by Karla Forbes
***
By the time Annelies walked back through the door carrying her large haul of newspapers and magazines, a delicious aroma was wafting around the kitchen and Nick was proudly putting the finishing touches to a very credible meal. Having something positive to do had gone a long way to restoring his normal good humour, and he invited her to sit with a gallant flourish of the tea towel.
“That smells good,” she said, wrinkling her nose appreciatively. “What did you do? Send out for a takeaway?”
He threw her a look of reproach as he set a serving dish down in front of her. ““You’re a cynic. I’ve been slaving over this for the last half-hour. I don’t know why I bothered.”
“Because you were hungry and it was the only way you were going to eat?” she suggested. She poked at the offering with a fork. “What is it?”
“Considering what you had in your kitchen, it’s nothing short of a miracle,” he said. “Do you know your fridge was nearly empty? I managed to unearth half an aubergine, a couple of courgettes and a shrivelled onion, so I fried them, put them into a dish with some tuna and pasta that I found in your storecupboard, and covered the whole lot with a cheese sauce.”
She took a forkful of the dish to her mouth and nibbled cautiously. “Hey, it’s good. What’s it called?”
“Called?” he said, pensively. “I don’t know. I’ve never made it before. How about ‘condemned man’s last meal’? That seems apt enough.”
She gave him a searching look, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. “A fine meal like this deserves a fine wine,” she said, keen to keep his spirits up. “I might not have much food in the house but I’m sure I can find a half decent bottle of plonk in the cupboard.” She sprang to her feet and disappeared, returning less than a minute later carrying a bottle of Beaujolais. In the meantime, Nick tracked down a couple of plastic beakers. They tackled their improvised feast with relish.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, chasing a forkful of pasta around the plate. “I thought people like you spent their time eating out at the ‘Ivy’ or buying ready meals from Marks.”
“People like me?” he asked, amused.
“You know, ‘cash rich’ but ‘time poor’.”
His look was suddenly serious. “Is that how you see me, Annie?”
The pasta froze halfway to her mouth. “Well, yes. Don’t you?”
He considered the question. “I’d never really thought about it.” He reached over with the bottle and topped up her beaker. “It’s irrelevant now anyway.”
She saw the emptiness in his eyes. “It won’t be for long,” she told him, angry with herself for reminding him of his present predicament. “You’re innocent. As soon as the police realise that they’re chasing the wrong man, you’ll get your life back.”
“Will I?” he asked. “I don’t think so. Tim’s dead; Esther has left me. How can life go on as though nothing’s happened?”
She began to protest, but he hushed her. “It’s OK, Annie. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, but it’s a fact. Things can never go back to what they were. And if I’m honest, perhaps I don’t want them to.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but instead he pushed back from the table and began to clear the dishes. She jumped hurriedly to her feet.
“I’ll do these. You’ve got work to do.” She nodded towards the magazines.
He capitulated with a tired smile and pulled the first of the magazines towards him. “What did you do? Break into a warehouse?” he asked, staring at the huge pile.
“I did some thinking of my own,” she chuckled. “If these men bought the boat a few weeks ago, there’s no point in concentrating on current newspapers and magazines. I figured the supermarkets would send back their old stock as soon as it came off the shelves, so I went to the newsagent around the corner instead. He works more or less on his own, staying open all hours, so I guessed he might still have some old stock hanging around.”
“Which he obviously did,” Nick said, eyeing up the pile appreciatively.
“It wasn’t easy coaxing it out of him,” Annelies complained. “He had all the back issues packed up, counted and ready to go. I tried smiling sweetly, but he was immune to my charms, so instead I bunged him twenty quid for his inconvenience.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Nick promised her, looking awkward.
“You certainly will,” she said, grinning wickedly. “You owe me big time. When this is over and you’ve got some money again, you’re going to buy me a very nice meal in a posh restaurant.”
“Double burger and chips it is,” he quipped. But in spite of his attempt at banter, there was no mistaking the strain in his voice.
“You look worn out,” she said, casting a look of concern over her shoulder as she began piling the dishes into the sink. “If you haven’t found anything within the hour, I think you should give up for the night and get some sleep.”
He shot her a distracted look. “Sorry…what did you say?”
“I was suggesting that…”
She realised that he wasn’t listening. He was once again engrossed in the challenge of finding the Searay. She gave up on the idea of further conversation and crept around instead, clearing away and then making him a mug of tea which he left untouched. It was nearly two hours later, when she had settled companionably by his side and was leafing through a copy of a local newspaper, that he sat back with a look of quiet satisfaction.
“He conquers who endures,” he announced. His tone was so devoid of triumph that she didn’t realise at first what he was saying.
“What was that?” she asked, not pausing in the act of reading.
“Persius was right. Persistence pays off.” He pushed the magazine towards her. “Look, I’ve found it. It’s a Searay 270 Sundancer; needs attention. Hence the price: eight thousand quid.”
He suddenly had her full attention. “Are you sure?” she asked, not daring to hope.
“I’m sure. Look at the name.”
She peered closer. “What name? I can’t see anything.”
He sat forward, pointing out a smudge on the grainy photograph. “Can you see where it says THE ISAD? The rest of it is out of shot, but I’d put money on the fact that it says THE ISADORA.”
“Well done!” She crossed her arms and looked at him steadily. “You know, you’re not the only one with an endless supply of useless quotes. I have one or two of my own.”
He looked at her with feigned surprise. “Really?”
“There’s ‘To sleep, perchance to dream’.”
“William Shakespeare.”
“Indeed. Then there’s ‘A woman deprived of sleep and dreams will eventually turn ratty and give her guest a thick ear’.”
“Err…Annelies Burdon?”
“Correct.”
“OK,” he said, “I take the hint.” He hauled himself wearily to his feet. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about harbouring stray criminals, I’m off to bed.”
***
Nick sat hunched in the passenger seat with the baseball cap pulled low over his face and a map spread out on his knees. He was happy not to be in the Aston Martin. Although he knew it was down to a nervous imagination, it seemed to him that the occupants of every passing police car were peering with interest in his direction.
“Take a left here,” he said, as they came to a junction. “And then first right.”
Annelies slowed the car as they turned into a narrow road. It was tightly crammed with neat identical bungalows, and as she cruised slowly along, weaving around the parked cars, Nick counted down the numbers until they arrived at their destination. A flicker of net curtain suggested that their arrival had been noticed, and the door was already opening as they walked up the path. The occupant, a stout middle-aged lady wearing sensible clothes and a solemn expression, took them in with one judgemental glance. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion at Nick’s rough appearance, but he summoned up a charming smile and extended a hand in greet
ing.
“Mrs Jackson?” he said, politely. “My name’s Tom Pickering, and this is my work colleague Kate. It’s very kind of you to speak to us.”
Mrs Jackson’s demeanour changed visibly.
“You’re very welcome,” she said, fluttering. “Come through into the living room. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Annelies trailed in Nick’s wake and looked around for a seat as Nick was shown to the best chair by the fire.
“How can I help you, Mr Pickering?” Mrs Jackson asked a few minutes later, as she carried in cups of tea on a tray.
Nick had once been told by a female admirer that he had ‘Come-to-bed eyes’. He chose this moment to use them to their best advantage.
“Please,” he said, with a warm smile, “call me Tom.” Annelies pulled a face behind the older woman’s back, as though warning him not to overdo it, but Mrs Jackson seemed not to mind.
“Chocolate biscuit, Tom?” she said, before absent-mindedly offering some to Annelies. “So, what do you want to know about my old boat? It all sounded very mysterious when you phoned this morning.”
Nick came straight to the point. “We’re trying to track down the men who bought it,” he said. “Any information you can give us would be appreciated.”
Mrs Jackson crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “I might be able to help, but not until you tell me why you’re asking,” she stated bluntly.
Nick realised with a start that she wasn’t such a pushover after all. He reverted to Plan Number Two: a lie.
“We’re from the Benefits Office,” he told her. “We’re investigating a man called John Harris. We have reason to believe that he’s fraudulently claiming incapacity benefit.”
“Oh, I see,” Mrs Jackson said, eyeing up his tatty appearance. “You’re working undercover?”
Nick self-consciously fingered his unshaven chin. “Yes, that’s right. What can you tell us, Mrs Jackson?”
“There were three men,” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “I only properly spoke to one of them; he introduced himself as Mr Smith.”
Nick shot a look of triumph at Annelies. “What did he look like?” he asked, lowering his own voice.
“Middle-aged, beak-like nose, intelligent-looking. He smiled, pretending to be friendly, but it didn’t fool me. His eyes were hard.”
Nick recognised the description as the man who had called himself Harris.
“And the others?”
“Similar in age. One was heavier, scowled a lot, and the other one was hanging back. I didn’t really notice him, apart from the fact that when he did speak a few words, I thought he had an accent.”
Nick suppressed a whoop of triumph. “Go on,” he said guardedly.
“They said straight away that they would take it. I don’t mind admitting that I was surprised. A few other people had viewed it, but they’d turned it down because of the condition it was in. It was my late husband’s boat,” she explained. “He died a couple of years ago. Even before that, the boat had been neglected because of my husband’s health problems, but after he died I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. I had to in the end because I couldn’t afford to go on paying the berthing fees.”
“But these men took it straight away?”
“Yes. They looked over it as though they knew what they were doing, but I could tell straight away that they didn’t really understand very much about boats. They weren’t asking the right questions, you see.”
Nick nodded. “How did they pay? Cheque? Banker’s draft?”
Mrs Jackson poured Nick a second mug of tea. “No, they paid in cash.”
“What, the whole lot?” Annelies spluttered in surprise.
Mrs Jackson tore herself away from Nick long enough to top her mug up too, then turned straight back to Nick. “Yes, the whole lot. We drove down to Newhaven harbour where it was berthed. They said they’d take it there and then, and they handed over the full amount in cash. I wasn’t going to argue, was I? It was all there, in a suitcase. We shook hands on the deal and I haven’t set eyes on them since.”
Nick considered the information and saw a problem. “I don’t know much about the financial sector,” he lied, “but I do know you can’t just pay eight grand in cash into your bank account without raising suspicion. Something about money-laundering laws.”
“Really?” she said surprised. “I didn’t know that. It wasn’t a problem, though. I’ve got three separate accounts: two with building societies and one with a bank. I divided it between them.”
“So does that mean you didn’t take their address?” he asked with disappointment.
Mrs Jackson looked confused. “Well no, but does that matter? If you’ve been investigating one of these men you must surely know where he lives.”
Nick reappraised yet again his opinion of Mrs Jackson: she was a lot smarter than she looked. “You’re right,” he said, back-pedalling, “but we need to be sure that the man we’re investigating is the same one who is driving around the country, perfectly healthy, and with enough money to hand over eight thousand pounds in cash.”
Mrs Jackson nodded. “Yes, I can see that,” she said, thoughtfully. “I did ask them for an address. They promised they’d give it to me but then they forgot.”
“No matter,” Nick said, consoling himself with the thought that at least he now had corroborative evidence that the three men existed. “Would you be willing to repeat what you’ve just said to the police?”
Mrs Jackson looked startled. “The police? I suppose so, if you think it’s necessary.”
Nick stood to leave and extended his hand. “We won’t take up any more of your time. But thanks again for the tea and biscuits and for all the help you’ve given.”
“You’re very welcome,” Mrs Jackson said, getting to her feet. “I’ll show you out.”
She walked with them to the front door and gave a little wave as they walked down the path. “Oh, by the way,” she called after them, “I nearly forgot. I took down their registration number. Is it any use to you?”
Nick and Annelies exchanged startled looks and hurried back. “You’re kidding!” Nick said with amazement. “That would be great!”
Mrs Jackson disappeared inside and came back minutes later with a piece of paper fluttering from her fingers. She handed it to Nick and he read it several times, hardly able to believe his luck. “What made you write it down?” he asked incredulously.
Mrs Jackson crossed her arms in a gesture of defiance. “They were paying for my boat with a suitcase full of used banknotes, young man. I’m not particularly trusting and I’m definitely not that stupid.”
Nick, clutching hold of his prize, could only agree.
As Annelies executed a three point turn and pulled away, Nick asked to borrow her mobile to call her brother.
“Go through the main switchboard,” she advised. “Otherwise he’ll see my number come up on his phone and know I’m with you.” It sounded like good advice.
“Ed?” He said, less than a minute later. “It’s Nick. Can you talk?”
“Oh it’s you,” Ed said cautiously. “I was wondering where you’d got to. Go ahead, talk. I’m alone in the office. What’s happening?”
“I’ve got my first real lead on the men. I’ve been speaking to the woman who sold them the boat.”
“That’s great,” Ed said. He hesitated, as though already anticipating the answer to his next question. “Listen, Nick, you are going to give yourself up now aren’t you? Every police force in the South is looking for you. It would be better all round if you came in voluntarily.”
Nick’s mouth tightened into a stubborn line. “I can’t do that.”
He heard the exasperation in Ed’s voice. “Why not?”
“Because finding them isn’t enough. If I walk into the nearest police station and give myself up, what are the police going to do?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They’ll bang me up first and worry about checking my story out later, and when they
do, what‘s going to happen? There’s nothing to link them to Tim’s murder. No motive…nothing. I’ll still be the police’s only credible suspect.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’m not giving myself up until I’ve got something positive to tell the police.”
“You’re getting in over your head,” Ed warned.
“I’m already in over my head.”
“Then stop now before it gets worse.”
“I can’t do that,” Nick said. “These men must have had a reason to kill Tim. When I find them, perhaps I’ll discover what they’re so desperate to hide.”
Ed sighed. “Nick, you’re fooling yourself if you think you can do this alone. You’ve got to tell the police what you know, and trust them to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I tried that. Look where it got me.”
“Then try again.”
“That’s precisely what I’m doing now,” Nick said pointedly.
There was a silence that lasted several seconds. “OK, I walked right into that one. What do you want?”
“I’ve got a registration number. I need an address.”
This time the silence lasted longer. “Do you realise what you’re asking? I’ll lose my job if they find out.”
“Then make sure they don’t.”
“You’re an unsympathetic bastard,” Ed told him bleakly.
“Come on, Ed,” Nick urged him. “You’re worried about losing your job, but I’m worried about losing my liberty.”
Ed said nothing.
“Ed?” Nick prompted.
“Yes! OK!” Ed hissed. “Give me the bloody number and I’ll see what I can do!”
Nick exhaled slowly with relief and read from the paper.
“How will I get hold of you?” Ed asked sourly.
“You won’t. I’ll get hold of you. I’ll phone you back in an hour.” Nick disconnected, knowing that all he could do now was wait and hope that Ed would deliver the goods.
***
Fox peered over the top of his newspaper with a scowl. “I still don’t get it,” he said, a whole ten minutes after he had last uttered a word of dissent.