“He was at Downland Manor Hotel this morning, watching the police.”
“You confronted him, he confessed to both murders and Miles is organising a celebration party as we speak.”
“I love your optimism,” I say, snuggling up close, “but you’re right. Unless he confesses to the murders, I don’t see how we’re going to solve this.”
She leans closer, her lips inches from mine. “Does that mean you have a plan?”
“Maybe.”
She kisses my lips. “Go on. I’m tingling with anticipation.”
“I know why Glover killed Jonathan. Glover’s wife worked at the Ace of Hearts. I’m waiting to see if they can come up with a photo of her.”
“Was she screwing Jonathan?”
I nod, certain she’s already worked it out.
I wish there was a way to soften the news. For years she believed he ran off to Las Vegas, possibly with another woman. Now she knows he was killed, it’s hard to gauge her feelings. Infidelity, no matter how long ago it happened, leaves its scar.
“Was he screwing her while he was with me? Of course he was,” she says, shaking her head. “He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially if the woman had money.”
I can’t imagine Glover’s wife having much money if she worked as a barmaid, but I say nothing.
“I think she was the one he rang when we got back from Las Vegas. Yes,” Freya says, nodding to herself. “He couldn’t wait to run to her.”
I pull her close. “I can’t understand why he would even look at another woman if he was with you.”
She looks into my eyes and grins. “What if Gwyneth Paltrow walked in now?”
“I’d want to know how she picked the lock on the front door.”
Freya laughs and we kiss, forgetting about Jonathan and murders for a few moments. As she breaks for air, she grins, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“I’ve had an idea,” she says. “Why don’t we send Glover the photo of his wife? Let him know we’re onto him. That would make him sweat.”
“He already knows,” I say. “That’s why he offered the police a second body to keep my father in the frame for murder.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“A few people went missing around the time. Malcolm Wright, Henry Potter and his wife. Then there’s Gill Kaine, who deleted computer records to implicate my father. Glover may have silenced her.”
Freya shudders. “What if he comes after you?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” I say, hoping to dispel the worry in her eyes. “While the police believe my father carried out the murders, Glover feels safe.”
She sighs. “He may have felt safe about Gill Kaine once.”
Fifty-Nine
Terry rings at seven, before he starts his shift at the Ace of Hearts. The tone of his voice tells me he hasn’t lifted the photos from the hard drive. He sounds annoyed with himself.
“I tried everything, but all I could recover was a spreadsheet with the people who had ID cards. It’s corrupted, but the column with names might help.”
“You found Monica Glover?”
“I found Mona Glover, aged 49, employed to work behind the bar.”
“I owe you a big drink, Terry. Can you email the spreadsheet?”
“On its way, Mr Fisher. Anything else I can do for you?”
“You’ll let Linda know?”
“She’s with me. Do you want a word? I’m on duty now. I’ll have another go at the hard drive in the morning.”
Linda comes on, sounding more optimistic than the last time we spoke. “Isn’t Terry wonderful? He never gives up.”
“Have you heard about the second body?”
“Yes, William rang. He’s never seen Miles so despondent.”
“I can imagine.”
“William says you’re looking at his backup drives tomorrow. I hope you find something to save Miles. Good luck.”
I’m hoping luck won’t come into it.
A few minutes later, I ring Frances to make sure she’s fine. She’s had a few calls from journalists. “Do you remember Adrian Peach from the Argus?” she asks. “Columbo bit his leg.”
“Niamh took quite a shine to him.”
“He wants to do a feature on you and the murders you’ve solved. I said you’d ring him next week.”
Freya loves the idea. “You could be a celebrity. Kent Fisher, the Environmental Detective.”
“Better than the singing detective, I guess.”
“Yes, I’ve heard you in the shower. Talk about murder ...”
“I sing flat so you have to kiss me to shut me up.”
“And now you want me to do the same when you talk bullshit? There’s no rest for the wicked.”
She pushes me back on the sofa and climbs on top of me, pinning my arms before she dips her head to kiss me. It doesn’t take long before we’re rolling around on the floor. The sound of the phone ringing stops us for a moment.
“I ought to get that,” she says, sweeping her hair back.
“Let them leave a message.”
“What if it’s Connie?”
“What if it’s someone trying to sell you insurance?”
“I’ll ask them if they offer protection against persistent, oversexed lovers.”
She pulls on her top as she staggers to her feet. When she answers the phone, she stops in mid-sentence. “Are you sure? Oh Connie, that’s awful! I’m coming straight over. No, I insist.”
I miss the next words while I retrieve my polo shirt, tangled with Freya’s bra. By the time I’ve pulled the shirt over my head and made it to the hall, Freya finished the call.
“The police found Malcolm at Downland Manor,” she says. “They want Connie to make a formal identification tomorrow morning. I said I’d go with her.”
“We should go to her now.”
“There’s a Family Liaison Officer with her.”
“Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”
“You’ve got to find those backup drives. Poor Connie,” she says, tears in her eyes. “First Jonathan, now her husband. Why, Kent?”
“Didn’t Connie say he went to the Ace of Hearts to find out about Jonathan?”
“So why would Glover kill him?”
A short while later, William Rodgers phones and confirms that Malcolm Wright had a heated argument with my father, witnessed by people in the main casino.
Sixty
While Freya takes Connie to the mortuary on Friday morning, I ring Georgina.
“Come over about ten,” she says, “and we’ll have a good rummage.”
She makes it sound like foreplay with her rich, sophisticated voice, coated with innuendo. She ends the call without a mention of my father or his troubles. On the drive over, I tell myself she may be saving her questions for when I’m with her. Another part of me remembers the cool, self-centred woman, whose interests rarely strayed beyond her own gratification.
Then again, we only ever had sex, so it’s hardly a glimpse into her world or character. It’s fascinating how you can explore every inch of someone yet know nothing about them.
She comes to the door in an elegant blue sweater that matches her eyes, skinny jeans and Nike trainers. She’s pinned her hair back, revealing her delicate ears and elegant neck. As our lips brush each other’s cheeks, she rests her hands on my shoulders, reminding me of the intimacy we once shared.
“You were my keenest pupil,” she says, leading me along the hall to a large room at the rear of the house. “Always trying to do your best, improve your performance.”
“I never realised you were teaching me sex.”
“I was teaching you life,” she says, pushing open the door. “Never confuse the two. Now, I’ll get some coffee and we’ll crack on.”
The large room, with a bay window overlooking the garden, smells like an old shed. The ceiling and walls have faded to a dirty cream colour. Cracks in the coving, in the plaster above the window and door, emphasise the neg
lect that deadens the carpet with dust and dirt, obscuring whatever pattern it had. Like a lot of the house, I suspect, it looks forgotten.
I take an old sheet from one of the tea chests and place it over the dusty sofa. As I sit, wondering how to check the boxes, a text arrives from Freya.
It’s Malcolm. Connie was amazing. Tell you more over lunch. Freya xxx
Georgina enters with two mugs of decaffeinated coffee. She perches beside me, looking around the room as if she’s viewing it for the first time.
“Enough is never enough,” she says. “I live beyond my means. Teddy’s pension keeps me in clothes and cars, but the house is falling apart. That’s why I need Miles. That’s why I need to know if he’s responsible for those murders.”
I sip my coffee, impressed by her honesty. “Do you think he is?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Kent. Like you, I push my emotions to one side, deal with what life throws at me. It’s how I survive, how I’ve always survived. I don’t want to sell myself to another man unless I have to.”
I sense sadness behind her emotionless eyes – great sadness.
“You won’t have to if we can find what we need in here.”
A solitary tear runs from the corner of her eye as she squeezes my hand.
***
My father indexed every box and chest in the room. If we’d found the index sooner, we wouldn’t have taken an hour and a half to find the backup drives. They’re tucked in a box at the bottom of a tea chest, filled with diaries.
Georgina wrinkles her nose as she opens another diary. “Miles never feels attached to any place. Winning Downland Manor from the Fishers meant more than the hotel he created. The cost of renovating the relic soon took the shine off his new toy.”
“Where’s your computer?” I ask, counting a dozen drives in the box.
“Miles has a laptop in the study,” she replies, glancing at her watch. “Do you want to stay for lunch or do you have other plans?”
“I’m meeting someone, thanks.”
Georgina takes me to the study. Oak bookcases, filled with books from floor to ceiling, engulf two walls of the large, stuffy room. Another wall disappears behind solid cupboards and dressers that bear all the scratches and scuffs of regular use. A large pedestal desk, bowed between the drawers on either side, offers a terrific view over the garden to the South Downs beyond. With the dull sky above, the silvery light is brooding and enchanting, reminding me why I love this land.
I tap in my father’s username and password from the label stuck below the keyboard. He’s labelled the disks with years to make my search easier. I go back twelve years and select the first of three drives, attaching it via the USB port.
Georgina brings me another cup of coffee at some point. She bends to look at the screen and sighs. “There must be thousands of files. I think you should text someone to say you’ll be late.”
Freya responds by texting to say she’s running behind schedule. She’ll have a good clean while she waits.
It’s nearly one o’clock before I find what I’m looking for. The images are labelled by strings of numbers, filed in date order. Each image is the finished ID card used for printing. I trawl through one after another after another until finally I find Gill Kaine. She started work at the Ace of Hearts in late August, leaving in November.
“Long enough to cause havoc with the records,” I say, zooming in on the headshot.
She looks nothing like the Leila King I met, even though they both have Middle Eastern origins. Gill’s more European with long blonde hair, confident blue eyes, framed by stylish spectacles, and a smile that tells me she likes having her photo taken. In her late twenties to early thirties, according to Georgina, Gill Kaine looks like an unlikely accountant, despite the label on her ID badge.
“She’s the one who hacked into the computer system,” Georgina says. “Was she working with Jonathan Wright?”
I study the image, not sure who she reminds me of. “She removed all traces of Jonathan from the system, so I guess she was.”
“That’s supposition, Kent, and you know it. Believe it or not, I have a law degree. That’s how I met Teddy. And that’s all I’m telling you.”
“So, tell me what you think.”
“Okay,” she says. “The relationship between Jonathan Wright and Gill Kaine could have been sexual, financial or both. They might have planned to remove all traces of his debt before flying out to Las Vegas to start a new life.”
“But he married Freya,” I say.
“Indeed.” Georgina thinks for a moment. “That could have provoked Gill to kill him – a woman scorned and all that. Or they weren’t lovers and someone else did the deed. Whoever it was, they made it look like Miles was to blame.”
“I think the killer has a grudge against my father and Jonathan Wright.”
“Go on,” she says, settling back.
“The killer’s wife worked at the Ace of Hearts. She had an affair with Jonathan. He preyed on vulnerable women and she had an abusive, controlling husband, who finds out about the affair and kills Jonathan.”
Georgina studies the photograph of Mona Glover. She’s a thin, self-conscious woman, who doesn’t look at the camera. She has the prominent nose and dark eyes I’ve seen in many Middle Eastern women, along with thick black hair, which looks limp and unwashed. Her smile looks more like a grimace.
“Why didn’t he stop her working at the casino?” Georgina asks. “Why kill the lover? From what you’ve told me, he planned this in great detail.”
“So he could frame my father.”
“But why Miles?”
“If his wife hadn’t worked at the Ace of Hearts, she wouldn’t have had an affair. Bob Glover told me his wife wanted to go to America. Maybe meeting Jonathan gave her the idea, dangled freedom under her nose.”
“But he married Freya,” she says, shaking her head. “Mona must have been livid. That makes her the more likely murder suspect, I’d say. She tells her husband what she’s done and he clears up the mess, knowing she’s in his debt forever. For good measure, he makes it look like Miles did the deed to divert attention from his wife.” She claps her hands, pleased with her analysis. “The case for the prosecution rests.”
“Glover visited Jonathon’s burial site before the murder was committed.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Dates and records,” I reply. “If I can prove he went to Downland Manor Hotel at the right time, we may have a case.”
She nods and dives into the back up drive box. She pulls out two more drives, labelled Downland Manor Hotel. “What are we looking for?”
“A fire safety inspection,” I reply, scrolling through the list of folders and files. “Shout if you spot Health and Safety.”
She watches the screen. “Will Fire Safety do?”
I spot the folder and open it to find a fire inspection report from December ten years ago, signed by RL Glover.
I check my notes. “He visited a few days before Jonathan disappeared. Glover was checking out several locations. He made three visits in total before anyone disappeared.”
“Does that mean there’s a third victim? His wife?”
“No, the third visit was to Wright Choice Foods near Arlington. He met Jonathan, possibly for the first time. Mrs Wright said they took an instant dislike to each other.”
“Still circumstantial,” she says, shaking her head in frustration.
“Recently, he was in the town hall basement where my inspection records are kept. Someone went through the records. It must have been him.”
“Get the files tested for his fingerprints. You could also find out what happened to his wife, if he didn’t kill her. Then there’s Gill Kaine. We should try to find her.”
“I thought she was Leila King.” I explain about the insurance frauds, which must involve Glover.
“Why would he do that?”
“Money, I guess. If his wife cleaned him out and went to America?”
I have a feeling she could be right. “What if I talk to the police? Do you think they’d be interested?”
“DI Goodman?” Georgina laughs. “Why would she be interested when she has Miles over a barrel?”
Settled back in the chair, Mona’s photo on the screen, I wonder how I could persuade or force Glover to confess. Sending him the image of his wife’s ID card might shake him up.
While I consider the risks, Freya sends me a text.
I’ve finished Molly’s trim so come over right away. Freya.
I’m about to respond when I remember she trimmed Molly the other week.
Why are there no kisses after her name?
Shit! Something’s wrong.
Sixty-One
Mark Layman doesn’t answer his phone.
I want to ring Pristine Pooches, but if something’s wrong I don’t want to make things worse for Freya.
Georgina has more luck with East Sussex Fire and Rescue. “Bob Glover’s out on visits,” she tells me. “There’s nothing in his diary about where he’s going, which is not like him, they said. I think we should call the police.”
“Bob Glover’s waiting for me at Pristine Pooches,” I say, pulling my car keys from my pocket. “It would be rude to disappoint him.”
“You can’t go on your own. What about Freya?”
“If I’m in there, I can protect her,” I say, sensing I won’t persuade Georgina. “If I’m outside, I can’t do anything.”
She sighs. “Is there any point asking you not to do anything stupid?” When I don’t answer, she says, “I’m coming with you.”
“I need you to email the photos to William. Tell him about the fire inspections so he can persuade Ashley to help us.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Please, Georgina.”
She gives me her defiant look. Then she kisses me on the lips. “For luck, and old times’ sake,” she says, wiping the lipstick away. “No heroics, Kent. When I walk down the aisle, I want to see you standing next to Miles, you hear?”
No More Lies Page 25