Behind Closed Doors (16 page)

Not in Fulham, he wouldn't.

I walked out, footsteps as straight as Shaughnessy's.

I got to Battersea with nothing to spare on Arabel's deadline. She'd held off on eating but it was a close call. It took a little sweet talking - I only needed to say sorry thirty-eight times.

‘You're not sorry, Flynn,' she said. ‘You're like a little boy with his tadpole jar. The rest of the world is forgotten. Are you telling me I can't depend on you any more?'

I hadn't realised I'd ever been dependable. Maybe Arabel just hadn't noticed at one time.

‘Bel, you can always depend on me,' I said. ‘But sometimes things just happen in my line of work. They tie me.'

‘Letting me know would have helped,' she told me.

‘I'm distractible,' I admitted. ‘But that's different from undependable.'

‘Different how?' She gave me a look. ‘Both of them mean you don't turn up.'

Argumentative, this one.

‘Bel, it doesn't mean I don't care,' I said. ‘A guy who's not dependable doesn't care. A guy who just gets distracted always cares. He hates himself for forgetting.'

‘You hate yourself?'

‘Whenever I let you down.'

‘Oh, babe!'

Oh boy!

My shame might have be hard to swallow if I thought Arabel believed this stuff. That was what I loved about her. She could go along with the fantasy that she had a sincere guy instead of a smooth-talking rogue. Maybe deep down she did understand that I was sincere. More likely, she was just a saint.

I got busy and uncorked a white wine and pushed a few things around on a table that had already been laid for two hours. The aroma of casserole expanded through the room and Arabel served the meal up in a steaming pot with creamed potatoes and vegetables. My diet so far that day had comprised a single overpriced sandwich at the motorway services. The casserole tripped a switch.

Arabel let me gorge for twenty minutes before she interrupted to ask about the girl.

The thought cut into my hog heaven. Funny how easily I'd forgotten. But a man has to take a break. Sometimes you've got to stop saving the world. I told Arabel about the characters we'd unearthed. Didn't tell her about the risk to my nose or the death-threat stuff. The thought that I might not turn up at all one day wasn't going to help convince Arabel she was investing in the right guy. Distractible or undependable she could cope with. Expendable would give her the jitters. And I was pretty clear that Expendable was the category Paul McAllister had assigned for me. I was going to have to watch my back.

‘Do you think you'll find Rebecca?' Arabel asked.

I stopped thinking of myself for a moment. Thought it through.

‘Sure,' I said, ‘we'll get to her.'

We just needed to do it before someone got to me.

The London spring was living up to its reputation. Gales were on the way in. I coaxed myself out of bed and did three laps of the park, battling a stiff westerly on the upriver legs. Then I drove to Chase Street and went up to the office.

The lights were on and the sign said we were open. Shaughnessy was in his office, busy at his PC. I fired up the filter machine and spooned in eight measures of Buckaroo I'd brought from home. If the machine worked we'd get caffeine enough to fly to the moon. I went through and dropped into one of Shaughnessy's easy chairs.

Shaughnessy was watching his screen. ‘Did the entertainment warm up last night?' he said.

‘Sure,' I said. ‘The full cabaret.' I described my chat with McAllister and Child.

‘You need to be careful,' Shaughnessy said. ‘These guys play hard.'

I noted the
you
. Let it go. So far it was only me in these people's gunsights. If things hotted up I'd have to fax McAllister our full staff list so there'd be no misunderstanding. There was silence from the outer office. I went back and confirmed that the water was still cold in the reservoir and the coffee still dry in the filter. I flipped the switch a couple of times, pulled the plug out and banged it back in. Got a flash and a spark. Something was connecting. There was still a chance we could get the water and coffee together. Then the outer door opened and Lucy came in in an explosion of red. She feigned shock.

‘Do you guys never sleep?' she said.

‘The forces of law and order are ever vigilant,' I said.

‘What's law and order got to do with it?'

Always the comeback.

‘It's an analogy,' I said. ‘The forces of private investigation are a little like the forces of law and order. Private investigators don't get much sleep either.'

Lucy gave me smarmy. ‘So how is Arabel?' she asked.

‘Arabel is fine,' I told her. ‘It's me you should worry about.'

‘No longer,' Lucy said.

Not that I ever recalled her worrying.

‘What's with Rebecca Townsend?' Lucy asked.

‘We're moving,' I told her. ‘If you can voodoo up some coffee bring it through and I'll fill you in.'

I went into my office. The wind had chilled the back of the building and the place was like a bank holiday morgue. I switched on the two-bar radiant by my desk and picked up the phone to call Philippa Scott.

Philippa was the sales director for a media firm that ran a half-dozen regional newspapers and two south-east society magazines. The week Eagle Eye opened for business Philippa had hired us to locate her estranged husband who'd done a disappearing act. Turned out the guy was lying low, avoiding people who wanted to talk to him about gambling debts. Just as we got to him they moved on to the stage of threatening Philippa and her kids. Small time but nasty with it. Eagle Eye helped out.

Philippa's gratitude ran to a little help now and again whenever research in her social files was called for. I played on it without shame. A good investigator values shamelessness right up there with godliness and cleanliness.

‘Long time no hear, Eddie,' Philippa said. ‘Are things quiet or have you been on holiday?'

‘A little of both,' I said. ‘I'm back.'

‘Looking for some digging?'

‘You know me, Philippa. Just tell me when we're out of credit. You paid your dues.'

‘I could never pay the dues for what you did, Eddie. My family got their lives back thanks to you.'

‘I still feel guilty calling you up.'

Lucy had come in with what looked like coffee. She gave me a look when she heard the guilty bit. Lucy didn't know who I was talking to but the word told her I was shining them on. I gestured for her to drop the coffee off but she stayed put so I hit the speaker phone.

‘What's happening?' Philippa asked.

‘Something you might relate to,' I said. ‘We've got a family in some kind of trouble. A girl's missing. Suspected involvement of professional criminals.'

The speaker amplified an intake of breath.

‘It never ends, does it?' she said. ‘This stuff sells my papers – kids missing, assaulted, killed – it's what we feed people over their cornflakes. Other people's nightmares. But you don't know anything until it's happened to you.'

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘We see plenty of nightmares in this game. Though I'm not much of a newspaper reader myself.'

She chuckled. ‘I can't see our rags cluttering your coffee table, Eddie,' she agreed.

‘I don't have a coffee table.'

She laughed again. ‘A man who stays with the basics. Lucky everyone isn't like you. I'd be out of business.'

‘So would I,' I said.

‘You still seeing that cute girl?'

The last time I'd seen Philippa I'd had a new girlfriend just off shift and all starched up in her nurse's uniform.

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘We're still together. Looks promising.'

‘She's a good girl,' Philippa said. ‘Hang on to her.'

‘I do.'

‘So what do you need?'

‘Background on a couple of well-to-do families. Maybe they're in your area.'

‘London?'

‘One of them's Wimbledon. The other's a little out of town.'

I gave her what I had on the McCabe and Hanlon families. If they were in Philippa's area the Hanlons were sure-fire fodder for her society monthlies. Maybe the McCabes too – their Wimbledon address was in the right property area for the society pages.

‘How soon do you need it?' Philippa asked.

‘The very soonest,' I said. ‘We're worried about this girl.'

She told me she'd get onto it. ‘I've got a meeting now but I'll kick something off in the meantime. Let's say an hour or so.'

‘Appreciated, Philippa.'

I reached for my coffee. The coffee cup came complete with saucer and spoon and Lucy's backside perched on my roll-top. I keep my desk cluttered to discourage sitting but Lucy always seemed to find parking space. Private investigation runs on discretion. We operated on a need-to-know basis. Lucy needed to know everything. Maybe she figured she had a vested interest this time since she'd set Sadie Bannister onto me in the first place.

‘Sounds like you're getting busy,' Lucy said.

I gave her a summary of where we were. Included McAllister's threats to my nose. The threat barely raised an eyebrow. Lucy was here for the important stuff. You had to love her.

‘You want extra hands?' she offered. ‘I've got the morning.'

I told her to call me with anything that Philippa phoned through. Meantime she could do some independent digging, see what turned up on the two families. Lastly, she could call Sadie Bannister, ostensibly to let her know we were hot on the trail, but actually to dig for anything new that Sadie might have remembered or picked up in the last few days. Including any snippets on Russell Cohen she might have forgotten to mention.

‘You still think Cohen might be involved?' Lucy asked.

‘Gut feeling says no. This is between the Slaters and McAllister. But we need to cover all the possibilities. I'm not ruling the guy out. Rebecca could be in serious trouble if it
is
Cohen.'

Lucy slid off my desk and went out.

I wasn't ruling Cohen out but you've got to follow the main smell. And it wasn't perfume that hit my nostrils at the Algarve Club. My bet put Rebecca in McAllister's hands. Leverage against the Slaters, even if it wasn't a simple ransom scheme. Nothing was in focus yet, but what I'd picked up yesterday had given me a hunch. I adjusted the angle on my Herman Miller and sipped scalding coffee while I chased the hunch. Punched a Poole number.

‘DK Marine.' A man's voice.

‘I understand you sell pre-owned boats,' I said.

‘Indeed we do. Mr...?'

‘Bligh,' I said.

‘Mr Bligh,' DK said, ‘we've an extensive portfolio. Would you like our listings or do you have something specific in mind?'

‘We're looking at a motor cruiser,' I said. ‘Six berths. Good level of equipment. My wife and I mostly stay inshore. South and west coast. But we do Jersey too.' I wasn't sure if the cruising fraternity “did” Jersey or anywhere else. In fact I wasn't sure if there was such as thing as a cruising fraternity, outside Soho. My amateur spiel passed muster at DK Marine though. Salesmen handle the whole range of competencies. They'll sell a Porsche to a blind man.

‘We've a range of cruisers in our listing,' said DK. ‘Any particular specification?'

‘We're still weighing things up,' I stalled. ‘I was at the marina yesterday and someone told me the Lode Star was on your list.'

‘My goodness, news travels fast! We haven't put it out yet.'

‘But she's on your books?'

‘Just this week,' DK said. ‘And you might be lucky. The owner wanted a fast sale so we've financed it ourselves. We're ready to offer if for a knockdown price.'

‘Financed it yourself? You mean you own the vessel?'

‘It's a little unusual,' DK said, ‘but the owner made us an offer we couldn't refuse. We completed yesterday. Effectively the Lode Star is on sale now and I think you'd be very happy with the asking price.'

‘She's a nice-looking vessel,' I concurred. ‘But I suspect she'd stretch us, even at a good price. We're selling a fifteen metre, a few years older.'

‘Mr Bligh...may I ask your first name?'

‘Call me Bill.'

‘Bill, you might find that the Lode Star doesn't stretch you as much as you assume. We're talking only seventy-five percent of market.'

‘Seventy-five?' I put surprise into my voice. ‘Did I hear you right?'

‘A straight seventy-five of the list price, Bill. And the survey's thrown in for free. You'd see everything before you spent a penny.'

‘That's very interesting,' I declared. ‘That might almost bring it within reach. What figure were you thinking?'

‘I'd prefer to discuss that here,' DK said. ‘Maybe we can take a look at your existing vessel. But this is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime, Bill. You'll never see a discount like this again.'

‘And you're making a profit at seventy-five percent of market?'

A chuckle. ‘We're quite happy with the margin, Bill. The owner needed a fast sale. He gave us a deal that was right on the rocks.'

‘I bumped into the chap a while ago,' I said. ‘Larry Something. Don't recall his last name. He never mentioned selling.'

‘We never discuss client details, Bill,' DK said, ‘but I gather that the need to sell came up suddenly. Lode Star won't be on our list until next week so this is your opportunity to get in first.'

‘Well, I'd have to say I'm very interested,' I said.

‘Could I trouble you for your details Bill?'

‘How about I call in later?' I said. ‘I'll give you everything then.'

‘Fine. I look forward to seeing you.'

‘Me too.' I killed the line.

Aye-aye.

I sat back and lifted my heels onto the desk. So Slater was the Lode Star's seller. If DK Marine were making a profit selling at seventy-five percent of market then Slater must have offloaded the boat somewhere around the fifty to sixty level. What would fifty percent of the Lode Star pull in? Four or five hundred thousand? Boats weren't my thing but I knew a guy who'd splashed out half a million on a less impressive boat a couple of years back. That had to put the Lode Star's price somewhere in the seven-fifty thou' region. Suggesting that Slater had just thrown away two or three hundred grand to get his hands on fast cash. What kind of hurry are you in where you chuck away that amount? The kind of hurry that brought us right back to the kidnap-for-ransom scenario. It just didn't explain what was going on though.

I slid my feet back off the desk and went through to Shaughnessy's office. He'd just put his phone down and was working at his computer.

‘We hooked our Algarve guys yet?'

Shaughnessy looked up. ‘Pretty much,' he said. ‘I'm waiting for a call back in half an hour. Then we'll have the picture.'

I left him to it and headed out.