Game Over

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  Slider offered her his handkerchief and she shook her head, dragged out another tissue, blew her nose briskly and said in a reasonably controlled way, ‘They’ll have been his old watches. Dad had a gold Oyster Perpetual he wore all the time. He loved it. He was always mad about watches and of course he needed a good, reliable one in his work, but the Oyster was his great treasure. Candida bought it for him last Christmas, and I don’t think he ever took it off, except in the shower.’

  Seeing she was back in charge, Bailey asked, ‘We didn’t find a mobile phone . . .?’

  She turned to him. ‘He had the latest Nikoti Cyber-box, the F283. It’s a 3G Smartphone that does everything – VGA camera, camcorder, mobile, broadband, video calling, the lot, plus the electronic notebook facility. You can write or dictate notes into it and download them to your computer through a wireless link. He took it everywhere. It would have been in his pocket.’

  Slider nodded. Even he had heard of the Cyber-box. There had been queues round the block in New York when it came out, gadget aficionados wanting to be the first to own one. It made robbery from the person look a better bet.

  ‘We’ll put a trace on it. And on his credit cards, once we have the numbers. I suppose all that sort of thing will be in his office.’ There was something at the back of his mind which wouldn’t come forward, but it prompted him to ask, without really knowing why, ‘Did your dad have a fountain pen or a fancy ballpoint? A Mont Blanc or anything like that, that he carried in his pocket?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He just used ordinary biros. He wasn’t interested in pens. Why?’

  ‘Oh, just wondering what else might have been in his pocket.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t have been a biro. He hated people who had them sticking out of their pockets. Like men who wore signet rings. He had a lot of those little prejudices.’

  ‘We all do,’ Slider said, to comfort her.

  They moved on to the third bedroom, which was furnished as an office, with a desk, computer, filing cabinets and so on. Again, everything looked orderly, and Emily Stonax said she couldn’t see anything missing.

  Bob Bailey eased Slider aside and said quietly, ‘There’s something interesting about one of those filing cabinets. Fingermarks on the top and on this drawer. Don’t get excited – they’re gloved prints, so we won’t get a match, but it’s an indication?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Slider. What normal person puts gloves on to do their filing? Someone had been in. ‘You’d better have a look for footprints as well. That’s quite a new carpet with a good pile.’

  ‘Already on it. And here’s something else – a quick analysis of one of the smears suggests oil of some kind, probably petroleum based.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a field test kit for oil,’ said Slider.

  Bailey gave him a withering look. ‘It’s called smell and taste.’

  ‘Well, get me a sample and I’ll shove it off to the lab,’ Slider said, his interest quickening. If the oil came from the perpetrator’s car, it might be possible to get a match: the oil in each car had a unique combination of impurities – dirt, soot, pollen etc. Of course, there was no register of car-prints, but it was good evidence once they had a suspect. ‘Have you opened any of the drawers yet?’

  ‘Not yet. Still doing externals.’

  ‘Well, I’d like Miss Stonax to have a look into the one with the fingermarks.’

  It hardly needed the eye of a relative, when it came to it, because as soon as the drawer was opened it could be seen that one of the hanging folders was empty. The plastic name tag from it had been taken, too – pulled out so roughly that the slots that had held it had been torn.

  ‘I suppose you can’t tell us what was in it?’ Slider asked without much hope.

  She shook her head slowly, obviously trying to help. ‘I’ve never really looked through his files. All I can say is that he was very tidy-minded and kept everything in a logical order, either alphabetical or by category.’ She looked at Slider. ‘So what does this mean? If someone took a file out of his office, doesn’t it change things?’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Slider said. ‘The two things might not be related at all. This folder might have been empty to begin with, or the file might have been removed at some other time. Your father might have lent it to someone, or just refiled it somewhere else.’

  Emily was looking at the tags on the rest of the files. ‘This is all environmental stuff. I recognise some of the names – campaigns and enquiries he’s mentioned to me in the past.’

  Slider sighed inwardly at the thought of having to go through everything. There were three cabinets of four drawers each, enough paper-chasing to keep them up nights for months, unless a good lead turned up. ‘I’d just like to find his credit card numbers so we can get a fix on those,’ he said.

  ‘This drawer’s labelled “Financial”,’ said Bob Bailey, from another stack. There were folders inside with credit-card statements neatly filed in date order, each entry on each statement with a small precise tick against it where, presumably, it had been checked against the counterfoils in the officially approved manner. Stonax’s tidy, logical methods certainly made it easier to find things. Unfortunately – if the ‘missing’ folder were indeed missing, and significant – it also made it easier for an intruder to find what he wanted.

  ‘That’s all I want for now,’ Slider said, noting how Emily Stonax was drooping with weariness as the brief, spurious excitement wore off. ‘Would you like to make your way back to the door and I’ll see about getting you some transport.’

  She retraced her steps, while Bailey bagged the credit-card folders. ‘I’ll take his chequebook and bank statements, and that big diary, too,’ Slider said. ‘And the pile of papers on the corner of the desk – that might be recent correspondence. I suppose we’ll have to get into his computer, too.’

  ‘You may be too late for that,’ Bailey said. ‘If the villain was after something documentary, now he’s got the Cyber-box he can get in there and take what he wants.’

  ‘He can?’

  ‘It uploads as well as downloads.’

  ‘Oh, bloody Nora, don’t tell me that!’

  ‘If he knows or can figure out the password, that is,’ Bailey said hastily, in an effort to comfort him.

  Slider met his eyes. ‘I was hoping the stolen Cyber-box meant it was a simple robbery from the person. But combine it with a missing file, and it starts to look more complicated. And complicated I can do without at the moment.’

  ‘We don’t know the file’s missing,’ said Bailey encouragingly. ‘And Stonax might have made those fingermarks himself – on his way out with his gloves on, say, and he suddenly remembers he needs the file for something. Dashes back in . . .’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ Slider said, though not with overwhelming gratitude. ‘Now we’ve got to look through his clothes for gloves as well.’

  At the door to the flat Slider found Atherton, standing outside in the corridor and talking to Emily Stonax. Hart was also there, looking on with an expressionless face, her arms folded across her chest in what in other circumstances might have been a defensive posture. Slider took Atherton to one side and handed him the bag of papers. ‘You can take these back and start going through them. The credit-card numbers are in there.’

  ‘Do you want them stopped?’

  ‘Not immediately,’ said Slider. ‘Put an alert on them. It’s possible one of them might be used and then we’ll get a fix on the user.’

  ‘Right. Oh, and Mackay was just here. He’s managed to get the old lady next door to answer at last. Number five, the other side. A Mrs Koontz. Apparently she was out walking her dog this morning at about half past seven and she saw someone coming out of the main door downstairs.’

  ‘Half past seven? That could be all right,’ said Slider.

  ‘It’s not much help to us, though,’ said Atherton. ‘Apparently it was one of those motorbike couriers, in leathers, with the smoked-glass visor
on the helmet.’

  Slider almost clicked his fingers. ‘That was it!’

  ‘What was what?’

  ‘I saw something this morning, when I was leaving here. It caught my attention, but just out of the corner of my mind, and I didn’t really take in what it was. But now you remind me, it was a man in a motorbike helmet. He was standing in the crowd.’

  Atherton cocked his head slightly. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘I just thought it was odd that someone standing watching like that shouldn’t have taken off his helmet.’

  Atherton shrugged. ‘If he’d just paused for an instant to look . . . ?’

  ‘I know. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘What’s probably nothing?’ Hart asked, joining them.

  ‘Neighbour saw a motorbike courier leaving this morning at an interesting time, and the guv’nor saw a man in a bike helmet in the crowd,’ Atherton explained. ‘Naturally in a city of twenty million people they’d have to be one and the same.’

  ‘You think you’re kidding.’ Hart looked serious. ‘I was waiting to tell you about the caretaker, guv, Borthwick, but now I think there’s something you ought to see for yourself.’

  Slider was aware that Emily Stonax was standing unattended since Hart had left her. ‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘Atherton, Miss Stonax needs a lift. Can you look after her? Drop that stuff at the station on your way if that fits in.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Atherton said, and almost leapt to her side with an alacrity that had Hart muttering, ‘Boy scout!’ under her breath, but rather sourly.

  In the car, Atherton said, ‘I have to take these things back to the station, but of course your bags are still there, aren’t they? So we can pick them up at the same time. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, staring listlessly out of the window.

  ‘And where would you like me to take you afterwards?’

  She roused herself. ‘I don’t know. I was going to stay with my dad, wasn’t I? I suppose that’s out of the question now.’

  ‘Well, for a day or two, until all the forensic tests are done. Is there anyone else you can stay with in London? Friends? Family?’

  ‘I don’t have any other family, I’ve already told you that.’ Weariness and shock was making her a little irritable. ‘And I don’t have friends in London any more – not anyone I’d want to stay with, anyway.’

  ‘Well, we do need you to stay nearby for a little while,’ he said gently.

  ‘Oh, I’m staying,’ she said, suddenly forceful. ‘I’m staying until you find who did this, and catch him, and lock him up.’ The little burst of energy dissipated. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go to an hotel. I don’t know any round here. Can you recommend anywhere?’

  The thought of her shacked up in some horrible hotel was unthinkable – soulless modern chain or tacky local cheap, either way it hurt him. He paused a moment to frame his words carefully. ‘Don’t be afraid to say no right away if you don’t like the idea, but I’ve got a spare room. You can stay there if you like.’ He dared to look at her, and she met his eyes doubtfully, wondering what was implied. He lifted one hand off the steering wheel in an open-handed gesture to indicate innocence. ‘No funny business. I mean it purely in a friendly way. You can have your own key and come and go as you please. I won’t bother you. And you can stay as long as you like. It isn’t grand, but it’s adequate, and it’s near a tube station.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ she asked slowly.

  He felt a certain heat in his face. Ridiculous, at his age! ‘Yes, of course I am. But as I said, don’t be shy about saying no if you think it’s inappropriate.’

  ‘Inappropriate,’ she mused. ‘That’s a really American expression. No, I don’t think it’s inappropriate. I think it’s very kind, and I think it would be brilliant because you’d be able to keep me up to date on what’s being done and what you’ve found out. I was dreading going off to some hotel and being forgotten and left out. But do you really mean it? Won’t I be in the way?’

  His heart lifted. ‘Not the slightest. I’d be glad to have you stay. As long as you like cats.’

  ‘I love them. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got two Siameses.’

  ‘My favourite sort.’

  ‘They’re mad as snakes, but very clean.’

  ‘Siameses are always clean.’

  He turned into the yard and pulled into his parking slot, and only then dared to turn and look at her. He saw that in the weariness and pain of her face there had come a small measure of comfort, and he felt thrilled and humbled to have been able to do that.

  As if she heard his thought she said, ‘It will be so much nicer to stay in someone’s home rather than an hotel. Thank you for offering.’

  He tried not to grin like an ape in his pleasure. ‘The only thing is I won’t be able to take you back there right away. A lot of stuff to do. Do you mind waiting? I mean, you can go off and do things, of course, and come back later. You don’t have to hang around the station.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll fit in with whatever you have to do. I don’t want to get in the way of the investigation.’ They both got out of the car, and she faced him across the roof. ‘Right now I’d really love a cup of tea, though.’

  ‘Nothing easier. You can use the canteen. And if you want to crash out for a bit, you can use the soft room – the interview room where you went this morning. The sofa there’s not too bad.’

  They walked in together and up the stairs to the office, where her things had been stacked in a corner to wait for her. The first person Atherton saw as he entered was Joanna, sitting on the edge of a desk looking anxious. She jumped up as soon as she saw him. Until yesterday, it had given him a sharp pang to see her like that, all taut and curved down the front with Slider’s baby. Today, since meeting Emily, he was filled only with friendly affection. They kissed cheeks.

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

  ‘Still at the site. Don’t worry,’ he said, and introduced Emily Stonax before she could say anything inappropriate.

  Joanna’s face immediately registered concern and vicarious distress. It was one of the things Slider liked about her, that every feeling – and often every thought – was visible in her expression. As a policeman he was so accustomed to being lied to it was refreshing to know a person without guile.

  She held out her hand to Emily. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how awful you must feel.’

  Emily shook the hand. ‘At the moment I think I’m cushioned a bit by jetlag. I only got in from New York this morning.’

  Atherton said, ‘Emily’s pining for a cup of tea. Could you show her the way to the canteen?’

  ‘It’s all right, I can find it,’ Emily said.

  But Joanna said, ‘I’m dying for one myself. Do you mind if I come with you?’

  ‘No, I’d be glad of the company.’

  ‘Will you tell me when he gets back?’ Joanna asked Atherton, and they went off together.

  ‘So you’re Inspector Slider’s . . . partner?’ Emily said, a little hesitantly, as they walked up the stairs.

  ‘Soon to be wife,’ Joanna said. ‘It’s just that it’s so hard to find a time when we’re both free. Whenever we do tentatively fix a date for the wedding, something always comes up.’

  ‘Like my father.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I hope you didn’t think I meant—’

  ‘No, no. Look, if we’re going to sit and have tea together, you’ll have to not tiptoe round me. The whole thing’s too awful for me to know what I feel about anything yet. I’m pretty numb, if you want the truth.’

  ‘Probably just as well,’ said Joanna.

  The canteen was almost empty. They got tea and Joanna, feeling they needed a sugar hit, picked up a packet of two giant chocolate chip cookies, and they made their way to a table by the window.

  ‘It must be strange for you,’ Emily said when they were seated. ‘What’s it like to be with a man who investigates murders
for a living?’

  ‘I used to mind it terribly at first,’ Joanna said, tearing the end off the cookie packet. ‘I’ve had to switch off from it a bit, they way they do. They can’t get emotional or it interferes with their judgement.’ She handed one of the cookies to Emily, who took it absently. ‘All the same, he minds dreadfully. He’s always very depressed at the end of a case, when the adrenaline lets him down and he’s able to let his feelings loose.’ She smiled faintly. ‘That’s where I come in – general hand-holding, head-cradling and so on.’

  Emily nodded seriously. ‘That must be tough. How did you meet him?’

  ‘He investigated the murder of a violinist I shared a desk with. I was about her only friend, but even I didn’t know her well. It was so sad and awful.’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘He was married to someone else at the time, but I don’t think she’d ever really understood what he felt about these things. He did tend to keep his feelings very much to himself. You know what men of his generation are like. So it all built up and he had a kind of nervous breakdown. And out of the mess, he and I got together and we’ve been together ever since.’

  ‘So, good coming out of evil. I wish I could think anything good would come out of this.’ She broke off a small piece of cookie and watched her fingers turning it into crumbs. ‘Is he good?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Bill? He’s the best. And he never gives up. Best of all, you can talk to him, and he really listens.’

  ‘And the other one? Sergeant Atherton?’

  ‘Jim is Bill’s friend as well as his bagman, so he’s my friend too. He’s brilliant in his way.’

  ‘Is he seeing anyone?’

  Joanna thought it an odd question, but took jetlag into account. ‘He was going out with a friend of mine, another violinist, but they split up a while back.’ She didn’t say, ‘Why do you ask?’ but her tone asked the question clearly enough.

  Emily said, ‘He offered me his spare room. I didn’t want to be treading on anyone’s toes.’

  ‘You won’t be.’ Speculation was so rife it was lucky Emily was not looking at her just then.

  ‘Why d’you think he did it?’ Now she looked up. ‘Offered?’