by Simon Hall
The shop was an anachronism, with its oil lamps, fob watches, chandeliers and grandfather clocks. The man behind the counter even wore a waistcoat.
He spotted Dan eyeing the window display and turned on the showman’s patter.
‘I see you’re bare on the wrist there, good sir. Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got the best watches and the best prices in town, and as it’s Christmas I might even be able to go a little further and offer you a seasonal knockdown deal.’
Dan was shown a selection of watches, some picked out in gold, others silver, and more than a couple with glittering jewels sparkling from their beautiful faces.
It felt like slipping under a hypnotist’s spell.
‘I need something good and robust,’ he said.
The shopkeeper looked him up and down. ‘And fit for some adventuring, I’d say, judging by sir’s fine physique.’
‘Well, perhaps the odd bit of walking and some running.’
‘And from sir’s clothes – no doubt the need to appear smart, stylish and successful.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘But without being flash.’
Dan wasn’t sure how to take that. He was wearing one of his new jackets and a new shirt too, and flash was exactly what he’d thought when he bought them.
‘Not too flash, no.’
‘Perhaps a little bit flash? A small flare of flashiness? For the benefit of the ladies?’
‘A little flash would be fine.’
The man’s practiced hand darted to a silver watch at the edge of the display.
‘Et voilà!’ he proclaimed. ‘The Rolex Submariner. Ideal for all the gentleman’s requirements. Robust, yet a little flash, the perfect watch for the adventurer.’
The price tag looked like the culmination of a long maths lesson, but Dan was already reaching for his wallet.
It’san unfortunate fact of life; Dan reflected, that what we want people to notice, be it a new haircut, or a pair of shoes, they rarely do. However, that which we would much rather they missed, like a blossoming spot or a stain on a jacket, can almost always be guaranteed to catch the eye.
Such was the way with Dan’s new watch.
Despite it being winter, he felt the need to take off his jacket at every conceivable opportunity and roll up his sleeves at the slightest chance. He kept looking at the watch, monitoring each passing minute in the hope of catching a wandering eye.
And no one noticed.
Adam’s mood had not improved. They met back at Spearing’s office to find the businessman talking to some prospective tenants. The two Sussex constables had the diplomatic decency to wait outside, but close enough to catch the man should he make another run for it.
He didn’t, and Dan suspected that told Adam all he needed to know, even before Suzanne’s call came through.
Spearing’s alibi checked out. The woman he met, after being guaranteed confidentiality, had verified it, the hotel receptionist had verified it, and on the unlikely assumption they were in league and both lying, the diligent Suzanne had viewed the hotel’s CCTV and that verified it too. Spearing was checking in at the very moment Edward Bray was checking out, for the final time.
They got back into the car at just before four o’clock, according to the new watch, which still hadn’t attracted any of the attention it so patently deserved. Dan assumed he was driving and he was right. Adam didn’t say a word, just climbed wearily into the passenger seat. This time he didn’t recline, instead he sat staring morosely out of the windscreen.
Dan made a couple of attempts at conversation, which were rebuffed with monosyllabic grunts, as effective as mere waves against mighty cliffs. Instead he turned on the radio, found a news channel and concentrated on that.
Lizzie had called earlier, and Dan broke the bad news to her that there would be no story.
‘A day wasted!’
‘It wasn’t wasted. It was a good idea to come, just in case. And I learnt some more about police work.’
‘The viewers didn’t learn anything about the police investigation into Bray’s death though, and that’s the point of you shadowing the cops. I want a story, I want it on Monday, and I want it without fail. You hear that? Without fail!’
At least it was Friday and he had two days break from his manic editor and her relentless demands. And he had a new watch, proud on his wrist for all the world to see.
Except the world still hadn’t had the decency to so much as notice.
It was a good hour into the drive before Adam spoke. ‘Well, it came to nothing, but we had to go.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. What did you do about his little cocaine stash?’
‘I left it to the Sussex boys to decide about that. They might just turn a blind eye. It’s a lot of paperwork for not much of a crime, and the guy was on his knees as it was. The Sussex cops do though reckon Spearing might have been up to some tax fraud as well, which is probably why he ran, but they can sort all that out. Now, what time do you reckon we’ll get back to Plymouth?’
‘Depending on the traffic, by about eight. You in a rush?’
‘No,’ Adam replied heavily. ‘Not in the least.’
They chatted a little more about what would happen in the inquiry over the weekend. Unless there was a particularly urgent development there was no need to pay for hours of overtime, so the investigation would tick over with just a few junior staff working. And, as Adam put it, ‘Bray will still be dead on Monday,’ so he planned to have most of the weekend off.
‘Good,’ Dan replied. ‘That means I can too. I could do with it. It’s been quite a week.’
They lapsed back into silence. Despite it being the Friday evening before Christmas they were lucky and didn’t hit any hold-ups. It was only when they were on the outskirts of Plymouth, at just before eight, that Adam sprang his surprise.
‘Have you got any plans for tonight?’ he asked.
‘No. I was just going to go home. You?’
‘No. None. Do you fancy a bite to eat and a beer?’
Dan would have turned around to check no one else was in the car, if he hadn’t had the benefit of a four-hour drive to assure him of that point.
‘Yeah,’ he said slowly. ‘That’d be, err– good.’
Dan parked the car at Charles Cross, and they headed into town.
All the bars were filled with people, full of the spirit of the season, and ably assisted by the alcohol they were so eagerly consuming. Women wore tinsel in their hair, men Santa Claus hats and beards. This time next week it would be Christmas.
The sky had stayed clear and the air had grown cold and sharp with it. Groups of committed smokers huddled in beer gardens and outside doorways, taxis rushed back and forth, loading and unloading their shouting and staggering cargoes. The city echoed to the pump of music and the shouts and screams of the weekend revellers. It was no place for the sober.
Adam and Dan walked past a couple of pubs, the music too loud, the crowd too boisterous for it to be worthwhile trying to find a table. On the edge of the waterfront of the Barbican they found a bar which was a little less packed and had a decent menu.
‘It does beer,’ said Dan, squinting through the misty glass at the promise of the pumps.
‘And food,’ Adam replied. ‘Come on, I need to unwind.’
They found a table for two at the back. A waiter slid over, favoured them with a soppy smile and made a show of lighting the fine red candle that stood between them.
‘I can’t help but suspect,’ Dan said, ‘that our waiter believes we’re a couple.’
Adam took off his jacket. ‘Don’t. I’ve got enough problems on that front as it is.’
Dan kept quiet, waited, held the detective’s look, but Adam quickly grabbed a menu and began studying the lines of dishes.
‘Looks OK,’ he said hurriedly.
‘Yes. Looks OK.’
And for the next few minutes they discussed the menu. In fairness, it looked better than OK. The bar had ju
st taken on a Thai chef and was offering a tempting array of dishes. The waiter, who was still smiling, brought them a couple of pints of beer, and it was fresh and tasty. Dan made a note to come back here soon. Real ale and Thai food, a heady combination.
Most of the drinkers had congregated around the bar, and where they sat it was quiet enough to talk without being forced to shout.
‘So, if nothing much is happening over the weekend, what do we do on Monday?’ Dan asked.
‘Go through what the teams have found out about our various suspects’ movements and alibis around the time Bray was killed. Then, by a process of elimination, try to narrow down who the murderer might have been.’
‘Do you think you’ll get him?’
‘We’ll get him. It may take a while, but we’ll get him. Our murderer has left us one big clue, which I think will give him away.’
Adam looked at Dan expectantly, and he sensed another test. ‘The cancelled appointment. From exactly a week before Bray was killed.’
‘Spot on. That’s the key to the case.’
Their starters arrived, a couple of fish soups. Clouds of delicious scent wafted from the bowls.
‘Mmm, excellent,’ was Adam’s verdict. ‘So, how’re you finding police work?’
‘In a word, fascinating. More to the point, how am I doing at it?’
‘In a couple of words, pretty well.’
‘It hasn’t been easy. I didn’t exactly feel welcome to start with.’
‘You weren’t, to say the least. But you’re doing better now.’
Dan lay down his spoon. ‘Am I?’
‘Yep. With your coverage of our knifeman, you made a few people realise you could be useful. You’ve kept quiet, listened and learned, not risen to the taunts, and you’ve also made me some money.’
‘Have I? How?’
‘The sweepstake. As I had the power to chuck you off the case, I didn’t enter it – in case, by some bizarre coincidence, you were thrown out at the very moment I’d picked and I was accused of fixing it. But I did put in my money and took the final option, the one that no one else would want.’
‘Which was?’
‘That you wouldn’t get thrown off at all this week – and you haven’t. So I’ve won. For which I will buy you a beer.’ Adam lifted his glass. ‘Cheers!’
The waiter brought them some more drinks followed by their main courses, a couple of green curries. They were also delicious. A party of young men walked into the bar, looked around and quickly left again.
‘Not enough women here,’ Adam observed. ‘I was the same myself at that age.’
Dan studied the detective, wondered whether he wanted to talk, but kept quiet. So far, every effort he’d made to find out more about Adam and his life had ricocheted straight off the armour plating of his defences.
The fire of the curry had prompted their glasses to empty once more, and the waiter brought replenishments. Adam took off his tie, curled it up carefully and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Dan noticed he was feeling light headed, probably a combination of the efforts of the week, a long drive today, and the beer. He would sleep well that night.
He checked his watch, held it up high and made a point of studying it at length, but still no one noticed, still less produced the requisite admiring comment. The magnificent chronometer said it was just after ten, but oddly the clock on the wall was registering ten past. The clock must be wrong, could in no way be any form of competition for the global apex of the watchmaker’s art of which Dan was the proud new owner.
They talked a little more about the inquiry, the various people they had met over the last few days and finished their drinks.
‘Time to get the bill, I think,’ Adam said, and took out his wallet. Dan glimpsed a picture of a young boy, perhaps six or seven years old, smiling from a photograph.
‘My son, Tom,’ Adam explained. ‘A little terror sometimes, but a great lad.’
Dan studied the picture. ‘Aren’t they all terrors at that age? He looks like you.’
‘Yes, so people say. I’ll probably take him to the football at the weekend.’
‘Plymouth Argyle?’
‘Yep. We usually re-enact the match afterwards. I have to go in goal, of course.’
‘Of course. Well, that sounds fair enough to me. It’s a father’s duty to be peppered with shots.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you planning anything much else at the weekend?’
‘Not much,’ Adam said quietly. ‘Not a lot, no.’
They paid the bill, thanked the smiling waiter and left him a good tip. He deserved it,he’d had plenty of exercise at their behest. It was early enough to make getting a taxi straightforward, most people were still in the bars, not yet heading for clubs or home. They hailed a black cab, piled in and settled into the seats.
‘Mutley Plain please,’ Adam told the driver.
‘I thought you lived in Peverell?’ Dan queried.
Adam stared out of the window. They passed a couple of police officers trying to break up a fight, and a group of women clustered around a young girl who was being violently sick against a wall.
‘Yeah, I sometimes live in Peverell,’ Adam said finally. ‘What I mean is …’
His voice tailed off. The cab stopped at some traffic lights, then rumbled forwards again.
‘Well, what happened is this,’ Adam continued. ‘Annie, that’s Tom’s mum, and I, well we …’
They reached Mutley Plain, the strip of bars and clubs buzzing with a procession of people.
‘Anywhere along here guv?’ the driver asked.
‘Yeah, just here’ll be fine,’ Adam replied.
The taxi stopped and the detective climbed out. ‘Look, I’ll tell you another time,’ he said. ‘See you Monday.’
He patted Dan’s shoulder, turned and walked off into the night, disappearing up a side street. Thoughtfully, Dan watched him go. He was almost sure that as Adam got out of the cab his eyes had looked red and tearful.
Chapter Thirteen
DAN HAD PREPARED AS best he could for the date, making sure to shave well, brush his teeth comprehensively, shape up his hair, even apply a little manly fragrance, and remind himself to be attentive and amusing, but primarily interested in her. It was an intimidating list, but he thought he might just about be able to carry it off.
Rutherford however had made no such vows. The moment he met Kerry for the first time he jumped up and planted a couple of muddy paws on her jacket.
‘Yuk!’ she gasped. ‘Thanks very much!’
Yet again in his life, Dan found himself apologising for his dog. They’d only just picked her up and already made a less than outstanding impression. When Rutherford had been calmed, Dan and Kerry exchanged a brief kiss, got into the car and set off. From the back seat the dog kept up a low whining for almost the whole of the hour’s drive.
‘He does that when he’s excited,’ Dan explained. ‘And the prospect of having a new friend and being out on Dartmoor for hours is more than enough to set him off.’
‘That’s fine by me. I love dogs.’
In fairness she sounded as though she meant it, and at the mention of the word Kerry was rewarded by the thrusting of a wet nose into her neck.
It was another fine day, the sun again dominant in a clear sky. They drove out of the city and onto the moor, passing Yelverton and the turn to Arthur Bray’s house. Dan found himself thinking about the old man’s shotguns, wondering whether the father could have killed the son, or if the murderer was one of the others they had met last week.
‘Are you OK?’ Kerry asked.
‘Yes, fine thanks. Why?’
‘I just thought you were muttering to yourself.’
‘Err, no. Just, err – humming. A little tune. As it’s such a fine day.’
She smiled in that way people do when they meet someone who they think to be unbalanced and want to distract the said suspect from the fact that they’re trying to edge away.
&nb
sp; How well the date was going. Not fifteen minutes in, Rutherford had already carried out a muddy assault and slimed her with his nose, and his master had started talking to himself about a murder investigation.
It just had to get better from here, or it would be yet another Christmas in his familiar single state.
‘So, how’s your week been?’ Dan asked.
‘Oh, fine. Lots on, as ever, but nothing special. I had my hair cut yesterday.’
So she had. Dan muttered an apology and tried to retake the lost ground with some lavish compliments, but he feared that after initially missing the new style his tongue would be seen more as lead than silver.
‘I had some pain-in-the-backside customers,’ she went on, ‘but that’s pretty standard for the human race. How was your week?’
Dan told her a little about the Bray investigation and the trip to Brighton. He made a point of rolling up his sleeve.
‘I did some Christmas shopping while I was there,’ he said meaningfully, turning his wrist back and forth so the Rolex caught the sunlight.
She smiled, and this time it was genuine. ‘Oh, that’s cute of you. I did wonder what to do being as we’ve only just met, but that means I can confess I’ve bought you a little something too.’
Dan smiled too, hoped it didn’t look pained, rolled his sleeve back down and made a mental note to get a present for Kerry.
Much of the rest of Devon appeared to be Christmas shopping too. The road heading into Plymouth was busy with cars, the way out onto the moor far quieter. They reached Tavistock, took the back way through the town, past the cattle market where Dan had covered many a story on the annual Dartmoor pony auctions. The road broke out onto the open moor, a great green valley and a running stream to their side.
‘This is beautiful,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely idea of yours to come for a walk. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure. I thought it’d be fun to do something different.’
Another half an hour’s patient driving through the moor’s 40 miles per hour speed limit and they were in the village of Belstone. Dan parked the car on the green, by the old stocks, opened the door and the explosion of Rutherford detonated. He ran back and forth, sniffing at benches, cars and bushes, before returning. Dan slipped the lead over his neck and they set off, south, following the River Taw.