The Catch (17 page)

‘Oh.’

‘Normally in this situation the SOCOs would get hauled over the coals. But they’re trained to find the smallest traces of evidence, like glass fragments, flecks of paint. I don’t see them missing an A5 envelope, do you?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘The other notable fact is that the money was found by a farmer.’ He tore off a piece of croissant and popped it into his mouth. ‘The same man who discovered the body yesterday morning.’

‘Do you think he’d pocketed the money ...?’

‘Then got cold feet and put it back.’ Thomsett nodded. ‘It’s plausible. DC Avery is interviewing him as we speak. He has rather a knack for frightening people.’

It was said with a chuckle, but did he also send her a warning look? Cate could feel a cold dread crawling over her skin.

She said, ‘This farmer, you don’t believe he had anything to do with O’Brien’s death?’

‘I doubt it. But if he’s hiding something, we’ll know soon enough.’ Another chunk of croissant was consumed, quickly but with a certain delicacy. Thomsett dabbed a napkin to his lips. ‘That drizzle overnight hasn’t done us any favours. The envelope was wet and muddy, so it might not yield any prints.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Well, we’ll see. They can work miracles these days. Correct me if I’m wrong, but what we should find on there is the farmer’s, Hank O’Brien’s, and yours. And your brother’s, presumably, if you were meeting Mr O’Brien on his behalf?’

Cate nodded. ‘And other people from his office, potentially.’

‘So four lots of prints, minimum. Compton’s is just along Foundry Street, isn’t it?’

‘Frederick Street. That’s the one above Foundry.’ Cate felt sick. Would it look suspicious to ask where he was going with this, or was it more suspicious
not
to ask?

‘Perhaps I’m being dim, but I don’t see how testing the envelope will help in the search for the driver who hit O’Brien.’

****

There was a moment of heavy silence, in part because Thomsett had the cup of tea at his mouth, and his eyes seemed to shine with regret. Cate felt sure that somehow, inadvertently, she had incriminated herself.

The detective swallowed. ‘You’re not dim. The truth is, it probably won’t help at all. But the fact we only found it this morning is an anomaly, and therefore it has to be investigated. Same with the traces of paint on Mr O’Brien’s clothing. It’s gone off for analysis, but without more debris at the scene there’s little chance of pinpointing the vehicle.’ He sighed. ‘So now it’s down to the TV appeal.’

‘TV appeal?’ Cate echoed.

‘I featured on the local news this morning. Didn’t you see it?’

‘No. I don’t usually watch ...’

‘Doesn’t matter. Alexander Armstrong can sleep easy.’ He grinned, but she saw a hint of disappointment that she’d missed it. ‘There was one spot of good news, though. The couple who were dining in the pub have come forward and confirmed your account of the altercation. They also remember seeing your Audi in the car park.’

Somehow Cate managed a wry smile. ‘I bet that came as a blow to DC Avery.’

Thomsett chose that moment to take another drink, and didn’t respond. ‘Unfortunately they couldn’t tell us much about the men who broke up the fight. We’ve got the barmaid helping us put together e-fits this afternoon—’

‘I have a meeting with some insurers, I’m afraid.’ Seeing his face, Cate paused. Felt herself blush. ‘I mean, if you wanted me to ...’

‘It’s fine. What I will do is ask you to take a look at the images and tell us if you think they’re accurate.’

‘Oh, right. Okay.’

Thomsett finished off the first croissant and pushed the plate in her direction. ‘Sure you won’t have some? Feels rude to be eating alone.’

‘Thanks.’ She took a small piece: if nothing else it was a distraction.

Thomsett looked pleased. ‘You probably know yourself, witness evidence is notoriously unreliable. You end up with a suspect who’s tall and short, fat and thin, blond and dark, bearded and clean-shaven ...’

‘It doesn’t arise as much in my line of work. Civil law, it’s mostly accidents, compensation claims. We rarely have to do identity parades.’

‘You’ve got it cushy,’ he said, teasing her. ‘You never fancied getting down and dirty on the criminal side?’

‘I considered it, but the idea of being called to a police station at three in the morning didn’t appeal.’

‘I don’t blame you. Plays havoc with your personal life, too.’ A micro-pause, but both of them took note of it. ‘Are you married? Living with someone?’

She narrowed her eyes, not maliciously but to show her surprise. ‘Is that an official question?’

‘Nope. Just general nosiness on my part.’

‘I was married,’ she said. ‘We divorced last year.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Same here, two years ago. Weekend dad.’

She liked the fact that he didn’t try to sound jocular; instead the pain was there to see and hear.

‘For us, one of the saving graces was that we didn’t have children.’ Cate heard her voice wobble:
dangerous territory, girl
. She picked up her phone to check the time, remembering the silly text from Martin. ‘If there’s nothing else, I’d better be going ...’

‘Yes, of course.’ Thomsett stood up and they shook hands. ‘I’ll be in touch with those e-fits, then. And watch out for me on the box. I’m hoping they’ll repeat it on tonight’s news.’

‘Yes. I will.’

‘Let’s hope we get a lucky break, eh?’ He smiled, perhaps quite innocuously, but to Cate it seemed to say:
I know what you’re hiding, and you’re not going to get away with it ...

Willie Denham was a small, rotund man, with thick white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard. He had kind eyes and ruddy cheeks and he reminded Dan of Richard Attenborough, circa
Jurassic Park
.

He was quietly spoken, too, but his gentle, twinkly manner concealed a savage desire to protect the family business. Over the years Dan had seen a number of staff make the assumption that the boss was a soft touch, and none of them had survived for long.

Normally Denham’s fondness for floor-walking and deceptively innocuous chat didn’t worry Dan at all. He was proud of his sales team and knew they wouldn’t let him down. Today, though, he couldn’t shake off the conviction that Denham had rumbled him.

It was bad enough that every TV in the store exerted a terrible grip. The 24-hour news sites were the worst, although none so far had featured the hit-and-run. Dan was now dreading the lunchtime news, when both BBC and ITV would broadcast local bulletins.

If there was one tiny consolation, it was that Hayley wouldn’t be there to see them. She’d pointedly informed him that she was meeting her best friend, Miranda, who worked in a bank in North Street. Dan had no doubt that his erratic behaviour would be high on the agenda. While outwardly pleasant, Miranda was an emotional vampire, and this current crisis would give her plenty to feast on.

‘Slow day.’

Dan jumped. Denham had materialised at his side. Because of the height difference, Dan found himself looking down at a small bald patch on the older man’s crown. There was a sprinkling of dandruff on the shoulder of his suit jacket.

‘Afraid so,’ he said.

‘Thursdays are always unpredictable, of course. Weather’s neither one thing nor the other ...’ Denham peered in the direction of the windows, the shop momentarily darkening as a bus rumbled past. ‘But I dare say things will pick up, given time.’

Dan half turned, as if scanning the shop for a cluster of hitherto unseen customers. It was about as rude a dismissal as he dared, but Denham merely stood in silence, nodding to himself. Several excruciating seconds passed before he spoke again.

‘You know, I do feel you’re—’

‘Dan! Phone for you!’ It was one of the assistants, Maisie, who hadn’t noticed Denham’s presence. ‘Somebody called Cate?’

Apologising to his boss, Dan hurried away. When he reached the office he glanced back and saw a troubled-looking Denham gazing in his direction.

‘Dan?’ The tone of Cate’s voice made his stomach lurch. ‘They’ve found the money.’

‘Have they?’ Dan thought he sounded fairly normal, under the circumstances. He felt confident enough to add: ‘Good to hear it.’

‘That’s what I said. But DS Thompsett doesn’t think it adds up.’

‘It was the wrong amount?’ he blurted.
Robbie must have palmed a few notes
...

‘No, I don’t mean that. He says the whole area was searched the day before.’

‘That’s a bit strange.’ Now he was beginning to doubt his delivery. Gauging the right level of concern was almost impossible.

The office door opened and Tim Masters, the service manager, came in. Nodding at Dan, he sat down at the adjacent desk and began riffling through a stack of invoices. Dan turned away from him and said quietly, ‘In that case, I guess someone slipped up.’

‘Maybe. Although Thomsett has other theories.’

‘I see. Look, I’d like to hear more but it’s a bit tricky right now.’

‘I know what you mean. Are you free to meet after work? Same place as yesterday, six o’clock?’

‘Fine.’ He put the phone down, and told himself that this wasn’t too bad. He’d wanted the police to find the money, and they had.

‘Interview, is it?’

Dan gave a start. Tim wore a sly smile as he gestured at the phone.

‘You can tell me, chum. Who’s poached you?’

‘No one.’ Dan knew his denials would fall on deaf ears. Tim was not only notoriously indiscreet, but he also behaved as though he and Dan were in competition, even though Denham was scrupulously fair in his treatment of the two departments. It didn’t help that, during Dan and Hayley’s brief separation, she had dated Tim for a while, claiming afterwards that it had been more a friendship than a romance.

‘Good luck!’ Tim called as Dan left the office. ‘Just don’t let the old man get wind of it till you’re ready to walk out the door.’

****

Jerry ordered a lemonade, lime and Angostura bitters, handed the barmaid a twenty and said, ‘Get yourself a drink, love.’

She nodded, with less gratitude than Jerry had expected, and said she’d take the cost of half a lager.

He planted his elbows on the bar, making it clear he was going to talk to her whether she liked it or not. ‘Bit quieter compared to yesterday.’

‘Yeah, it was mad.’ She frowned. ‘I thought I’d seen you before.’

‘We were talking about that poor geezer who got knocked down.’ He smiled, but had a feeling it didn’t help his case much. ‘Traci, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Just moved here, have you?’

‘No – well, yeah. Kind of ...’

A customer approached the bar and Traci gravitated towards her as if Jerry had ceased to exist. He took a big mouthful of his drink and told himself to be patient.

He was still smarting at the way Patricia had treated him. How was it his fault that the bloody registration number couldn’t be read? He’d done his best – and he’d suggested getting it enhanced. The Blakes knew all sorts of people: cops and spies and politicians. But no, they’d scorned the idea, and now he was lumbered with playing second fiddle to Stemper.

After serving the customer, Traci didn’t return to Jerry’s end of the bar. He was forced to drain his glass, draw out a tenner and wave it in the air, silently praying that the Blakes would reimburse him.

The girl dragged her feet coming over. ‘Same again?’

‘A Coke,’ said Jerry. ‘And get yourself another.’

This elicited surprise, then a foxy look as she reached for a clean glass: she’d worked out what the deal was.

‘So you were saying this bloke, the one that died, he had a fight with his girlfriend?’

‘Dunno if she was his girlfriend.’ She set his drink down, but Jerry kept the money in his hand. He’d seen the movies: he knew how this was done.

‘I mean the woman he was with. And a couple of other blokes got involved as well?’

‘’S right.’ She was staring at the tenner. Jerry waited, but that was all he got.

Bitch
, he thought. ‘They locals, were they?’

‘You what?’

‘The two men. Knights in shining armour. I wondered if you knew—’

‘Are you from the papers? The cops said they might come sniffing round, asking questions like this.’

Jerry glanced left and right, then gave her a conspiratorial wink. He snapped the tenner in the air as he handed it over. ‘That’s right, love.’

Eyes on the till, she said, ‘They told us to be careful what we said, but I don’t think it’s any of their fucking business whether I talk about it. Do you?’

Jerry grinned, trying to disguise the fact that he hated it when young women used the F-word. ‘Fucking right,’ he said. ‘Free country, innit?’

‘Which one you from?’

‘
Sunday Times
.’ It was the first title that came into his head. Aim high, he thought.

Traci gave a nod, trickling coins into his palm. ‘So you’ve got ID? One of those ... what is it, a press card?’

Taken aback, Jerry reached into his jacket, then started patting his pockets with all the subtlety of a pantomime dame. ‘Uh, must have left it at home.’

‘Ohh. Pity, that.’ Traci turned her back on him. He was sure he heard a snort of laughter.

Jerry gave it a few minutes, sipping his Coke, but it was clear she wasn’t going to come near him. Cursing her, he ambled out of the pub, upping his pace when it struck him that if the bitch was really suspicious she might take a note of his car, and then he
would
be in the shit.

What made it worse was that he did have an old press card at home, but hadn’t thought to bring it.

Another foul-up. That was how the Blakes would see this. And they’d compare him with fucking Stemper.

Stemper would have got her to talk.

Robbie reached the office around eleven, having made a couple of visits first: routine checks on some existing Compton rentals.