THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  Mr De Souza, like his wife, was probably in his late-sixties. Grey-haired and spritely, he was the sort of chap you might expect to see out on the common with the regular exercise brigade.

  ‘Do you mind my asking how long ago you made your appointment with Mr Cartwright?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Last Sunday,’ De Souza responded. ‘We were playing golf and I mentioned we were wishing to downsize and he offered to come and do a valuation.’ He spread his hands and smiled. ‘No pressure, he said, it didn’t mean we had to use him.’

  So it hadn’t been a last-minute arrangement.

  ‘And when he was here, did you notice anything unusual about him or did he seem quite normal?’

  Mr De Souza stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, now you say this, he did seem a little … preoccupied. We kept having to bring him back into the conversation, if you understand what I mean. He apologised most profusely after about the third time I had to do it – said it had been a difficult morning. Then his phone rang and he went outside to take the call, which seemed a little strange. I saw him through the window and he looked quite agitated. He said he could do with a drink when he came back in, so I poured him one of my special malt whiskies, which he seemed to enjoy very much.’ He looked around the opulent living room with pride. ‘He considered our little pile here is worth nearly two million pounds. Not bad for a Portuguese chef, eh?’

  ‘Not bad at all. Did he have just the one drink?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t drunk if that’s what you are wondering. I offered him another one but he said no, he was driving and was meeting someone for lunch, so he’d have another one then.’

  ‘Did he happen to mention who that was?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I’m sorry we can’t be more helpful. We are still quite shocked. Nothing like this has ever happened around here before and I know it is stupid, but we can’t help feeling just a little responsible, you know? If he hadn’t come here for the appointment …’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I know. You must come to our restaurant,’ he said on a new note. ‘It is in Whetstone – or we have another one in Swiss Cottage. De Souza’s Eatery. Bring a friend if you like, we will feed you very well.’

  Harry smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said, standing up to go. ‘I’ll remember that. If you should hear anything that you think might be useful…’

  ‘I will let you know straight away. It is not good that people get away with those sorts of crimes. To knock someone down like that and drive off …’ He sighed.

  ‘Well, we’ll try to see that they don’t get away with it,’ Harry said.

  Out on the doorstep, he took stock of the time. There was no putting it off any longer … he needed to pack his stuff and take it round to his grandmother’s. The thought of it was causing a permanent knot in his stomach because he knew what would happen once she got her claws into him. Determination was a family trait, and she had it in spades.

  But then so had he, he thought. So bring it on. Come what may, he’d stand strong and wouldn’t let her manipulate him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘How did you and Mum get on at the undertakers this morning?’

  Kirsty looked up as her brother walked into the kitchen and sat down opposite her. Fatherhood hadn’t been kind to him, she thought. He looked tired and strained – and no wonder, with sixteen-month-old twins and a busy office to run on his own now.

  ‘It was overwhelming to be honest,’ she sighed, helping herself to another biscuit from the tin. ‘We’ve come back with stacks of info. Mum’s been amazing. I can’t believe how strong she’s being. She said she wants it done as quickly as possible – before Rachael’s wedding if possible – so she’s provisionally taken a cancellation for next Thursday. Can you believe there are cancellations of funerals? Anyway, the memorial service is at St. John’s and then there’ll be a small service at the crematorium for family and close friends afterwards. I phoned the golf club to see if we could have a room there for people to go back to, and that’s booked. So it’s just the finer details, like notifications, that need sorting now.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘I didn’t do much. Mum’s been really proactive – not her usual dithery self at all.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  Kirsty smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry … but you know what I mean. I worry how she’ll cope without Dad, don’t you? He did everything.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

  ‘How are Lizzie and the twins?’

  ‘Fine, but it’s exhausting. The girls are teething at the moment and every night it’s the same … as one goes off, the other wakes up. We’ve put them in separate rooms now and they don’t like it. I can’t remember the last time we had a decent night’s sleep.’

  ‘Poor you. Maybe when things settle down a bit, Mum and I can come over and stay the night – or they can come here – give you both a night off?’

  ‘Maybe but they only seem to want Lizzie or me at the moment. No one warned us it would be this hard.’

  ‘Oh, Rob, it’ll get easier.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  He looked so down about it that it upset her. She didn’t like to think he might be regretting anything. These were meant to be the happiest years of his life, weren’t they?

  ‘It’s still really early days. Everyone says once they hit two–’

  ‘We’ll have the terrible twos to look forward to?’

  He flashed her a rueful smile and she grinned, feeling her world balance again. ‘Maybe … but at least they’ll hopefully be back to sleeping by then.’

  She changed the subject. ‘How did it go with the police this morning?’

  ‘Fine. They copied Dad’s diary and stuff from Paul Copeland’s file and took it away with them. It’s just surreal.’

  ‘Could there be a connection between their deaths, do you think?’

  ‘I doubt it, but I suppose they have to cover every angle. Aunty Anne rang me at the office, by the way. She and Rachael are coming over later.’

  ‘Oh God no. Are they?’

  The words were out before she could stop them and he looked at her curiously. ‘I thought you and Rach were always so close?’

  ‘We are … it’s just …’

  It took her a nanosecond to realise that she was fed up hugging her secret knowledge to herself, especially now her father was dead. What was the point? Now more than ever, she needed to know that Rob was onside with her.

  She paused for a moment before saying, ‘Did Dad ever talk to you about what we fell out over?’

  ‘Kirsty, I don’t want to talk about your problems with Dad right now. Sorry, but I haven’t got the energy. It was between the two of you and should probably stay that way.’

  He got up and moved over to the worktop to pour himself a cup of tea from the pot, the droop of his shoulder revealing the strain he was under.

  ‘Weren’t you even curious?’

  ‘I figured if you wanted to tell me you would. And it could have put me in an awkward position with Mum if I knew the details and she didn’t.’

  Was he another one who thought their father had had an affair? It hadn’t even occurred to her that they might think that.

  She watched him add sugar to his cup, considered his words, then took the plunge anyway. ‘You worked with Dad. Did he ever do stuff that was … dodgy?’

  ‘Do we have to do this now?’

  It was typical of her brother to try and shelve things in the hope that the matter would be go away, but for once she wasn’t going to be fobbed off. She hesitated, mourning the loss of the close relationship they’d shared. It was all part and parcel of him getting married and having his own responsibilities, she knew, but she still wished she could talk to him like she used to.

  She took a breath and ploughed on. ‘Yes, I think we do.’

  He sat back down opposite her and sighed. ‘What do you mean, dodgy?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Cash deals, back
handers, stuff like that?’

  ‘There’s always an element of that sort of thing that goes on in our business, Kirsty. Dad built up a lot of relationships over the years – I’d be lying if I said they didn’t sometimes work to mutual advantage. It happens all the time.’

  ‘It doesn’t happen out in Jean-Pierre’s office.’

  ‘Of course it does. He’s just careful not to let you see it.’

  She frowned. ‘And you condone it?’

  Her brother shrugged and she could sense him choosing his words with care. ‘It’s inevitable, I’d say. We all help each other out in this business and yeah, quite a lot of cash changes hand one way or another. Maybe someone comes to us because they want a tenant out early so they can develop their property before flogging it. We slip the tenant a sweetener to leave, help the owner organise the works, maybe take a bit of a backhander from the builders they use for the introduction – and everyone’s happy. The owner makes a bundle when he sells it, the tenant’s happy because we’ve paid him off … and we’ve pocketed a bit of cash, a fee for overseeing the works and an agent’s fee when the property’s sold on. That sort of thing’s always happened. It’s nothing new.’

  Kirsty stared at him. ‘Did you know about the deal Dad did on Grandma’s land? About him swindling Aunty Anne out of her money?’

  For the first time Robbie looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, I did. And I didn’t like it. But you know what Dad was like – he didn’t see it that way. As far as he was concerned, she made fifty grand out of her share which, as he pointed out, she only got because she’d been married to his brother – and she was happy with that. Is that why you’ve distanced yourself from Rachael?’

  ‘Of course it is. Are you surprised? I feel guilty every time I speak to her. It was when I was doing the work experience at Jordan’s. I came across a second contract for the sale of Grandma’s land dated six months after the first, and realised it was being turned for a massive profit with planning permission. And not only that, it had been bought first time round by a development company owned by Dad and Tony Jordan that I didn’t even know existed. I suppose you knew all about that?’

  ‘No need to say it like that. They formed it years ago, way before I came onto the scene, so that they had a company for buying properties they could renovate and sell on afterwards.’

  ‘Do you know how much Grandma’s land sold for second time around?’

  ‘Kirsty, you have to realise that Dad saw that land as our family land – not Anne’s. It was a punt. We know the guys in the planning department for sure, and sometimes we slip them a sweetener … But he didn’t know for certain he’d get planning permission on it.’

  ‘But when he did, he should have given Aunty Anne her fair share. He made another two hundred and fifty grand on it, Rob. Rachael’s our cousin – she and Anne were as entitled to that money as us. I feel terrible about it.’

  ‘Look … I’m not saying I disagree with you. I’m just saying that Dad, being Dad, I wasn’t going to fall out with him over it. I had to carry on working with him.’

  His words were met with a stony silence.

  ‘What time are Anne and Rachael coming?’ Kirsty finally asked.

  ‘About four, they thought. You should be here. They’ll want to see you.’

  She was sure they would – she was just dreading seeing them.

  But when it came to it, it wasn’t as bad as she feared.

  ‘Oh Kirsty, I’m so sorry,’ her cousin said, giving her a fierce hug. ‘I can’t believe it. First, Dad last year with his heart attack – and now Uncle Dom. It’s just not right. Are you okay?’

  Kirsty nodded, hugging her cousin tightly back, realising how much she’d missed her. The same height as Kirsty’s five foot six, with the same coloured fair hair, they’d always been more like sisters than cousins – and as children had often pretended they were. ‘But I’m the big sister,’ Rachael had always said, ’cos I’m three months older than you.’

  Now, as she drew slowly back from Kirsty, her eyes were compassionate. ‘Mum said you and Aunty Sylvia went to see the funeral directors today? That’s quick.’

  ‘She wants it done before your wedding so it’s not hanging over us all.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful of her. I must admit, I feel bad about celebrating my day with all this going on.’

  ‘You mustn’t. You know Dad wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘I know. And maybe it’s best for you, too, that it’s done quickly. Once you’ve had the funeral, it’s still awful but that’s the worst bit over with.’ She hesitated, then added simply, ‘I’ve missed you. If there’s anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Thanks, Rachael.’

  As Kirsty smiled her gratitude at her cousin, she resolved there and then not to touch a penny of any inheritance she might receive in the future until she’d worked out a fair division of the land monies. That decision made, her sense of conflict eased just a little.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too. I’m sorry I’ve been crap at keeping in touch. I just needed to get away for a while.’

  ‘I know. Have you heard from him?’

  She feigned ignorance. ‘Who?’

  Rachael gave her a look and she felt the colour warm her cheeks.

  ‘No and I don’t expect to.’

  ‘He’d like to come to the funeral. He asked me to ask you if it was okay. But he said he won’t if you don’t want him to.’

  She could hardly bear to think of Luke at the moment with everything else that was going on, let alone see him. But she knew that was impossible. He’d been a part of her life for so long – knew everyone she knew – it was inevitable they were going to run into each other. She needed to see him and get it over with.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s fine. He can come if he wants. I don’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. He’s not seeing anyone else, by the way, just so you know. No one serious, anyway.’

  ‘He can see who he likes. We’re not engaged anymore.’ Kirsty looked at her cousin and held her eye. ‘Too much went on, Rach. You know how he felt about his mum’s affair. He’s never going to forgive me.’

  ‘Do you want him to?’

  ‘It would be nice to think we could at least be friends.’

  But even as she spouted the words, she knew she was kidding herself. She could never be just friends with him – the mere thought of seeing him with someone else…

  She could tell from her cousin’s answering smile that she wasn’t fooled. ‘The heart’s a funny thing,’ she said. ‘Time can be a great healer – maybe he–’

  ‘No. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I messed up. Plain and simple.’

  And that had to be the understatement of the year, she thought. So much had been left out in those few words – the self-recrimination, the hurt, the shame. But the end result was the same. She’d lost the love of her life, and there was no going back.

  ‘How’s Ben?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘He’s cool. Working all the hours God sends at the moment so we can hopefully save enough money to buy our own place in a year or two. I know it has to be done but we hardly seem to see each other at the moment … and he’s so stressed. Not ideal. The honeymoon can’t come a day too soon as far as I’m concerned.’

  Kirsty didn’t need to hear that, knowing that if her father had been more honest it might have freed up a bit of extra cash for them. She couldn’t imagine her aunt pocketing a sizeable amount of money without giving at least some of it to her only daughter. Later, as she prepared for bed, it firmed her resolve. She’d sit down with her mother and Rob and sort out the land issue sooner rather than later.

  ***

  ‘What have you got there, boy? It feels like you’ve been locked away in here all weekend.’

  Harry looked up from his seat at his grandmother’s dining table, as she limped into the room leaning heavily on her stick. Despite the fact she’d aged these last few months, and putting aside the walking
stick and physical frailty, she was still the same gran she’d always been, her inquisitive expression as sharp and all-seeing as ever.

  ‘Oh, just some papers for a case I’m working on. Trying to sort out my priorities for tomorrow.’

  ‘Is it the murder of that man they found in Brookmans Park?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Not that difficult when your grandson’s one of the best detectives the police force has got. Who else are they going to get to look into it?’

  There was real pride in her voice and Harry smiled wryly. ‘Thanks, Gran. Good to know someone’s got confidence in me, but I can’t say I’m getting very far at the moment.’

  ‘You’ll get there. You always were a bright boy. Never stopped talking when you were little – like you’d been injected with a gramophone needle, your grandfather used to say. Don’t know what the equivalent of that would be these days with all the newfangled technology that’s around.’

  The sound of the doorbell had her tutting. ‘Can’t be that time already.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Eight o’clock. The time Claire comes to help me get ready for bed. It’s far too early for me, but I suppose the girl has to have some sort of private life. And at least she tries to make me her last call of the night. Let her in for me, will you? Then I’ll leave you in peace, I promise.’

  Harry got up from his seat and went to the door. The woman who stood on the doorstep was about the same age as him, with shoulder-length, chestnut-coloured hair swept neatly up into a ponytail. Her collar was pulled high up to her chin in an effort to keep the cold air at bay, and the smile she flashed at Harry was coolly professional.

  ‘You must be Harry,’ she said, as he stood aside to let her in. ‘I’m Claire, your grandmother’s carer – not that I’d dare use that word to her. It’s good to meet you finally.’

  She took her coat off and hitched it on the base of the banister in a calm, efficient manner that reflected familiarity. ‘Where is Jean? Is she in the lounge?’

  ‘Er, no. Dining room.’