When Night Closes in (29 page)

Lowri wanted to tell him how pompous he sounded but instead she got up from her chair. ‘If that's all, Mr Lainey, I'm going home. Could you please get me a taxi?'

‘I would have thought you'd had a bellyful of taxis. The sergeant will run you home.'

Lowri moved to the door and Lainey's voice seemed to reach out to her. ‘I will want to interview you again in the morning, along with Mr Watson.'

‘Fine.' Lowri did not turn round. ‘I want to talk to Mr Watson too.'

She was silent on the drive home; she felt tired and dispirited. It was clear Lainey thought she was lying about the disc, lying about everything. Well, to hell with Lainey. He was the cop, let him work it all out. As for her, she would have a large whisky and climb into bed and hopefully get a good night's sleep.

Sarah Brandon sat on the balcony of the Jamaican Royal, staring out at the Caribbean. It shimmered against the shoreline clear as crystal, sparkling in the sun. The palm trees waved fingers at the soft, warm breeze and Sarah sighed in contentment. She had eaten a delicious meal, been serviced by a vigorous young waiter and now all she had to do was sit in the sun and get richer by the minute.

She had been glad to leave the cold damp climate of Britain behind. But first, she had ransacked the cottage; searched number 4 Plunch Lane from top to bottom but found nothing. It was a pity it had been necessary to burn the place down but she might have missed some piece of evidence that could fall into the wrong hands. That was all over now. All she needed to do was manipulate her underlings from afar and relax in luxury.

Not that she had ever known poverty, of course. Her mother came from an affluent background, while her father had made his way in the world of finance, cutting many corners as he went. They were both dead now and Sarah had inherited their joint fortunes, as well as her father's financial knowledge.

She glanced at the diamond on her finger. It was clearer than the sea, a dazzling four carats of near-perfect stone. She enjoyed being rich and soon she would be in possession of more wealth than even her father had envisaged.

She glanced up at the discreet knock. ‘Come in,' she said lazily. The door opened and the waiter stood there, a tray of drinks in his hand. She sat up straight.

‘Where's Errol?'

‘He's off sick, mam. Will I do?' He put down the tray and stretched to his full height. His chest muscles bulged beneath the pristine linen of his shirt. He smiled, his teeth very white against his dark skin. ‘I'm Paul if it pleases you, mam.'

‘Yes, I think it pleases me very much.'

She slipped out of her robe and took off her glasses. ‘How much time have you got, Paul?'

‘All the time in the world for you, mam.' He began to disrobe, laying his shirt carefully over the back of the chair. She was pleased to see how neat he was.

When they both lay on the bed naked Sarah touched his bronzed chest and felt the boy shudder. He was very grateful and so he should be, she would pay him well.

‘I'm surprised at you Caribbean boys,' she said, ‘I understood you were all very religious.'

‘Oh we are, mam, I go to church every Sunday and axe for forgiveness of my sins.' He smiled a slow smile and touched her breast. ‘But first I have to commit them sins.'

‘I think we understand each other perfectly, Paul.' She lay back and allowed herself to enjoy his attentions. Funny, when she had been with Jon, she had never climaxed, not once. It was not his fault, he was an ardent lover and he had staying power, but he always wanted to manipulate her and Sarah never enjoyed that.

‘Come on board, Paul.' She stretched her long legs, her skin startlingly white against his darkness. He obeyed and she smiled. She was the one to do all the manipulating now and she meant to enjoy every minute of it.

Lowri could not sleep. The whisky she had drunk, far from relaxing her, had made her feel anxious. What on earth was going on? Why did Mr Watson, her own father, deny he knew anything about the disc? She could scarcely wait for the morning to confront him about it. And what could be so important about the disc anyway?

She gave up trying to sleep and climbed from the bed. Perhaps a cup of tea would help. Downstairs, she took Sally's bag out of the closet and carried it into the kitchen.

She tipped the contents of the bag onto the table. They smelt of Sally's perfume, and she sorted through them. As well as the pop-music CDs, there was a comb, lipstick, nail polish, even spare pants, nothing out of the ordinary for a girl who stayed over at her boyfriend's at regular intervals.

Lowri felt the bottom of the bag and her fingers touched the plastic-lined card that held it in shape. She prised it up and underneath felt the hard edges of a book. She tipped up the bag and the book fell onto the table with a slap. It was a thin leather-bound diary and between its pages was a credit card. Jon Brandon's credit card.

Lowri made tea and sat at the table staring at the black cover of the diary, wondering if she had the right to look inside. But Sally was gone, goodness knew where, and might never come back. What harm could a little prying do her now?

There seemed to be nothing of significance written in the pages. Appointments with the hairdresser were noted along with brief comments about Timmy and his performance, or lack of it.

Lowri drank some tea to wash the stale taste of whisky from her mouth. The taste would always remind her of Jon and the last evening they had spent together. Then her dreams had been intact. She had believed in Jon, believed he loved her. She gave a short laugh. The only one Jon Brandon had ever loved was himself.

Sally, who denied ever knowing Jon, carried his credit card with her and had used it on at least one occasion, according to Lainey.

As if conjured up by her thoughts, Lowri came across Jon's name pencilled lightly into one of the dates in May. There was no other information. The entry was at the beginning of May, before Jon disappeared.

Sally did know him, then, probably had slept with him as Sarah had claimed all along. According to his wife, Sally was more Jon's type than Lowri could ever be. So why had he spent so much time, energy and money convincing Lowri that he was in love with her?

She looked through the pages more carefully and to her disappointment found no further references to Jon. Had his name been pencilled in for September or October that would mean that he could still be alive after he disappeared so mysteriously from the Swan Hotel.

Lowri sighed and glanced at the phone; perhaps she should call Lainey. To hell with Lainey, he did not believe a word she said so he could just wait until morning.

Lowri put Sally's make-up and other belongings, with the exception of the diary and credit card, back into the bag.

The diary she slipped under the carpet and then went back to her bedroom, having left lights on in the kitchen and sitting-room, and climbed into bed. Hoping that the house was still being watched, she fell asleep.

‘So,' Lainey said, ‘we searched through that damned case for nothing. It was a complete waste of time. Someone had taken the trouble to remove the CD, and who does it end up with? Lowri Richards – a coincidence, do you think?'

‘I don't know, guv,' Ken Major said tiredly. ‘Look, when are you going to get Matthew Brown back into work? We could do with him now, don't you think?'

‘Why now?' Lainey asked.

‘Well, he's been on holiday for long enough. Anyway, he knows more about computer stuff than I do.'

Lainey nodded. ‘You're right. I'll try and get hold of him first thing in the morning.'

‘Brown's a really good officer, guv. He was a fool to go prancing around with a suspect but then Miss Richards is a very attractive lady, isn't she?'

‘Aye, if you say so.' Lainey rose to his feet. ‘I'm off, I don't feel as if I've been to bed for weeks. See you in the morning.'

Lainey left the station and unlocked his car. It was a cold night and the sky was studded with stars. He could see the Plough quite plainly – why had it seemed much more impressive when he was a boy?

Summers were hotter, winters full of snowmen and Christmas gifts when he was a boy. Memories distorted by time, no doubt. He drove out of the station yard and along the road towards Jersey Marine.

‘You're as bad as Matthew Brown, Jim Lainey,' he said out loud. Here he was, a responsible detective inspector, and he could not keep away from Lowri however hard he tried. But then she was the main suspect. ‘That is a rationalization, Lainey, and you know it,' he told himself.

Lowri's downstairs lights were on, and he parked the car and walked round the side to the back door. He rapped on it lightly. ‘It's me,' he called, ‘Jim Lainey.'

After a moment, the door was opened and Lowri stood there, her dressing-gown tied loosely around her slim figure, her hair tangled over her shoulders. It was quite clear he had woken her up.

‘Can I come in?' he asked.

‘If you must.' She left the door open and walked away from him. As he followed, she picked up a handbag and held it out to him.

‘Whose is that?' he asked, seating himself on one of the upright kitchen chairs.

‘It's Sally's. I suppose you can look through it, I've been prying into her possessions so you might as well do the same.'

Carefully, Lainey took each item out of the bag and examined it minutely. A half-empty, sticky nail-polish bottle held a puce-coloured polish and he grimaced before putting it down. He took outa pair of knickers, lace-edged and minute, and wondered what on earth women wore them for – certainly not to keep out the cold, or anything else for that matter.

‘These weren't designed for warmth,' he said dryly, putting the pants next to the nail polish.

‘Jim,' she said. ‘Why did Mr Watson deny asking me to bring the disc over to him? Are you sure there was no mistake, a breakdown in communication perhaps?'

‘I'm sure.' Lainey felt sorry for her. Nothing Lowri touched seemed to work for her.

‘I see.' She paused. ‘There's a diary,' she said. ‘I think you might find that more useful than poking through Sally's knickers!' She took it from the hiding-place under the carpet and Lainey smiled.

‘First place a burglar would look,' he commented dryly.

He took the diary and began to flick through the pages, finding the credit card immediately. He saw Jon Brandon's name written into one of the dates and sighed. ‘So our Sally kept a great deal of her private life private,' he said. ‘I suppose you didn't know for sure if he was running Sally White as well as you and that wife of his.'

Lowri switched on the kettle and took two mugs out of the cupboard, along with a packet of tea bags. He watched as she made the tea, knowing just how he liked it. They were getting to know each other's foibles like a married couple but without the intimacy, worse luck.

‘Did you notice this?' He pointed to a date in November. ‘See what it says here?'

‘Not Jon's name again,' Lowri said, ‘I looked very carefully.' She put the mugs down on the table and drew her chair alongside Lainey's. She smelt faintly of soap and whisky. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to take her into his arms.

‘No, not Brandon's. It's a meeting arranged with someone called Chas, short for Charles I would imagine.'

‘So what's the significance in that?'

‘Summer's Dean,' Lainey said. ‘Look, it's written very faintly, but it's there. Isn't that where your parents live?'

‘Yes it is.' Lowri leaned closer and the softness of her breast against his arm was almost too much to bear. He was falling in love with this girl and he knew it. But it would not do, it would not do at all.

‘Charles, your stepfather?'

‘Possibly. But why? What would Sally have in common with my stepfather? Sally liked them young.'

‘I don't know,' Lainey said truthfully. ‘Was he the type to enjoy being a sugar daddy, perhaps?'

‘Very likely!' Lowri's tone was bitter. ‘But even Charles would see through Sally, surely?'

‘You mean she was a gold-digger?'

‘Well no, not exactly. But like any girl she enjoyed beautiful things. A decent car, a good wardrobe, gold jewellery.' She hesitated. ‘Why are we talking about her in the past tense? Do you think she's dead?'

He shrugged. ‘I just don't know. People seem to go missing all around you, Lowri. Or have road-traffic accidents.'

‘Is it my fault if Timmy Perkins crashed his car?' Lowri's voice was edged with anger. ‘All Timmy ever meant to me was that he was a boyfriend of Sally's.' She paused. ‘How is Timmy?'

‘He's recovered consciousness but he can't remember anything about the incident. A temporary loss of memory is quite common in cases of head injury. At least, that's what the doctor at the hospital said.'

‘Look, was this just an unfortunate accident?' Lowri asked. She leaned back in her chair and for a moment her lips trembled. ‘Come on, Jim, tell me.'

‘The CD he gave you, it must be very important. Someone wanted it very badly. His rooms were ransacked, and various things were stolen. I think Timmy was driven off the road on purpose. The car was searched before it had time to become a fireball while Timmy lay there unconscious.'

Lainey paused. ‘Would Timmy be able to access the information on the CD, do you think?'

Lowri shrugged. ‘I suppose so, he was studying IT among other things.' He could see she was thinking the matter over. She closed her eyes for a moment and curving eyelashes rested against her pale cheeks. The graze from her fall looked red and sore, and a feeling of protectiveness engulfed Lainey. He took a deep breath, about to speak, when Lowri beat him to it.

‘Yes, I'm sure Timmy would be able to do most things he put his mind to. He certainly came into money before the accident. At least that's what Sally said.'