(2013) The Catch

by Tom Bale

  ‘You look great from the pictures Bree’s shown me, but before I make up my mind I wanna see you in the flesh.’

  Like he was a piece of meat. Afterwards Robbie had wondered if he should be charging her for this: she was paying for his time, after all.

  He put it to Bree when she called for an update, and she said, ‘Oh, don’t be a meanie. Just pop round and say hello. I bet she’ll be all over you like a rash.’

  Nice image. It came back to him now, after a brief journey spent brooding about Jed. No way was that hundred quid going to this mate of his – more likely heading straight for Jed’s nearest off-licence or bookie.

  If he screws me over, I’ll throw him out on his ear.

  But the Geordie was unpredictable. To get rid of him safely Robbie would need assistance, ideally in the form of a couple of granite-faced bouncer types. Buy a one-way ticket back to Newcastle or Sunderland or wherever it was, then tell the hard men to haul Jed out of the flat and dump him on the train.

  Such an enticing plan, but it felt tantalising somehow, as though it could never go anything like as smoothly in practice. Robbie tutted, and was jolted back to the here and now because he was at the front door and she must have seen him on the path because the door was opening and—

  ****

  Holy Jesus and Mary ...

  For a second Robbie thought he had said it out loud. He blinked furiously, but the sight before his eyes refused to transform into something more appealing.

  At worst he’d anticipated someone on the heavy side, maybe a bit tired-looking, but essentially well-maintained. Bree’s friends were, after all, moneyed women with a lot of time on their hands.

  He’d been told Maureen was in her early fifties, around the same age as his mother. That couldn’t be right, could it?

  He said a silent prayer: Let this be Maureen’s mother.

  ‘Hiya, Robbie. I’m Maureen.’ She smiled, revealing uneven yellow teeth that appeared to be edged in boot polish. She was wearing way too much make-up, and the pink dress that encased her frame was obviously something designer, but was never going to flatter a shape like hers. She wasn’t much over five feet tall, and nearly as wide.

  Bree, I’m going to kill you for this.

  Even worse was the poor personal hygiene, masked, but not entirely, by a sweet suffocating perfume. Beneath it lurked the odour of a dried-out harbour on a summer afternoon.

  There was a meanness in her eyes that didn’t match her smile. When she registered the way he was looking at her, the smile vanished but the meanness stayed put. Her gaze dropped and she appraised him from the shoes up, taking her time at groin level, focusing on the bulge that, in the car, he had tweaked and encouraged, because at that point he’d still intended to make the best possible impression.

  ‘Hmm.’ She reached out and squeezed one of his biceps. ‘Yeah, good. Come on in.’

  ‘I thought this was only—’

  ‘Oh no, just nerves, that was.’ Her voice was fast and fluttery, like that Essex girl from The X Factor whose name escaped him.

  ‘Well, let’s see if we can sort out a date that’s convenient – if you’re sure you want to go ahead?’

  ‘Nah, I’m sure. Why doncha come in here and get your kit off?’

  ‘I can’t. I have to see a client.’

  ‘Bree said I was gonna be your first.’

  ‘No, my day job. I’m due out near Steyning in half an hour.’

  ‘Come back after, then.’ She stared him out, pouting. Her lips looked solid and grotesque: collagen?

  Robbie swallowed, knowing that it would seem like a gulp. ‘This afternoon?’

  ‘Yeah. Bree tells me you’re shit-hot. I wanna see for myself.’

  Robbie was trapped. He needed the money. More than that, he needed Bree’s alibi.

  ‘All right. Should be around two o’clock.’

  He started to turn away but she called out: ‘Oy, not so fast,’ and before he could react she delivered a quick slobbery kiss with all the seductive skills of a clumsy dog. A dog that didn’t wash itself adequately.

  ****

  Whatever his other failings, Dan considered himself a professional when it came to his conduct at work. The idea that he was capable of arguing with Hayley on the shop floor would have appalled him.

  She sought his help after being ensnared by a classic time-waster: a young man wearing slacks and a bright green cagoule. He required a detailed comparison of plasma, LCD and LED televisions, and he wanted a demonstration that high-performance HDMI cables provided a better picture than ‘bog-standard’ cables.

  Dan launched his well-practised spiel. Aware that any sign of impatience would invite more questions, his tactic was to display an almost manic enthusiasm for his subject, to the point where, having been out-anoraked, the time-waster became disgruntled and left.

  Hayley stayed to enjoy the spectacle. It was showing signs of success when Dan happened to look at an array of televisions just as the e-fits flashed up on every screen. Dan froze mid-word, then forced a grin and tapped his temple.

  ‘Sorry, lost my train of thought there. What was I ...?’

  ‘Advances in 3D.’ The young man greeted the interruption with delight: he’d take this as a points victory. ‘I think I have what I need for now.’

  He strode off without a word of thanks. When Dan turned back, the news had moved on but Hayley was studying him carefully.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Apart from wanting to strangle him with a bog-standard cable, yeah.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ she said. ‘Those pictures.’

  ‘What pictures?’

  She moved directly in front of him. ‘Those photofit things. You looked really freaked out.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes. What are you keeping from me, Daniel?’

  ‘Leave it, please.’ He tried to retreat but there was a display unit in the way.

  ‘You’re hiding something. Tell me what it is.’

  ‘Hayley, you’re wrong.’ He indicated the shop. Other customers were milling around, some of them waiting for assistance. ‘And like you said, this isn’t the time or place—’

  ‘I don’t care any more. Can’t you see how hurtful this is?’

  And in that instant, terrified by the thought that on the next bulletin she would examine the e-fits and spot the likeness to Robbie or himself, he lost his temper.

  ‘Christ, Hayley, will you leave it alone? Do you think this makes me look forward to married life with you, knowing I’ll have to account for every bloody moment of my day?’

  A discreet cough, and Denham was alongside, nodding Hayley in the direction of a couple who were gaping at the outburst. To Dan: ‘A word in my office, Mr Wade.’

  CHAPTER 56

  Stemper remained in position until just before nine, when a Jaguar XK parked next to the BMW. The quality of the cars had him thinking that business must be booming, never mind the financial crisis.

  Judging by her Jag and her suit, he guessed this was the company’s owner: Teresa Scott. Staff information on the website was sadly lacking, with only a couple of poorly taken group photographs. Perhaps estate agents, even on the letting side, took care not to be recognised in public.

  After locking her car, the woman produced cigarettes and a lighter from her handbag and lit up as she approached the door to the building. She took a deep hungry drag, nudged the door open with her foot and began a conversation with someone inside – the Asian woman, presumably, as Stemper had seen no one else go in.

  Tapping ash on to the pavement, she glanced along the street and gazed for a second or two at his car. Stemper ignored her, continuing his fictitious phone call until a full minute had passed, then started the car and drove away.

  ****

  He parked at the railway station, took his briefcase and walked down Queens Road, purchasing an Argus en route. In Western Road he found a cafe, drank a cappuccino and checked the paper.

  The e-f
its were a letdown. He could see the vagueness, the strangeness that wouldn’t correspond to any living being. The barmaid’s verbal descriptions were more useful than these.

  The coffee finished, he went into the Gents and locked himself in a cubicle. Sitting with the briefcase on his lap, he used spirit gum to fix a neat moustache, made from real human hair. He added the glasses, and considered false teeth, before deciding that might be too much.

  He ambled down North Street and reached the office for ten o’clock. Both cars were still present, along with a more modest Peugeot saloon. As he drew level with the front window, Stemper saw a man perched on one of the desks inside. But he was in his mid-forties, with thinning blond hair and a hefty beer belly. Not one of the two men in the pub.

  After studying the letting notices in the window, Stemper went inside. The man was talking on a mobile, his posture suggesting that he wouldn’t be staying long. Teresa Scott was also on the phone, massaging her cheek as if to distract herself from the conversation.

  That left the Asian woman. She stood up as he approached and gave him a bright, professional smile.

  ‘Good morning. How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘I’m applying for a promotion that would see me moving to Sussex for at least six months. I’d like to see what sort of home I can rent for my money – that is, my employer’s money.’ He laughed, and so did she, and he thought: I’m in.

  ****

  And he stayed in for nearly half an hour, by virtue of the fact that he took a slow, methodical look at every current property that met his potential requirements: minimum three bedrooms, maximum rent of four thousand a month. The Asian woman, who’d introduced herself as Indira, expressed only polite admiration for the sum involved, but from then on her eye contact was a lot more frequent, her smile far wider than before.

  He gave her a false name and address, but the email and mobile details were valid. She promised to keep him informed of each new property as soon as it came on their books.

  ‘That’s very good of you.’ He made a show of looking around. The blond man had long since departed, and Teresa Scott had continued to field a succession of calls. ‘I am glad I spotted this place. Are there other branches?’

  ‘No, we’re very much a boutique business here.’

  ‘And surviving the recession, I’m pleased to see.’

  ‘Well, it’s a struggle, but we have the benefit of a great reputation, as well as the fact that Brighton – and the rest of Sussex – remains very popular.’

  ‘Certainly seems busy. Is it a large team?’

  ‘Oh, there’s ...’ She closed her eyes to count. ‘Six, no, seven of us, so not many. It’s a family firm.’

  ‘Really?’

  Indira gave a subtle nod in Scott’s direction. ‘Teresa’s the owner. She started as a property developer, and the lettings agency grew out of that.’

  ‘And her children work here, too?’

  ‘Her son, yes. Her daughter’s a lawyer. We sometimes use her firm for legal work.’

  ‘Well, why not? Good to see small companies can still compete with those huge faceless corporations.’

  ‘Quite,’ she said. ‘Who is it you work for?’

  ‘A huge faceless corporation, I’m afraid.’

  Cue appropriate laughter. It was tailing off when Teresa Scott slammed her phone down and muttered: ‘Fuckwit.’ She immediately glanced in their direction, frowning in apology, but Stemper pretended not to have heard.

  ****

  He emerged to find a number of missed calls from Jerry. Stemper decided to take his briefcase back to the car, then stay in the vicinity of Compton’s for another couple of hours.

  He now knew that the proprietor had a son. Added to the presence of the BMW, this seemed extremely promising. But why was Indira driving the BMW?

  Jerry greeted him with his customary agitation. ‘Busy down here today, and it ain’t good news.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘This joiner’s van drove in and she’s got them changing locks. All of ’em. Windows, too.’

  ‘That’s no surprise, after the break-in.’

  ‘And this other bloke’s turned up, looks a bit flash. Young guy, suit and briefcase.’

  ‘What car?’

  ‘A Citroen Picasso. Nothing special.’

  ‘Have you managed to get a look at him?’

  ‘Only from behind.’

  ‘See if you can get closer. And take some photographs.’

  ‘I have. I’ve got the reg plate, clear as a bell.’

  ‘Not just the car. The man.’

  ‘Yeah, easy for you to say ...’ Jerry trailed off, muttering to himself.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s just ... it’s like I’m expected to work bloody miracles.’

  Stemper faked a sympathetic sigh. ‘You and me both, Jerry. You and me both.’

  CHAPTER 57

  Robbie was five minutes late reaching the farmhouse. Not bad by his usual standards, but with Hank’s sister he wanted to make a good impression from the start. He had a feeling she’d be a stickler for timekeeping.

  The delay was partly because, after driving a safe distance from Maureen Heath’s, he’d sent Bree a text: Just met her, cant say Im impressd. Goin bck this pm. Can u hve a discrt wrd, tell her to improve personl hygiene asap! x

  She replied immediately: Sorry, hun. Thought she had sorted that!

  Great. And this was Bree’s idea of an easy introduction to the role of gigolo.

  Hank O’Brien’s home was located at the end of a short private lane. The double gates stood open and there were two vehicles on the drive: a silver Lexus and a van bearing the livery of a carpenter and joiner.

  Robbie parked, checked his appearance in the mirror and suppressed an image of Maureen Heath, naked and ravenous for pleasure. That was the last thing he wanted in his head right now.

  He picked up his briefcase and strode towards the front door. He couldn’t deny a twinge of trepidation. There was a chance that DS Thomsett had already told Cheryl Wilson why her brother had been in the pub on Tuesday night – and if he had, it would be in terms that were less than complimentary to Robbie.

  Could Hank’s sister be luring him into a trap? The possibility had occurred to him on the drive over. Any hint of it and he would simply walk away.

  The woman who came to the door was perhaps slightly younger than Maureen Heath, and not that dissimilar in shape. But she was taller, and broader in the shoulders, and she carried herself in a way that projected confidence and self-esteem. There was no attempt to look glamorous or alluring. She was smart rather than stylish, handsome rather than pretty, neat rather than feminine.

  ‘Robbie Scott,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Scott. Thank you for coming.’ Her smile, although stingy, seemed genuine enough, and Robbie decided that, for the time being at least, he was safe in her company.

  ****

  Willie Denham kept a modest, cluttered office on the ground floor. Away from work he had a passion for motorbikes, especially Nortons. The walls were adorned with framed action shots from the TT races on the Isle of Man, which he’d attended religiously for almost forty years.

  Dan was waved to a seat in front of the desk. He moved aside a stack of glossy brochures for Dyson washing machines and sat down. The idea that he might lose his job had engendered a bizarre sense of calm: in his mind, the worst had already happened.

  Denham cleared his throat, as if preparing to embark on a speech. But all he said was, ‘Now then,’ and gazed thoughtfully at a spot on the wall just above Dan’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m very sorry. It was completely unprofessional.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The old man’s tone was grave. ‘You’ve not been yourself of late, that’s my impression. Without wanting to pry into your affairs, I do have to say that I’m concerned. You and Hayley have been an item for ... how long is it now?’

  ‘Seven years, on and off.’

  ‘My word, is it really?
I’ll admit, when you started courting I had my reservations. Never easy, working with the other half, especially when she’s a direct report.’

  Lips pursed, he nodded at the truth of his statement. This is where he suggests that one of us has to resign, Dan thought. And it will have to be me.

  ‘Of course,’ Denham continued, ‘I was delighted that you found a way to make it succeed. I have a high regard for you both – well, you know that. I wouldn’t have wanted to lose either of you.’

  Then a dismayed silence that seemed to say: The ball’s in your court.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Dan asked.

  ‘That’s the question. I suppose it depends ultimately on where you feel your future lies.’

  Dan shrugged. It wasn’t like the old man to be so oblique. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No. It’s awkward.’ Denham gave a nervous laugh. ‘I hesitate to say this, because I’m aware that marriage is ... well, if not on the cards, then certainly a possibility. Or am I wrong?’

  Startled by the question, Dan said, ‘We have talked about it, but nothing’s set in stone.’

  ‘I see.’ Denham was blushing, his white hair a stark contrast to his cherry-red cheeks. ‘Please consider this as the benefit of an outside perspective – not that I regard myself as any sort of expert. But ... have you considered that perhaps the two of you aren’t actually suited for each other?’

  This was about the last thing Dan had expected. He stared at his boss and didn’t know if he should be outraged, or amused – or even impressed.

  Denham added, ‘I mean no offence, Daniel. But, as I say, sometimes it takes an outsider’s view to illuminate the, ah, place in which we find ourselves. Especially, as I sense with you, it’s by no means a happy place at present.’

  ****

  Enemy territory. The thought gave Robbie a thrill as he stepped into the house. For all of Hank’s threats as he’d stormed out of the pub, it was Robbie who had triumphed in the end.