Risky Business

by W. Soliman

  Paul Flint was her son from her first marriage and was five years older than me. We’d never got on and that wasn’t because he’d always been demonstratively gay. That sort of thing didn’t bother me. It was more that he was such a flash bastard, always on the lookout for an easy option. Never fussy about what he did to earn a crust provided it didn’t involve too much hard work. His parents split when he was a toddler and he moved in on my father, ingratiating himself with his mother’s lover before Mum was cold in her grave. I resented that, feeling as though he was intruding on our grief and taking my place in my father’s affections. It annoyed me that Dad couldn’t see through his insincere blandishments.

  Brenda and my father married a year after my mother’s murder. Paul, flamboyant in a yellow suit complete with matching hat and black shirt, was so overbearing that I left the small reception before it even got underway and didn’t go home again for over a week.

  “What did Paul want the money for?” I asked Brenda.

  A whole new range of possibilities that this time I had no difficulty believing flooded my brain as I waited for her answer. She watched me closely and didn’t speak for what seemed like an eternity. When she finally did, her words were no help whatsoever.

  “Well, Charlie,” she said, lumbering to her feet and flashing a final spiteful grin in my direction. “If you want to know that, then the person you need to ask is Paul.”

  Chapter Three

  We lasted one more day in Yorkshire. I think even Harry sensed the tension, and we were all relieved when I cut our visit short two days earlier than planned. The weather had fooled us into believing that spring had arrived early but got its revenge by chucking it down until we got back to Brighton. All the treats I had planned for Harry on the return journey were rained off but I made it up to him by taking him to Chelsea’s home fixture on Saturday. We scored the winning goal in injury time and Harry was now convinced the trophy was all but ours.

  Emily, dressed to the nines, came to pick Harry up. The boat seemed very quiet without his constant chatter and it would take me a while to get used to him not being around. I poured myself a beer, put on a Fletcher Henderson CD and finally settled down to have a good, uninterrupted think about all I’d learned in Yorkshire.

  I closed my eyes and absorbed the music as though through osmosis. Gil turned in several tight circles, contorted his body into an impossible angle and flopped down beside me. He rested his huge head on my feet, let out a mournful sigh and promptly dozed off. If he stayed there for long I’ll lose all feeling in my toes, but I figured he was missing Harry too so I let him stay put.

  Eyes still closed, I mentally catalogued the progress I’d made. Dad and Brenda started their affair two years before Mum was killed. Dad definitely wasn’t involved in arranging her demise but did borrow two hundred thousand pounds from Marianne and gave it to Brenda’s son for an undisclosed purpose. Brenda had wanted to formalise her relationship with Dad but knew that would never happen whilst Mum was still on the scene.

  I took a large swallow of beer but it didn’t make things any clearer. All I knew for sure was that the finger of suspicion had now swung in Brenda’s direction. I couldn’t somehow see her searching for unemployed hit men on the internet, but I didn’t have much trouble picturing Paul going down that route. He knew how badly his mother wanted to have Dad all to herself and probably also knew about the money Dad stood to make if Mum departed this world. Looked at from that perspective, things were starting to fall into place. Paul was one of the most self-centred people I had the misfortune to know and I wouldn’t put anything past him. I sighed, resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t have any peace until I found out what he had to say for himself.

  I shifted my position, thankfully dislodging Gil’s head from my numb feet. He obviously thought it was time for his afternoon run and started jumping about, wide awake again. How did dogs do that? Switching from deep slumber to fully compos mentis in no seconds flat? I ignored Gil, my mind reverting to Paul. I didn’t mind thinking the worst of him but was already having second thoughts about getting in touch with him. He enjoyed winding me up even more than his mother did and was a damned sight better at it too. If he was behind my mother’s assassination he’d hardly admit it. Knowing Paul, he’d make snide innuendos and set me off on the trail of a whole flock of wild geese. His mother would have warned him to expect my call so he’d had plenty of time to think up juvenile ways to taunt me.

  Maybe Dad and Brenda were right. It was time to let the past go and get on with my life. I’d think about it for a day or two before I made my move and let Paul wonder why I hadn’t got straight on to him. If he was guilty perhaps the waiting would unsettle him. Paul disconcerted by me? The poetic justice lent me some satisfaction.

  I gave in to Gil’s nagging and took him for his run. I thought more coherently in the open air and since I had so much to think about I delighted him by walking almost twice as far as usual. My mobile rang just as we were returning to the boat. Cleo Kendall’s name flashed up. I hadn’t expected her to get back to me this quickly.

  “Cleo, how are you?”

  “Are you back in Brighton, Charlie?”

  I almost smiled at her single-minded attitude. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Look, sorry, but I don’t have time to make nice. I need to talk to you about a few things before I go to work.”

  I sighed. “Yes, I’m in Brighton. Come to the boat.” I gave her the code to the gate and hung up, matching her for verbal economy by not saying goodbye.

  I’d barely got back to the No Comment when she knocked on the hull. I opened the sliding salon door and did a double take. She stood on the pontoon wearing a very short skirt—several inches shorter than anything I’d seen on her before—which gave me a very good idea about the condition of her legs. There was nothing on display to take exception to. Quite the reverse. My eyes lingered for a moment or two, letting her know that her efforts were appreciated.

  But I was instantly on my guard. Talk about déjà vu. Kara Webb had pulled exactly the same stunt when she wanted me to help her find her lost sister. Was I that predictable? I held out a hand and helped Cleo over the gunwales. A gentleman wouldn’t have looked when her skirt crept even higher up her thighs. I looked with impunity, and the shapely nature of said thighs had me nodding my approval.

  “You might wanna take those shoes off,” I said. Her pumps had low, spiky heels that would play havoc with the teak.

  She did as I asked and stepped barefoot into the salon, only to be almost knocked from her feet by Gil. I’d forgotten about him. Fortunately she appeared to like animals and knelt down to give his big head a thorough rub.

  “This is lovely,” she said, glancing round. “I’ve never been on a posh boat before.”

  “This is hardly posh. More like a labour of love.”

  “Well, your adoration shines through. I like it.”

  “Thanks. Drink?”

  “Just tea, please. I have to work.”

  “Ah, right.”

  She was turning out to be a cheap date. I made tea for her and opened a beer for me. As soon as we were seated, she got straight down to business.

  “I saw my dad a couple of days ago.”

  “And I take it from your glum expression that it didn’t go well.”

  She grimaced. “That’s a bit of an understatement. It’s partly my fault. I handled it all wrong.”

  I leaned back and made myself more comfortable. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, I think he was a bit suspicious, what with me going to see him only a week after my last visit. I said it was to tie up Mum’s business but he wasn’t buying that. Anything to do with Mum’s affairs could be handled by me alone and we both know it. Anyway, we chatted generally for a couple of minutes and I tried to work round to your questions subtly.”

/>   “Was that a good idea? I don’t mean to insult you but you haven’t actually grasped the concept of subtle, have you?”

  She flashed me a brief grin. “You’ve clocked that about me already?”

  “I’m a detective,” I said, winking at her.

  Her hair wasn’t quite so spiky today. Flat against her head, it looked longer, feathering her face with soft jet-black fronds. They fell in silky wisps across her forehead, emphasising the size of her eyes and length of the thick, curling lashes that guarded them. I preferred this softer look.

  “If I’ve got something to say I go right ahead and say it.” She shrugged. “It rubs some people up the wrong way but we can’t help the way we are. Anyway, at least people know where they stand with me. If they ask my opinion they tend to get an honest answer.”

  I allowed my amusement to show. “How to make friends and influence people.”

  “What can I say?” She flashed a mirthless grin. “What you get is what you see.”

  “So your dad sussed you out?”

  “Yeah, I asked him about Mum’s bills and who’d been paying them, just as you said I should.”

  What I’d actually said was that she should have asked as soon as her mother was moved to that fancy clinic. If her father hadn’t told her at the time he was hardly likely to do so now.

  “And he wouldn’t say?”

  “He just said a friend owed him a favour and it was none of my concern.”

  “Well—”

  “It might not have been at the time but it certainly became my business when I had to use all my savings to settle her account. Now that,” she said, leaning towards me, her remarkable eyes blistering with intensity, “was obviously news to him. He didn’t have a clue that I’d been stuck with her expenses and wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “So it upset him.” I’d been counting on his injured feelings to loosen his tongue. “How did he deal with that?”

  “When Dad’s upset he gets defensive. When he was on the outside and up to no good, Mum and I always knew because he’d get all argumentative. And that’s what happened this time. He said I should have asked my sister to settle up because she wouldn’t have missed the money.”

  “He knows your sister’s disowned you all so why would he say that?”

  Cleo stared off into the distance. “I don’t know. Just to ease his conscience, I suppose. All I can tell you is that he’s dead scared of whoever financed Mum’s stay in that clinic. And Dad doesn’t scare easily.”

  “What makes you think he was scared?”

  “I could see it in his eyes. I told him I’d been to see you and he hit the roof. Told me to forget it, to leave you out of it and basically to let him rot inside in peace.”

  “But you didn’t let it go?”

  “No, I guess I lost it a bit too. I mean, all this ‘poor me’ bit is starting to wear a bit thin. Life on the outside isn’t exactly a bed of roses for the rest of us. Well,” she conceded, “it is for my snobby sister but she doesn’t count. I’ve had to worry about Mum all this time, live with the emotional turmoil of watching her die, arrange her funeral and, well…I told him that if he wouldn’t accept help to prove his innocence then the least he could do was admit to killing Spelling and express remorse. That way he stands a chance of getting out and could be of some use to me.” She pulled a face. “Not that he would be. Any use, I mean. But if a guilt trip is what it takes to get him to act responsibly for once, then I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “But that suggestion didn’t go down too well either?”

  “Nope, he dismissed it out of hand.” Gil was resting his head in her lap and she absently rubbed his ears. “Said I was better off forgetting all about him.”

  “Then I don’t see what else we can do. I told you at the start that unless your dad was prepared to cooperate, we didn’t have a hope in hell of proving he was innocent.”

  I expected counterarguments, tears, coercion. Hell, I was still suspicious about that shorter-than-short skirt, expecting her to flash those dynamic legs even more obviously in my direction. And the mood I was in, she wouldn’t have had to work too hard at it. But instead of all that, she just levelled her eyes on me in a manner that made me feel mean-spirited for deserting her when she was at her most vulnerable.

  “We could try and find out who he’s afraid of,” she said quietly, not an ounce of flirtation in her body language.

  “We could, but have you considered what that might mean for your dad?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think, for what it’s worth, that your dad knows he’s in above his head. Your unscheduled visit won’t have gone unnoticed by the prison snouts, and news of it will already have reached whoever he’s frightened of—”

  “Yeah, there’s that, but I still don’t see why he should have to—”

  “Strange as it might seem, he’s trying to protect you in the only way he can.”

  She expelled a long, frustrated breath. “By staying inside and keeping his mouth shut.”

  “Precisely. You’re the only thing left on the outside that matters to him and these people will know that.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  I levelled my eyes on her but she didn’t flinch. What would it take to make her understand she could be in danger?

  “I’m not the helpless female you have me pegged for,” she said. “I’ve had to cope with all sorts of shit as well as having a criminal for a father.”

  “I don’t doubt it but if your dad’s frightened then these have got to be pretty hard men. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting a woman, or threatening to, if that’s what it takes to keep your dad in line.”

  “So you are just an establishment figure, then. Dad was wrong about you, just like he’s wrong about most things.” She gathered up her bag and got abruptly to her feet. “Thanks for listening.”

  I should have been relieved to see her leave. I really didn’t need this. But, I don’t know, perhaps my manly pride had been bruised by her disinclination to flirt or look upon me as anything other than a means to an end. There again, even though it hadn’t been my case, perhaps I felt guilty for not expressing stronger doubts about her dad’s involvement in Spelling’s murder at the time. Either way, I couldn’t let her leave until I’d at least tried a bit harder to help her.

  “There is one thing we could do, I suppose.”

  She was at the door but my voice stopped her and she turned back to look at me, unsmiling. “And what would that be?”

  “Ask a few questions at the clinic your mum was in. Find out who settled her bills all that time.”

  Her eyes widened. “Could it really be that easy?”

  Somehow I doubted it but I tried to sound more optimistic than I felt. “It can’t hurt to ask but you’ll need to come with me. I don’t have the authority to go poking around since I’m no longer a copper and I’m no relation. But you’d have every right in the world.”

  “Okay. When can we go?”

  “I’m off to France next week but whenever you’re free before that.”

  “Great. I’m off duty for three days after tonight.”

  “Then there’s no time like the present. Where is the clinic?”

  “In Hove.”

  “All right. Pick me up in the morning at about eleven and we’ll drive out there together.”

  I thought I’d adjusted to Cleo’s disinclination to look upon me as anything other than…well, a partner in crime, and so I was taken completely unawares when she wrapped her arms round my neck and kissed me hard on the lips. Her kiss was as firm and decisive as everything else she did, her tongue warm and moist as it invaded my mouth. My arms instinctively folded round her waist whilst my best friend stood to attention and took a keen interest in the procee
dings. But before I could take control of matters she broke away, ending the kiss as abruptly as she’d started it.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “It was my way of thanking you,” she said, stepping into the cockpit and retrieving her shoes. “Right now it’s the only form of payment I can offer you.” I quirked a brow but said nothing. “And,” she added, grinning, “I got the impression that it was appreciated.”

  * * *

  I was waiting for Cleo the next day on the landside of the marina, not surprised when her Vauxhall arrived dead-on eleven. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, acknowledged me with a brevity that bordered on rude and seemed all business. I might still be remembering that surprisingly passionate kiss but she’d obviously forgotten all about it. So much for my legendary charm.

  “How are we going to play this?” she asked.

  “Presumably they have an accounts office. I suggest you say you need a copy of your mother’s final bill because your sister wants to reimburse you for half of it and you’ve lost the original.”

  Cleo rolled her eyes but made no comment about such an unlikely development.

  “Whilst we’re in there, we’ll try and get the clerk talking, see if she’ll reveal the information we need.” I shrugged. “No reason why she shouldn’t.”

  And that proved to be the case. The elderly woman in the accounts office was sympathetic towards Cleo and happy to tell what she wanted to know. Up until a few months before her death, her mother’s bills had been settled by an offshore company called Holder Enterprises with an address in Jersey.

  “What does that mean then?” Cleo asked as we drove back to the marina.

  “It’s what I expected. It’s easy enough to buy dummy corporations off the shelf and use them for all sorts of purposes. Mostly to remain anonymous or launder ill-gotten gains.”

  “So we need to find out who the directors are.”

  “Yes, that information will be available from Companies House but I doubt whether it’ll get us very far.”