Western Approaches (Jimmy Suttle) (27 page)

‘Work. Always work. He was into property development. He tried to explain it to me one time, tried to get me interested, but I’m useless at all that stuff. Told him not to bother.’

Suttle looked up from his notes. He’d rarely stumbled on someone so recklessly candid.
Constantine
, at last, was beginning to pick up speed.

‘Did Milo know about this?’

‘Of course he did.’

‘He didn’t mind?’

‘He thought it was funny.’

‘
Funny?
’

‘Yeah. He knew Jake like we all did, and if you want the truth I think he felt sorry for the man. What you have to understand about Milo is that the guy’s a bunny, a child. What we have is brilliant. We fuck like angels. He knows that, and he knows I know it, and it makes him feel very good about everything. So when I come home and tell him about Kinsey, how hopeless the guy is, how rich he’s making us, it just makes everything even better.’

‘No jealousy?’

‘None.’

‘And Kinsey? Did it stop with dance and movement and the odd shag?’

For the first time Suttle caught a tiny hint of wariness in her face. She wanted to know exactly what he meant.

‘I get the impression Kinsey wanted to own everything,’ he said.

‘Including me?’

‘That’s my question.’

‘By taking me away from Milo? By moving me into his apartment? Some kind of trophy fuck?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why would I do that? When I’ve got Milo?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’m just asking.’

She nodded. Then her head went down and she picked at a nail.

‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘But he knew there’d never be a way.’

‘And Milo?’

‘He knew too. Which is why he never even asked the question.’

She got to her feet. Her mug was empty. She needed more hot water. Suttle didn’t move. He wanted to know about the film Kinsey was funding.

‘That was for Milo.’

‘I know. But it was you who got the money out of Kinsey.’

‘That’s true. He’d give me anything.’

‘A two grand down payment and forty-five to come? Have I got that right?’

‘Yeah. Jake was minted, though. That sort of money was nothing to him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me. It was a little boast. He thought it might impress me.’

‘And did it?’

‘Never. A day with Milo is better than a lifetime with a man like that. He’d want to bang you up. He’d want to own you. I don’t want to be owned. I want to be set free.’

‘And Milo does that?’

‘All the time. And you know something else? He’s not even aware of how good he is. There’s not an ounce of malice in that man. He’s truly beautiful.’

She talked about the film they’d wanted to make and how excited Milo had been at the concept they’d both shaped. The spirit of the river. The ancient ghosts of long-dead Dutchmen haunting the Warren. And a love affair untainted by either time or circumstance.

‘We shot a trial sequence. Milo called it a taster.’

‘I’ve seen it. He showed me.’

‘Us getting it on?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you think?’

‘Very impressive. Did Kinsey see it?’

‘Yes. It was his idea. He’d read the script and when he asked for a taster we left the choice to him.’

‘What did he say when he saw it?’

‘He thought it was great. That’s why he agreed to fund the rest of the movie. Did Milo tell you about that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And the training stuff we’re doing for the club?’

‘No.’

‘Come.’

She poured herself more hot water and led Suttle to Milo’s PC. A couple of keystrokes took her into an editing programme. Suttle found himself looking at a bunch of people on a beach, mainly youngsters. They were listening to an older man in a grey tracksuit.

‘This was stuff Milo shot yesterday. He’s putting together a little movie for the club to help with fund-raising. That was the deal when Jake paid for the camera. You want to see Jake in the flesh?’

Suttle was staring at the screen. At the back of the group was a huge guy in a scruffy blue top. Beside him, dwarfed, was Lizzie. They seemed to be swapping glances. They seemed to be sharing a joke. He remembered the photo Houghton had been preparing to circulate, the mugshot she’d ripped from Kinsey’s camera in the pub. On the PC this same face was partially obscured. He had to be sure.

‘Who’s that?’ He touched the screen.

‘The big guy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘His name’s Pendrick. Awesome man. Everything Jake wasn’t.’

Already she was running backwards through a blur of sequences. Finally she found what she was after.

Suttle bent to the PC. Another view of the same beach hung on the screen. A new-looking sea boat waited at the water’s edge. Kinsey’s crew were taking their seats, one by one. Suttle recognised the little guy steadying the bow as Lenahan. Big Andy Poole was already in the stroke seat. Pendrick was behind him. Then two other figures stepped into the frame. One of them was Donovan. The other, much smaller, had to be Kinsey.

He was first to the boat. He bent to adjust Donovan’s seat, then helped her in. His body language spoke volumes. He was bossy, the authority figure, almost proprietorial. This was his boat, his crew, his woman. Once Donovan was safely seated, he clambered into the bow seat and threw an order over his shoulder at Lenahan, who was knee-deep in the water, holding the boat against the current. Lenahan stowed the rope among a press of life jackets, gave the bow a nudge and stepped into the cox’s seat as Donovan and Kinsey eased the quad into the incoming tide. The quad paused a moment, then all four sets of blades were out and the boat was moving quickly upstream.

Kinsey rowed the way he seemed to do everything else. He was choppy, impatient, over-hasty, and as the camera panned the quad into the blaze of sunshine the blackness of the silhouette was unforgiving. Three sets of blades were in perfect harmony. Kinsey, the little guy in the bow, was always half a beat too early.

‘Stick insect,’ Suttle muttered.

‘Too right. Even I’m better than he was.’

Suttle asked her to go back to yesterday’s sequence. Donovan shot him a look.

‘You won’t find Kinsey there,’ she said.

‘I know. Just do it, please.’

They were on the beach again. The older guy in the tracksuit was walking back towards the slipway. As the camera panned left across the mill of young rowers, Suttle found himself watching his wife and Pendrick easing a two-seat rowing skiff into the water. The shot tightened as Lizzie made herself comfortable. She was laughing now as she leaned forward to tighten something that seemed to hold the blade in the gate. Then Pendrick knelt beside her in the shallows, talking her through some detail or other, and the camera settled on Lizzie’s face as she tried to follow him. Suttle hadn’t seen this expression for years. There was an eagerness, a hunger for what was coming next, and when the camera eased out again as Pendrick stepped into the bow seat Suttle caught the moment when she reached back to steady him.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

‘Pendrick. I just told you.’

‘I meant the woman.’

‘Fuck knows. I asked Milo that this morning. Apparently she’s new, just moved into the area, lots of potential. The girls say she responds well to coaching, really quick on the uptake. Definitely does it for Pendrick too. Just look at the guy.’

The skiff was on the move now, silhouetted against the sun, exactly the same effect Milo had conjured for Kinsey’s quad. The sheer bulk of Pendrick had wiped Lizzie from the shot and only her flailing oars were evidence that there was anybody else in the boat. The skiff was wobbling badly. The oars came to a halt. Then a cloud hid the sun and detail returned to the shot. Pendrick was leaning forward, his hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, his mouth inches from her ear.

Suttle had seen enough. He’d wanted to ask Donovan about the word flux and whether or not she knew Peggy Brims, the woman who lived in the apartment beneath Kinsey, but he no longer saw the point. He gathered up his notes and told Donovan she’d have to attend the police station to read and sign a formal statement. He’d do his best to have it ready by midday tomorrow but clerical staff were under enormous pressure and he couldn’t guarantee it.

Donovan was still looking at Milo’s shots from yesterday. On the way out, Suttle paused by the door.

‘You dye your hair that colour, right?’

‘Of course.’ She looked up at him, surprised.

‘So what colour was it before?’

‘Blonde.’

Pendrick phoned Lizzie in mid-afternoon. He’d just finished a rewiring job at a house in Woodbury and wondered whether she fancied a coffee.

‘I’m at home,’ she pointed out. ‘With an infant daughter and no car.’

‘You want me to drop round? No pressure.’

Lizzie thought about it for a split second.

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

She could hear the disappointment in his voice but knew she had no choice.

‘Don’t go,’ she said quickly. ‘Talk to me.’

‘About?’

‘You could start with last night.’

‘Last night was great. You know it was great. Except for the bloody rowing.’

‘Bugger the rowing. That was my fault. I meant the rest of it.’

‘The rest of it was what it was.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’d love to see you again. Talk some more. Get one or two things straight.’

Lizzie giggled. She felt about twelve.

‘Nice idea,’ she said. ‘Let’s work on that.’

‘How about tomorrow? There’s a quad going up to Topsham. One of the girls wants to be subbed on the way back. It’s five miles. Could you cope with that?’

‘No problem.’ She was laughing now. ‘The mood I’m in I could cope with anything.’

Suttle took his interview notes back to the MCIT offices at Middlemoor. D/I Carole Houghton, to his intense relief, was at her desk upstairs. The missing head had finally turned up in a Bodmin wood a couple of hundred metres from the rest of the body, a discovery that had done nothing for her respect for intel.

‘This better be good,’ she warned as Suttle eased himself into her spare chair.

He took her briefly through the bones of the interview. Tash Donovan had freely admitted having regular sex with Jake Kinsey. She claimed that her partner was cool with this arrangement but Symons hadn’t mentioned it in interview. On the contrary, towards the end of their conversation he’d become visibly irritated at Suttle’s suggestion that Kinsey might have had some kind of relationship with Tash.

‘But he didn’t, Jimmy. That’s not how it happened. The way you’re telling it they danced round together and did lots of hippy stuff and had sex from time to time. He was paying her for it. That’s not a relationship. That’s business.’

‘Not to Symons. Not if you’re crazy about the woman. Not if she’s older than you and pretty much controls every aspect of your life. The way I see it, the guy’s hugely vulnerable. We could nick Donovan for child abuse.’

Houghton laughed. But she still wasn’t convinced.

‘There’s no way she’d have told you all that stuff if he didn’t know too. She’s putting it on the record before you get there first. That makes her clever, not guilty.’

‘Wrong, boss.’ Suttle wasn’t having it. ‘She wants me to believe that she and Symons have a great sex life. I’m in no position to know for sure, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Let’s say they get it on loads. Let’s accept it’s great for both of them. Let’s even agree that Symons knows about the deal with Kinsey and is happy to rent out his partner for five hundred quid a pop.’

‘It’s her decision, Jimmy, not his.’ The expression on Houghton’s face might have been a smile.

‘Sure. Fine. OK. But we’re missing something, aren’t we?’

‘What?’

‘Symons is a bloke. He knows about blokes. He knows how territorial they can get. More to the point, he knows Kinsey. And when it comes to territory, he knows that Kinsey has to be top dog. There isn’t a lamp post he won’t piss on. Including Tash Donovan.’

‘That’s unnecessary.’

‘My apologies. But you see the logic? You see where this thing leads? Symons knows Kinsey can’t help himself as far as Donovan’s concerned. He knows the guy probably wants every bit of her, for keeps. They win their race. All the guys get pissed in the pub. They go back to Kinsey’s apartment. Donovan’s the only one still standing. After Kinsey’s gone off to bed they all go home. Donovan and Symons are in their little car together. They have a monster row. Maybe Kinsey’s said something out of turn. Maybe he’s come on to Donovan in the apartment. Whatever. By the time they’re back home, or tucked up in some little lay-by, it’s got really nasty. Symons has had enough. He’s going to sort this guy out. Bosh. Back he goes.’

‘How does he get in?’