Closer Still (9 page)

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Authors: Jo Bannister

BOOK: Closer Still
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The bliss of solitude issued from Brodie like an aura, expanding until it filled the little office with happiness. She couldn't stop smiling. She felt like a scene from a Disney cartoon, full of twinkle-dust and blossom. She feared that if an orphan puppy were to wander past she'd adopt it on the spot.
She realised, of course, that it didn't say good things about her, that she'd rather be running her business than looking after her baby. It wasn't that she begrudged the time she spent with Jonathan. He was a lovely baby – she was lucky enough to have two lovely children – but still motherhood was something that she did rather than who she was. She'd enjoy her children all the more tonight for having done something else during the day. She'd enjoy Deacon's company the more when she'd sought it rather than because he had nothing better to do. And she'd missed the intellectual stimulation of work.
So she settled back into her poky little office like sinking back in a favourite armchair. In the old days she'd made a point of spending Saturday mornings combing the flea markets or looking at houses and taking Paddy along; and the little girl had clearly expected to drop back immediately
into the old routine. She was disappointed when Brodie made an excuse.
‘Next week, darling. I've no idea what needs doing. I really need to spend the morning at my desk. We'll do something nice this afternoon.' Huffily, the child agreed.
Alone in the office, hoping not even clients would come to disturb her just yet, Brodie did a bit of filing, made a few phone calls, made some notes; but mostly what she did was breathe deeply and treasure the peace that was hers until she chose to break it.
So it was a minor irritation to her that there were notes in the diary that she couldn't make sense of. Of course, Daniel hadn't had much notice of his forthcoming career shift: when he made those notes he'd expected to be dealing with them himself. But she wished she could have got through at least the first morning without needing to consult him.
She dialled his mobile. ‘Where are you?'
He sounded as if he'd been expecting her to check. ‘My place.'
That made her grin. So Deacon was driving Daniel mad too. Unlike her, though, he had somewhere else to go. ‘Are the kids with you?'
‘No, I left them at the dog pound,' he said indignantly. ‘Of course they're with me.'
‘No need to be ratty,' chided Brodie. ‘All I was going to say was, let's meet for lunch.'
He sounded faintly surprised, as if he might have misjudged her. ‘Sure. Where?'
‘Well, if you're already there …'
The resignation was back in his voice. ‘So what you mean is, will I make you some lunch?'
‘That would be lovely,' said Brodie sweetly. ‘If you insist.'
Daniel was oddly tidy. He didn't surround himself with many belongings, and those he had were always in their allotted places. So when she opened the front door of the netting shed – he only locked it at night, during the day visitors just knocked and entered – she thought he'd had burglars. There were jars and cans all over the floor. ‘Good grief!'
Daniel's head shot round the kitchen door. ‘What's the matter?' But he saw Jonathan still snoozing in his buggy and immediately relaxed. ‘Oh – the orchestra.' He smiled.
‘The
what
?'
He sent Paddy to demonstrate while he watched his cooking. Each of the jars held a quantity of shingle off the beach, and made a different sound when shaken depending on the quantity or size of the stones. ‘Daniel made them,' said the little girl proudly. ‘For Jonathan.'
Brodie knew exactly what he'd done: found a way to add texture and richness to the world for a child who could no longer see it. She picked a way through the chaos into the kitchen, slipped a long arm around her friend's waist and lightly kissed his cheek. ‘That is some lucky baby.'
She and Paddy tidied up. Jonathan was still asleep. ‘Have you fed him?'
‘Before his snooze. Like it says on the list.' When she'd entrusted Daniel with her business she'd written out a schedule of what to do when. She'd done the same before handing over her baby.
While they ate she asked about the cryptic notes in the office diary. Then she glanced up at him slyly. ‘It didn't take long for Jack to chase you away.'
‘Jack wasn't there. I just thought it would be nice to bring the kids down to the beach.'
Brodie was frowning. ‘Not there? Daniel – Jack's
always
there. Since they took him off the Loomis case, he's been like that albatross in the poem –
always
hanging around. Did you tell him I'd gone back to work?'
Daniel shook his head. ‘Did you?'
‘No. I thought it would be a' – again the slightly malicious glance – ‘nice surprise.'
‘He must have had something else to do today.' Daniel wasn't above a slightly malicious smile of his own. ‘Perhaps he'll pop round tonight.'
It wasn't even that thought that widened her eyes. ‘He's gone back to work!'
For Daniel that was an inference too far. ‘He's probably shopping. Or getting the car serviced. Or …'
Brodie shook her head with certainty. ‘Daniel, if you'd seen him these last few days you'd know that the only thing that would have got him out of my hair was being called back to work. Which means developments in the Loomis case. They know who killed Joe.' She was already reaching for her phone.
The instant Deacon answered Brodie knew something was wrong. ‘Is this really urgent?'
‘No,' she said honestly. ‘I just wondered …'
He wasn't interested. ‘I'll get back to you when I can.' And then he was gone.
She sat staring at the phone in astonishment. Often enough in the past they'd argued, they'd shouted, they'd made up. She couldn't remember him refusing to speak to her. ‘Well,' she said to Daniel. ‘I think we can safely say he's busy.'
‘At work?'
‘He'd
better
be,' said Brodie firmly. ‘It sounded like he'd not only got the guy who killed Joe Loomis, he'd got him pinned against the wall and was answering the phone with his other hand.'
‘Then, in due course, we'll hear all about it,' Daniel said pointedly.
Brodie had never thought that
in due course
applied to her. ‘I wonder where they are …'
‘Sit down,' insisted Daniel, ‘and finish your dinner.'
His tone surprised her. ‘This may have been a mistake,' she said waspishly. ‘You're starting to sound like a nanny already.'
People who knew him came up the iron stairs to knock on the door. People who didn't mostly hovered on the lower steps clearing their throats. As Daniel cleared away the plates Brodie heard first the crunch of the shingle, then a foot on the steps, then a voice. A female voice.
‘You've got a visitor,' she said. Then, with a grin: ‘I
told
you kids are a babe magnet.'
It was Faith Stretton. When Daniel opened the door she started to come inside, then saw Brodie and blinked. ‘I'm sorry. You have company. I'll come back later.'
Brodie waved a breezy invitation exactly as if it had been her house. ‘Not on my account.'
‘Come in,' said Daniel. ‘I'm just making coffee.' He seemed unaware of the cagey way the two women were regarding one another.
If she'd got no further than the gallery Faith would indeed have gone away again. But turning round this far into the room would have meant a retreat, and Faith didn't seem like someone who retreated.
And what made it possible for Brodie to judge a woman she hardly knew was the instinctive recognition that the age gap was the only significant difference between them. Faith was a redhead while Brodie was dark; Faith favoured the casual look while Brodie would look smart in a towel; Faith's children were grown up while Brodie's were still small. But these were things of no account. They were two strong, determined women who were beholden to no one for their lives or happiness, and like dogs on a beach they could spot one another a long way off. Sometimes it was with wagging tails, sometimes with teeth.
So Faith moved deliberately towards the armchair, took the cup Daniel offered her and sat down. And Brodie thought that was exactly what she'd have done too.
‘I just wanted to drop by and thank you properly for your help,' she said. ‘But for you it would have been a deeply unpleasant incident.'
‘It wasn't exactly a bundle of laughs anyway,' said Brodie. ‘As I heard it.'
Daniel forbore to comment. He knew what she was doing, possibly better than she did. Though she'd have denied it with her dying breath, the idea of him having female friends troubled her. She had no need to be jealous,
for two reasons. She didn't want him the way he wanted her; and he didn't want any other woman that way either. But pointing out how illogical she was would have incurred her wrath without achieving anything, so he let it go.
‘Are you all right?' he asked Faith, and she nodded.
‘I'm fine. I was fine the next day. I'd have come round sooner, but I was a bit – taken aback, I suppose – when I heard he was dead.' She pursed her lips. ‘But I honestly can't say I was sorry.'
She was in the right company. Neither of them had felt moved to send a wreath.
Brodie said, ‘Anyway, the bruise has gone.'
Faith gave a surprised little laugh. ‘Yes. The last thing he'll ever give me. When I heard he was dead I wondered if I ought to try to keep it. Then I thought, why would you want to?' Her gaze travelled from Brodie to Daniel and back. ‘Do the police know who killed him? Or why?'
Brodie shook her head. ‘He had a finger in so many pies, all of them unsavoury, that any number of people might have wanted him dead. Well, that's not the trick – there are probably people who want me dead too. The trick is pissing off the sort of person who's liable do something about it.'
‘You think that's what it was? A gangland killing?'
‘It wasn't a professional hit,' said Brodie dismissively. She never needed more than a bit of background information to set herself up as an expert on anything. ‘A pro wouldn't have left him till he was dead. OK, he didn't manage much in the way of last words, but he was still alive when he reached me and he was trying to say something. The little
I got might still prove helpful.'
Faith looked startled. ‘I didn't realise. The police came to see me, but they didn't tell me any of this.'
‘Probably because …' She shut up abruptly.
They were too alike. Faith did what Brodie would have done in her situation: put what she knew together with the sudden gap in the conversation and made an intelligent guess about what the words would have been. ‘Because I'm a suspect?' Her eyebrows rocketed. ‘No – because Dev is. The police suspect
Dev
?'
Brodie gave an apologetic shrug. ‘They were looking for someone whose name begins with D. And there'd been this scene between Joe Loomis and you. They had to wonder if your son had gone round to mark his card and things got out of hand.'
‘Dev wouldn't
kill
anybody! Not even Joe Loomis. If he'd been there when it happened he might have thumped him, but he'd never have used a knife. I don't think he owns a knife.'
‘I don't suppose he does,' said Daniel soothingly. ‘Faith, you don't need to convince us.'
But she seemed to think she did. ‘He's a civil engineer. Do you know where he's spent the last two years? In Pakistan, working to repair the damage of the Kashmir earthquake. I don't mean he got a job out there – I mean, he packed a rucksack and lived in a corrugated iron shack for two years and helped rebuild the place. While the students he graduated with were getting their careers on track, Dev was digging out rubble, and bodies, and designing water systems, and pouring concrete. For nothing. For his own
satisfaction. Because that's who he is. If he can help he wants to, and he doesn't much care how much it costs him.'
‘And you're proud of him,' added Daniel with a smile.
‘I'm proud of both my children,' said Faith firmly. ‘I don't think this is an easy time to be young. When I was their age we still talked about free love. Kids now know that love doesn't come free, and neither does anything else.'
Brodie had been thinking. ‘Here's something for free. Take out your phone right now and ask Dev where he is.'
‘He's at home. I left him there half an hour ago.'
‘Humour me.'
Even Daniel looked puzzled, and Faith looked at Brodie as if she was mad; but then she did it. ‘He's still at home. He's working on the computer.' Her eyebrows sketched a question mark.

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