Maybe Vos had a new opportunity for him, Jamie thought. As far as his current work for Thorndike Aerospace went, things seemed to be falling into a rather sluggish groove. Not much had happened for a few days. The most regular part of the job seemed as though it was going to be the deposits Andrew Turner & Associates would make into Jamie’s Barclays account. Considering how little he was doing to earn the money, it felt almost like stealing. It was true that Jamie had met Levi Rootenberg again, to receive a report on the progress of talks with his Zimbabwean friends. Rootenberg had developed a plan to ship Thorndike’s artillery shells to Zambia – quite legally, he claimed. Because he lacked a Trade Control Licence, the End User Certificate and other paperwork would be administered by Thorndike themselves. From there, Rootenberg would handle the sale onward to Zimbabwe. The only thing Rootenberg was waiting for was a go-ahead from his team of defence insiders within the country. The timing of that depended on rivalries within the Zimbabwean government and the political party that controlled it. Rootenberg had reminded Jamie of the ultimate goal, to compete long-term for Zimbabwean business against a Russian-government puppet company. And, with hope, to do it in a future where sanctions were a thing of the past. ‘Keep your eyes on the prize,’ he had said.
After that conversation with Rootenberg, Jamie had rung Vos to deliver a summary. Otherwise, he had done nothing but go to the university. Little had happened that might justify his pay cheque – and Vos had seemed happy enough for things to linger in this way. But that afternoon, out of the blue, Vos had requested an evening meeting at Jamie’s home. And, stranger still, he had asked that Sara be there.
Jamie heard Vos’s Boxster power its way past the revellers on his street before he saw it. Quickly, but as quietly as he could, he edged into the bedroom and touched Sara lightly on the arm. Immediately, she opened her eyes.
‘He’s here?’ she said.
‘You weren’t asleep,’ Jamie observed.
‘No luck,’ she replied.
Sara rose immediately. Jamie left her waiting in the living room as he opened the front door for Gerrit Vos. Vos nodded, but said nothing until they had both joined Sara.
‘Mr Vos,’ Sara said with a tight smile. ‘I had a lovely lunch with your partner today.’
Jamie felt that he might have imagined it, but Vos and Sara seemed to hold eye contact for slightly too long, as though a second conversation was happening that he was not party to. Jamie offered drinks, which Vos refused as he sat down in Jamie’s leather armchair. Vos balanced a small case on his knees with solemnity. Jamie, still standing, shot a puzzled glance Sara’s way, and she wrinkled her brow. He gently steered her towards the sofa, and they sat.
‘This is a touch awkward,’ Vos announced. ‘I’m not here specifically in relation to our mutual business, Jamie, but in my larger capacity as Thorndike’s Director for Business Development. Part of my job is to mitigate risk to the company’s reputation.’ He looked pointedly at Sara, and added, ‘Out of necessity, I have to get involved in certain aspects of intelligence gathering.’
It was unlike Vos to be so halting in his tone, and so formal in his words. His manner flagged that this meeting was important, and also delicate. Jamie glanced at Sara. She seemed less puzzled than angry. Her eyes gleamed, and she stared at Vos with distaste.
‘Go on, then,’ Sara said in a flat voice. ‘What have you got?’
Vos blew air from his cheeks, as though what he was about to say caused him pain. Sara replied with a derisive snort.
‘Sara,’ Jamie said under his breath. ‘Do you know what this is about?’
She shook her head, but her eyes suggested she didn’t expect it to be good. Vos opened his small case and withdrew a manila envelope. ‘I also have digital copies of these,’ he muttered, ‘but I thought it might be best if you saw actual photographs.’
He slid out a small stack of seven-by-five-inch photos and handed them to Jamie. Jamie looked down. The images were grainy, and each was time-and-date stamped in the corner – security camera stuff. The first showed a London square at night, and a car Jamie didn’t recognise sitting next to the pavement. A figure could be seen emerging from the passenger’s side. Because it had been taken in the dark by a low-resolution camera, the photo was indistinct, and the individual unrecognisable. Jamie squinted, then passed the photo to Sara with a shrug.
The next image was taken from inside a house. The large black front door was partly open, and what may have been the same figure was entering the foyer. In this picture, it seemed evident the person was Sara. Jamie felt himself frown as he handed it to her. ‘Is that you?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer.
The following few photos featured Sara in the same entrance space. The final one showed her mounting the stairs to the next floor. Jamie took the stack back from Sara and shuffled through them a second time. ‘I don’t understand,’ Jamie said to Vos.
‘Check the date,’ Vos said.
Jamie looked.
‘Mean anything to you?’
Jamie thought. The date stamp suggested that these were taken about the time when -
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Sara snapped, ‘why don’t you just come out and say it?’
She was speaking to Vos, who stared back at her with hooded eyes. ‘You want to explain it to Jamie?’ he asked. When Sara remained silent, he added, ‘The house she’s in belonged to Rhodri Jones.’
Jamie looked again. He hadn’t noticed before, but it was Rhodri’s foyer. He noted the tell-tale mosaic floor and, just at the edge of the frame, Rhodri’s umbrella stand, which had toppled over. The date that was stamped on the bottom would have been…
‘That was the day Rhodri died,’ Sara said with a weary sigh. Then she added a question that Jamie didn’t understand. ‘Would you be doing this if I’d been more cooperative at Highgate?’
Jamie may not have understood, but Vos seemed to. ‘Nope,’ he said pleasantly.
For a moment, Jamie felt paralysed, the result of too many thoughts and sensations rushing in at once. ‘You were there, the night he died?’
‘Evidently,’ Vos drawled. ‘What your partner didn’t think about was security cameras.’ He looked at Sara. ‘You must have known Mr Jones had one outside.’
She blinked. ‘I suppose I knew. It never really crossed my mind.’
Vos snorted. ‘You didn’t know about the one in the foyer, though, did you? Small pinhole jobbie. Easy to miss.’ He chuckled. ‘Now, given that you inherited the place, you really should have discovered it. But, then, you were so eager to sell up quickly. Never did take the time to do a proper inventory, did you?’
‘OK, I was there,’ Sara said to Vos. She turned to Jamie and clarified. ‘The night Rhodri died.’
Jamie squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars. ‘But why?’ he said.
Sara ignored him. ‘What are you trying to prove, Mr Vos?’
Vos leaned back in Jamie’s chair. ‘Pity Thorndike didn’t hide cameras in more places,’ he mused. ‘It would have made your movements easier to follow.’ He cocked his head speculatively, and said, ‘Then again, I suppose Mr Jones didn’t want that, given his recreational tastes. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘the camera in the foyer was enough to show where in the house visitors were heading. Did they turn left into the sitting room, or go towards the laundry room in the back? Or – as in your case, Sara – did they turn right and go upstairs? That alone tells us a lot.’
Jamie looked at Sara. ‘You went to his bedroom.’
Vos left a significant pause before continuing. To Jamie he said, ‘Considering the time those photographs were taken, we can surmise that Sara found her brother dying or dead.’ His gaze hardened. ‘Oh, yes – and with a woman’s corpse on the bed.’ He swivelled towards Sara. ‘And yet you said nothing.’
Jamie’s mind buzzed in a jumble of confused thoughts, and he fought to make sense of them. Why was Sara even there? How was Sara even there? Rhodri had killed himself after being attacked at the
air show in Hampshire. Jamie and Sara had both been in Wales then. Jamie tried to piece together what he could recall from that day. It was Ceri who’d told Sara that Eldon Carson had targeted her brother. At the same time, Jamie was driving to Sara’s farmhouse. He’d got a call from the Ministry of Defence Police, saying Carson had been killed as he tried to cut Rhodri’s throat. Sara went into hysterics at the news, despite her brother being – at least at that point – safe. She’d blacked out; Jamie and Ceri had spent the next half hour reviving her. Once Sara came around, she’d sent them away. She’d planned to take a bath, then ring Rhodri.
Was it possible she’d changed her mind and driven to London once they’d left?
He picked up the first photo and stared at it again. It showed Sara outside Rhodri’s house, emerging from an unfamiliar car. Now that he thought about it, Jamie had never again seen Sara’s BMW after that evening. Later, she told him she’d sold it. For the rest of her time in Wales, Sara had relied on a rental, and then had bought the blue Mini here, when she moved back to London.
‘You’re wondering about the car,’ Vos said. ‘Sara got into a fender-bender near Madame Tussauds and abandoned it on the Marylebone Road.’ He glanced at Sara. ‘That’s the gist of it, isn’t it? I have traffic-cam photos on my iPad if you’d like to look.’ Turning back to Jamie, he continued, ‘She signed the car over to the lady whose van she’d hit, then called an Uber. That’s the car you’re seeing there.’
Stupidly, Jamie said, ‘You gave away your car?’
‘I had to get to Rhodri,’ she replied softly.
Vos reached over and slid the photos from Jamie’s fingers. ‘It’s best you don’t keep these,’ he said. ‘They’re not the kind of evidence you want lying around.’ He placed them in his case. ‘Obviously, the traffic accident is a matter of public record,’ Vos said to Sara. ‘It establishes that you were in London on the evening of Rhodri Jones’s death. But that in itself is no crime. As for breaking into your brother’s house …’
Vos paused and looked thoughtful. ‘By the way, was Mr Jones dying or already dead when you got there?’
Sara closed her eyes. ‘Go to hell.’
Vos huffed. ‘Well, anyway. Moot point. Only Thorndike Aerospace has the video files from the house. I’ll keep them safe for you.’ He smiled. ‘You know – to protect you. It could get messy if people started asking questions. After all, whether Mr Jones was dead or alive when you got there, the place was already a murder scene.’
Vos turned to Jamie and said, ‘What do you think, Inspector? Would the police charge her with perverting the course of justice? Assisting an offender? Maybe even assisting a suicide?’
Jamie felt himself shrug. He was numb, dazed. He wanted to scream, to question Sara, or to go to sleep and blot out this new reality. ‘They’d speak to her,’ he confirmed. ‘Certainly take a statement. But, unless she confessed to something, there’d be no charges. Insufficient evidence.’
Maybe he was imagining it, but Jamie though he’d felt Sara flinch when he’d said the word confess. Perhaps because it presumed guilt. He looked at Sara, who was smiling grimly at Vos.
‘If you wanted to protect me,’ she said, ‘you could always delete the files, couldn’t you?’
Vos stood. Casually – but in a tone that made his request sound like a boss’s order – he said, ‘Jamie, walk me to my car.’
Jamie rose immediately, then stared down at Sara. Her face was flushed with anger and possibly shame. Lips pursed, she tugged on a spike of hair. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said. He had tried to sound neutral, but his voice was wavering.
‘One of us has a story to tell,’ Sara muttered, ‘and it’s not you.’
Jamie hesitated.
‘I’m not talking to you,’ she said to him.
Jamie furrowed his brow, then followed Vos outside.
At some point, the street music had stopped, and most of the revellers had returned indoors. The two men walked down the pavement to Vos’s Boxster Spyder, and Vos leaned against the car.
‘Told you it was awkward,’ he began.
Jamie shook his head helplessly. ‘I can’t …’
‘Look, kiddo,’ Vos interrupted, ‘I don’t have any explanations for you. I can understand Sara’s instinct to find her brother, considering the shit he’d gone through that day in Hampshire. Still, damned if I know why she’d keep quiet about what she found. Who wouldn’t call the cops?’
‘She panicked,’ Jamie said. ‘She must have.’
‘Maybe,’ Vos said. ‘That would explain her running away at that moment. But Sara was on good terms with the Met. She’d been one of their consultants. There must’ve been someone she could call after the fact, once she’d escaped from that awful place.’
Jamie’s mind reeled as he groped for a way to make sense of the accusations. ‘In her last days consulting with the police,’ Jamie said, ‘her closest contact was me. She hadn’t really dealt with anyone else for months.’
Vos looked as though Jamie had said something significant. ‘Then why the creeping fuck didn’t she tell you?’ he said. ‘I don’t even mean as a detective inspector, for God’s sake – just as her friend. Why has she hidden this from you for all these years?’
Jamie wondered that too. Why had Sara not felt able to talk to him about it? Him, of all people. The fact that she hadn’t unsettled Jamie even more than her lying about where she got those bruises. Or, for that matter, even more than finding that weird Eye-in-the-Pyramid symbol.
‘Face it, chum, your girlfriend’s got a few secrets,’ Vos said. ‘That’s not so strange; I’ve seen plenty of dysfunctional relationships.’ He placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. ‘You want my advice? Talk to her about it. Go easy on her, sure – if she feels threatened, she’s only going to lie again. But do try to get some answers.’
Jamie nodded. ‘I will,’ he said. He felt himself breathing more heavily than he wanted to.
‘If you want to take some time out,’ Vos went on, ‘just to think things over, I’ve got a place you could stay.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t think it’ll come to that.’
‘It’s here in town,’ Vos went on. ‘You wouldn’t have to go far. It might be wise to detach, to consider your options. It’s sure as hell what I’d do. But, hey – it’s your call.’
Vos walked around the car to the driver’s door and opened it. ‘Just let me know.’
In their time together, Sara had seen Jamie in many moods. She had watched him navigate difficult situations with a cocky confidence he really shouldn’t have felt. She’d seen him mimic bravado when she knew, inside, he was quaking with uncertainty. She had observed him pacing the room with excitement, and also collapsed into his chair, despondent. But Sara had never before seen Jamie in this particular state of confused anger. He wasn’t shouting or out of control. If anything, his blush, combined with his darkening expression, looked like humiliation. He stood in the centre of the room, breathing heavily, his muscles twitching as if he wanted to run. When Sara reached out and touched his emotions, she felt a burning incomprehension – the emotional maelstrom of a man who sensed he’d been cheated but didn’t know how.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked. ‘Why didn't you say you were there? You never bothered to inform me you’d run off to London. You didn’t admit you were in his house. Or that you actually saw the dead woman. Or that you watched him, while his life was draining away –’
Suddenly, Jamie drew in a sharp breath and his head fell forward onto his chest. He released a guttural groan, and Sara saw tears welling in his eyes. She had been sitting on the sofa, hoping he would sit down, too. Now she leapt to her feet.
‘Jamie,’ she said, her voice trembling with shock and concern. She reached out a hand. Hyperventilating, he shook her away.
‘What did you …’ he stammered. ‘Why would …?’
She grabbed his arm roughly, and tried to force the pleading from her voice. Maybe the only way Jamie would hear her wa
s if she met anger with anger. ‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘You’re not thinking clearly. You need to remember what that night was like.’
Jamie drew a steadying breath. His eyes, red and wet, met hers.
‘You told me about what had happened to Rhoddo. About Eldon Carson trying to kill him. Then, you and Ceri wanted me to rest,’ she continued. ‘As if I could, knowing Rhoddo had been attacked. So, yes, I humoured you. Got you out of my house so I could go to him.’
Jamie was panting. ‘But when you got there …’
Sara bit her lip. How much can I tell him? She cursed herself for not having rehearsed this. She should have guessed that Jamie might find out about her trip to London – unlikely as that had seemed to her. It was stupid not to have run through some scenarios, just in case.
‘The woman – Maja Bosco – was already dead,’ she said slowly, quietly. ‘Rhodri wasn’t. Not yet. He was bleeding, dying. Probably beyond saving.’
‘Probably?’ Jamie said.
‘Jamie, I was in shock! I should have rung the police, or dialled 999, but I didn’t. I left the house. My car was gone, and it was too late to get a train. I stayed in a hotel near Euston Station. I didn’t sleep that night, I just listened to the traffic on the Euston Road. The first train was just before seven the next morning, and I was on it. London to Birmingham, Birmingham to Aber. A taxi from there. I was back at the cottage in Penweddig by early afternoon. In the cold light of day, I couldn’t tell you what I’d done – or rather, what I’d failed to do. I certainly couldn’t admit that to Ceri. You both thought I’d been sleeping the whole time.’
She reached out and held his arm. This time, he did not shake her away. ‘You didn’t even notice the car was gone,’ she said with affectionate mockery. ‘Not for a week. A bright red BMW.’ She smiled, and attempted a chuckle. ‘Some copper you were.’
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