“So we need to assume that Farrow’s opinion of Candy’s character is correct and see where it leads us.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Lowe tapped the desktop with his pen while he thought about this. “If Farrow’s father had realised he was being taken for a ride, that would give him a motive for murder. He wouldn’t take kindly to being conned.”
Nathan added, “And Farrow wouldn’t be the only one to lose out financially. So would his wife. That gives her a motive too.”
Lowe sounded more cheerful. “Looks like the whole family had something to gain from her death.”
I didn’t share his mood. I was much more concerned about Rusty’s feelings. If Farrow’s assessment of his sister’s character was correct, carrying with it the implication that it was her own behaviour that led to her murder, the news would hit Rusty hard.
Nathan said, “I’ve arranged a press conference for tomorrow. Naylor will be attending along with John Farrow and his family. So if you could make yourself available, Mikey.”
I agreed to be there, but my spirits sank. Rusty was about to face the inevitable barrage of abuse heaped on his sister. And nothing could be done to spare him the ordeal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Time on the road was time to think. And I had plenty to think about.
Foot to the floor, wind in my face, the Elan tearing up the road beneath me, I sped on my way, eyes protected from the dazzling sun by wraparound mirror shades, mind in confusion.
Ten days since my return, six days on from the murder, it was the day of the press conference, and I was on my way back to London, my mind focused on more pressing matters. More pressing to me that is.
I’m in a new relationship now. The last thing I need are these sort of complications.
The phrases kept spinning around in my head.
I hadn’t meant to listen in. Just bad timing I guess. Or maybe not. Maybe there were a few things I needed to know before I got in any deeper.
That morning, my analysis of Farrow’s interview typed and ready, I’d driven over to the station to hand it in to Nathan, and to let him know some urgent personal business had cropped up and I wouldn’t be around for the press conference. But, hearing him on the phone, not wanting to interrupt, I had waited outside his office door until he’d finished his call.
And what a call.
The last thing I need are these sort of complications.
I had no doubts about who he was talking to. And despite Karen’s protestations at my suspicions about Nathan’s possible oversight in forgetting to end one relationship before starting another, I wasn’t convinced that all was well with my world.
No sooner did my relationship with Nathan seem to be back on track than something threw it off kilter again. And I needed to put those suspicions to rest, once and for all, one way or the other, no matter what the outcome.
There were two reasons for my return to London. The first, the one I had originally planned for, was to view an apartment, something I needed as a stopover when work brought me to the Capital.
The second, the more covert reason, was to confirm my suspicions. Or otherwise, as the case may be. And that was the purpose of my first call.
Before long, I was in Stoke Newington. One of London’s more fashionable suburbs, famous for its range of good eateries.
I turned off the High Street into Stoke Newington Church Street and pulled up outside The Gastronomica which, despite its pretentious name, was a popular French restaurant. It was the restaurant for which I’d seen Nathan’s receipt a few days before.
In my mind, I went over the ploy I had rehearsed one last time, took a few deep breaths, and headed over.
The proprietor, a Monsieur Gaston, was a thin man, neat and crisp like a newly sharpened pencil, and eager to assist.
“I hope you can help,” I said. “A friend of mine dined here some days ago and thinks he may have left his notebook behind.”
He was even more eager to help when I gave him the name of my ‘friend’.
“DCI Quarryman used to be a regular here,” he said. “I know him well. But I’m sure he didn’t leave anything behind.”
“Maybe one of his guests picked it up,” I offered. “Would you know who he dined with that night?
I readied myself to hear the worst.
So eager to help was the poor man, he seemed almost devastated when he wasn’t able to. “DCI Quarryman had only one guest that night. And I’m afraid I don’t know the young woman’s name.”
Young woman?
My chest tightened, and I cut short a sudden intake of breath.
Recovering myself, I feigned a more relaxed attitude, made my excuses with a smile, telling Monsieur Gaston that I had an idea who the woman was and would contact her direct, and left hurriedly.
Sitting in the car afterwards, my heart racing, I felt ashamed and stupid. Ashamed at having stooped so low as to put myself through that pitiful charade. And stupid for having gotten it so wrong.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and the busy street sounds around me were an indistinct background hum, muffled by the pounding in my ears.
What was I thinking of? How could I demand Nathan’s trust if I wasn’t prepared to trust him in return? And what sort of basis was my deceitful behaviour for a stable relationship?
In my usual foolhardy manner, I hadn’t thought through the implications of my actions. What if Nathan was to find out? There was every possibility he might. How would I explain what I’d done?
Dejected and subdued, I switched on the ignition, put the Elan into gear, and made my way to my second destination.
My agent, Jerry Martin, was already in the middle of negotiations when I arrived.
Still dispirited following my stupid behaviour, I stayed out of the way, leaving Jerry to haggle with the harassed young man from the rental agency while I took an initial cursory look around the apartment.
At five feet seven, Jerry was way under average height but in terms of sheer strength of character, he filled a room. And he was more than capable of hammering the bespectacled salesman into verbal submission over the rental payments.
He was already on the offensive in response to a tentative offer from the young man. “Nonsense,” he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “This apartment would have been snapped up weeks ago if you hadn’t overvalued it.”
The salesman stammered out an objection but failed to dent Jerry’s stubborn resolve.
I left them to get on with it, my back turned, and stared out of the window.
As the proprietor of Martin Media Enterprises, it was Jerry’s job to manage and promote my career, a role that included taking care of my finances, planning interviews, and negotiating contracts for my media work. But like the sterling agent he was, he also managed my personal affairs and, I knew I could trust him to get me the best deal.
It was rush hour and, down below, the Islington streets were at their busiest as city workers made their ways home. Every so often, Angel Underground Station would disgorge another mass of commuters from its gaping maw, and they would swarm out onto the already crowded pavements. The occasional blare of a horn cut through the constant hum of traffic competing with the intermittent wail of a siren.
I had always loved this city. But it was time to move on, and put the past, and my stupid mistakes, behind me.
“Mikey?”
The sound of my name pulled me out of my reverie and I turned to face the two men. They stood side by side, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, waiting for a response to some unheard question.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was miles away.”
Jerry scowled. “I said, we’ve agreed a reasonable rent. Now it’s up to you.”
The rental guy, name of David, said, “It is a bit on the small side. If you’re looking for a family home, we do have some larger properties.”
No doubt he was looking for an increased rental and a bigger bonus.
I said, “There’s no f
amily. Just me and my partner. And our primary home is outside London, anyway.”
“Will she need to view the property?” said David.
I opened my mouth to speak, stuttered, closed it again and, after the briefest of pauses, said, “He. My partner is a ’he’.”
I’d made enough mistakes for one day. And now was as good a time as any to start making amends.
The salesman flushed and said, “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”
I brushed his apology aside with a smile. “Easy enough mistake to make.”
And that was it. Over and done with. Nothing had changed. The sky hadn’t fallen in. Why had I ever thought it was such a big deal?
To the salesman, Jerry said, “Mr MacGregor and I would like to look around before making a final decision.”
“Of course.”
David blinked several times under Jerry’s unceasing gaze until, finally taking the hint, he said, “Take your time. I’ll be waiting down in the lobby.” He made his excuses and left.
Once we were alone, I said, “I think this will do nicely.”
Jerry said nothing. Just fixed me with his famous stare. The one he used to beat others into submission.
“What?”
“This is going to be a major change for you, isn’t it?”
“Elders Edge isn’t that far away,” I said. “London’s only a two hour drive.”
“We’re not talking geography here.”
There was a trace of censure in his tone. Worry lines creased his forehead.
Jerry had been my agent for many years and I knew him well enough to know that beneath the brashness and bluster, and despite his feigned truculence, he had a big heart, and cared about my well-being. He had become as much a friend as an agent. I was touched by his concern.
“All will be well, Jerry.”
“I hope so.”
“Let’s face it, I’ve made one hell of a mess of my life so far. I made all the wrong choices. This is my chance to put things right.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“There’s nothing left to keep me here,” I said. “What have I got to lose?”
He appeared to consider this for a moment and then said, “You should bring Nathan over some time. I’d like to meet him.”
I snorted. “That would be interesting. Cops are used to giving third degrees. I’m not sure how he’d feel about being on the receiving end of one.”
Jerry’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “All part of the service. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look after your interests now would I?”
“You always do that, Jerry.”
I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go put that harassed young man out of his misery and do the deed.”
“The sooner the better. You’ll be needing the use of this place sooner than you think.” He had that supercilious I-know-something-you-don’t look on his face.
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you up to?”
He grinned, enjoying the moment. “You’ve been nominated for the Broadcast Awards. Best factual programme. Did I not mention it?”
My jaw dropped, and I stared at him open-mouthed. And then, “I think I would have remembered.”
“Good news all round, eh? Bigger fees for you. More commission for me.”
“I’m just grateful for the nomination. I’m flabbergasted.”
“Fine by me. You take the acclaim, I’ll take the money. Seems a fair deal.”
I shook my head, grinning from ear to ear. “Only you.”
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do that deal. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
I followed Jerry out of the room and turned in the doorway to take one last look around, still grinning.
It wasn’t much of a place. A poky studio flat with separate bathroom and kitchen, neither of which was much bigger than a broom cupboard. But it was good enough for my needs. It was never going to be home. London was never going to be home. Not anymore.
My future lay elsewhere. Back in Elders Edge. And now I was more determined than ever to settle down to the life I had always wanted and start making plans.
Unfortunately, the good mood that buoyed me up on the journey home wasn’t to last. By the time I got back, all hell had broken loose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Even before I reached the door, I heard the ruckus from inside. Rusty, Karen and Mia were grouped around the Fairview’s reception desk. Rusty was banging his fist on the counter, agitated and loud. Karen, it appeared, was trying to placate him, confronting him face on, flinty-eyed, and holding up a restraining hand. Mia was snivelling.
Karen turned to me as I approached. Her face was pinched and the usual welcoming smile was absent.
I’d dropped by on the way home to share the good news about the award with Karen, but I’d got more than I’d bargained for.
“What the hell is going on?” I said.
“This,” said Rusty, waving a small white envelope under my nose. “This is what’s going on.” His voice boomed out around the reception.
A middle-aged man and his bespectacled female companion stopped on their way between the foot of the stairs and the restaurant to see what the commotion was about. The woman glared at Rusty over the top of her specs and hurried her companion away. A younger woman seated in the lounge area turned at the sound and, craning her neck, peered at us over the back of the couch.
I took hold of Rusty’s arm, less concerned with the cause of his tantrum than the behaviour itself, and said, “Come on, let’s sort this out somewhere else.”
I caught Karen’s eye and tilted my head towards the door of her private apartment behind the desk, eyebrows raised. She caught the look and nodded briefly.
Rusty trembled as I guided him through the door into Karen’s sitting room. I seated myself on the couch and drew him down onto the other side of it. Karen pushed a still sobbing Mia into the room and they made use of the facing chairs.
“So is someone going to clue me in on what this is about?” I said.
“This.” Rusty held out the palm of his free hand and tipped the contents of the envelope into it.
A bullet.
I stared down at it, initially uncomprehending, and finally realising its significance. I looked up at him.
Comprehension must have shown in my eyes. He nodded briefly. “Yes, that’s right. A threat.”
“How and when?”
Holding the offending object as if it was contaminated, Rusty dropped the bullet back into the envelope. “That’s what I was trying to find out.”
Karen said, “You’re not going to get very far by shouting at my staff.” The tone of voice made her displeasure clear. “And I won’t have them abused.”
Her words had the desired effect. Rusty dropped his gaze and flushed. Suitably chastened, he said, “Sorry, I was out of order.”
He looked over to Mia on the chair opposite and said, “I’m sorry I shouted. It was a shock. I was upset.”
Still sniffing, Mia said, “That’s okay,” and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her cotton shirt.
“So?” I said, still waiting for a response.
“It was in a plain envelope with just my name on it,” explained Rusty, “so I supposed it must have been brought in. I was trying to find out who delivered it.”
“Has anyone called the police?” I asked.
Karen said, “I called Richard as soon as I found out. He’s on his way over.”
I turned my attention to Mia. “so where did it come from?”
In between sobs and sniffles, Mia managed to piece together an explanation. The bullet, contained within the envelope bearing Rusty’s name had arrived in the usual morning post in a larger brown envelope addressed to the Fairview. She had opened it and left the contents in Rusty’s pigeonhole for his later retrieval. The original envelope, that would have been postmarked with its origin, had been discarded with the rest of that morning’s waste.
> Karen confirmed that the garbage had been collected as usual earlier in the day and so there was no chance of recovering the original envelope. Not that it was likely to be of much benefit, anyway.
While Karen was still trying to console a sniffling Mia, assuring her she had done nothing wrong, Lowe arrived, letting himself into Karen’s apartment.
He took control.
“Okay, people, nice and easy does it.” He stood over us and held the open palms of his hands towards us in a calming gesture. “Let’s take it from the beginning shall we?” He tilted his head towards Rusty. “You first.”
Rusty, now more composed, handed the envelope up to him. “You’d best take this. You’ll be needing it.”
Lowe checked the contents, eyed Rusty with a look of concern and slipped the envelope into his breast pocket. “Okay, let’s have it,” he said and took out his notebook.
Rusty went over the events of that morning.
Lowe listened intently and scribbled down the details. Once finished, he went back through his notes and had Rusty confirm them. Satisfied he had it all down, he sent Mia on her way, impressing on her the need for confidentiality, and warning her not to discuss the matter with anyone. After crossing her heart and hoping to die, she scampered off, obviously delighted to be out of the firing line.
Pocketing his notebook, Lowe said, “Now, we need to get down to practicalities.” Addressing Rusty, he said,
“Looks to me like this is down to one of your former colleagues. Agreed?”
Rusty agreed and slumped back on the couch.
Lowe continued, “In which case, we have to consider security. We’re already trying to trace members of your old gang - not the easiest of tasks - but in the meantime, we need to take precautions. These people aren’t likely to leave it at threats.”
Again, Rusty agreed, looking even more dejected.
“We can step up our patrols and look out for any suspicious activity in the area,” said Lowe, “but first, we should move you out of the Fairview. Too public. Might be best if we found you a safe house.”
Rusty intervened. “Maybe I could stay at your place, Mikey?”
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