morning. ‘If you told him, I wasn’t in the room. I left him to take your statement. I was with the crime-scene tech and the locksmith, remember?’

I grudgingly moved on to my next anxiety. ‘How did Steve know about what I grew in the back garden, then, if he was never out there?’

Jake smiled gently and turned me around. ‘The morning he came to talk to us, where was he sitting?’

Oh. I stared out through the garden door, outside of which all my herb pots could be seen.

I was saved from having to admit I was an idiot by the doorbell ringing again. This time it was the outside bell, to the house. My turn, and I marched down the hall. It was Sam. Because I’d been staying at Jake’s, I’d only seen him when we got together to look at photos of potential thugs. Today he looked different, older. He was wearing a button-down shirt instead of a T-shirt, and he was carrying a bunch of flowers, and a bottle of wine. Life was now just too confusing, so I didn’t ask any questions, just headed back to the cast of thousands standing in my kitchen. I assumed someone knew why he was there.

Or not. Sam stopped in the doorway, as startled to see everyone as they were to see him. His glance skittered around the room. ‘Um. That is. I just—’ Then, in a rush, he
pushed the flowers at me and the bottle at Jake. ‘I came to say thanks. Thanks a lot.’ By the time I had a grip on the flowers, he had turned and fled back down the hall.

Helena went after him, so in as calm a voice as I could manage, I said, ‘Does anyone know what’s going on? About Sam, and why he is thanking us, would be a good place to start, but I’m not proud. If anyone wants to fill me in about anything, feel free.’

Jake cleared his throat. He knew the answer to this too. ‘You told me Sam wanted to be an electrician, but he couldn’t get enough hours to qualify.’

I stared at the bottle of wine in his hand. ‘And you certified him?’ I wasn’t cross anymore, just confused. Should I remind Jake he was a detective, not a National Vocational Qualifications certification officer, if such a post existed?

No need. Jake was looking casual. ‘After the fire, I got in touch with Mike. He’s an electrician,’ he informed me, as if that were news.

No shit, Sherlock
, would be vulgar, but nothing else sprang to mind. Fortunately, Jake continued without waiting for a reply. ‘Mike told me that Arthur Winslow had hired him and Steve to take over from his son.’

For the past weeks I had refused to talk about Winslow, apart from asking if he’d been charged. Now I was ashamed. Arthur Winslow and I had been on nodding terms for years, I’d been on more than that with the squatters, and I hadn’t asked what had happened to any of them.

‘Arthur hired them?’

‘He hired them to look after his properties – to supervise their upkeep and maintenance. And since his upstairs
tenants had just moved out, he moved Mike and Steve and Mo and Dan and their kids in until the empty house is rebuilt. The plan is that Mike and Steve will stay on there afterwards, and Mo and Dan and the kids will get the empty house.’

I smiled hugely. Then I saw movement in the hall. Quickly, before Helena could return, I asked, ‘And how does Sam come into it?’

Jake shrugged. ‘I heard about it, and suggested to Mike that if he was looking for people to work with in his new job, Sam was a good kid. So he took him on as an apprentice, and as well as earning, Sam will get the hours he needs to get his certification.’

First he’d tried to dissuade me from hiring Steve, and had frightened me by taking his papers; then he got Mike to help Sam. I didn’t know whether I should throw something at him or kiss him. One after the other might be the way to go.

But I had to postpone those plans, because Helena was back, bringing Sam with her – and for some reason Victor was with them. I hadn’t been aware of plans for a breakfast party, but someone had: I should have noticed that Mr Rudiger had brought over a dozen croissants.

I didn’t say anything, just waggled the coffee-pot questioningly in Victor’s direction. In return, he waggled an envelope in my direction. ‘For me?’ I asked. I’d only met Victor once – a birthday present would be embarrassing.

‘At Helena’s request,’ he said, handing over the envelope over in exchange for coffee.

I opened it. My passport application, countersigned by one Victor Walker, university professor.

I looked around the room again. Bim was running underfoot, yanking everyone’s hands, whether he knew them or not, shrieking, ‘Look!’ as he dragged us out in turn to admire the glories of his new playground. My mother, my partner, my neighbours and friends. I poured myself another cup of coffee and took a croissant. If I were editing this novel, I’d tell the author that this was exactly where I wanted it to end.

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J
UDITH
F
LANDERS
was born in London and grew up in Canada. After returning to London she made her career in publishing before she began to write. In 2001 her first book,
A Circle of Sisters
, the biography of four Victorian women, was published to great acclaim and nominated for
The Guardian
First Book Award. She has since written four books on Victorian Britain, including the bestselling
The Victorian House
, which was nominated for the British Book Awards History Book of the Year.

judithflanders.co.uk

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A Cast of Vultures