“Oh, no, not more press. I’ve said all I have to say on this subject. When will you lot stop bothering us?” She started to close the door.
Drastic action was required fast. I said, “Look, I’m not just press. I’m also involved. The police thought I killed him. I didn’t. I want to know who did.”
She froze with the door half-closed, staring at me. “They thought you killed him? So you’re not a journalist. Why did you say you were?”
“I am. I’m not making it up. But I was falsely implicated as well. I want to know the truth.”
She was still staring at me, looking more intrigued than perturbed. She said, “Don’t you think you’re inviting suspicion by poking around here?”
I shrugged. I felt she was warming to me, and I wanted to take maximum advantage. I said, “What would you do in my shoes?”
“Keep my head down, and stay a million miles away from the crime scene.” There was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
I looked more closely at her. She had a thin face, lined but not unattractive, and she was probably older than I’d first thought – more like fifty than forty. Her short, feathered hair was neither grey nor blonde but a mix of both. I said, “Well, I didn’t do it. The very idea is laughable. But the police seem to be looking in the wrong place. I’m wondering what they’ve missed.”
“You’re setting a high value on your capacity to find out things they can’t.”
“I don’t mean to sound arrogant. I’m just hoping I’ll be able to apply a bit of lateral thinking.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “All right – suppose I believe you. What exactly do you want from me?”
Encouraged, I said, “I’m trying to get the feel for what went on here – like, did Rob Openshaw have loads of visitors? Did he say or do anything that might be a clue to what happened? Do you have any theories of your own?”
She glanced at her watch. “I have to go out in five minutes.” She looked at me again. “I would invite you in, but under the circumstances that wouldn’t be a very good idea.”
“I don’t blame you.”
She gave a short laugh. “I don’t mean you look like a murderer, but entertaining you in my home might not look good if the authorities ever find out. We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”
I waited without replying.
She seemed to come to a decision. She said, “OK. We didn’t see much of Rob after he moved in, but he was always polite and friendly when we bumped into each other. To be honest, we were glad he’d come back from America. The house had stood empty since his mother died. We worried that squatters might move in.”
“And did he have a lot of visitors?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“No regular callers – business associates, customers, anything like that?”
“To be honest, no. He kept a pretty low profile. Most of the time, the only people going in and out were Rob himself and that daughter of his.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Plus her friends.”
“You didn’t like Ellie?”
“A self-satisfied little brat without a single polite word for anyone. She seemed to hate living in the UK. All she wanted was to go back to the US.”
“And her friends?”
“All I can tell you is that when they came round, the music went up in volume. Thump, thump, thump – that’s what it sounded like from our side of the wall. We kept asking Rob if he could shut her up. I think he did his best.”
I was running out of ideas. I said, “Did Ellie have any special friends? Anyone you remember in particular?”
“There was a boy called Chico.” She raised her hand to her hair. “His head was shaved on one side – very distinctive. He looked frightening, but I thought he had a nice smile.” She gave a self-mocking laugh.
“Racial type?”
“Southern European, I’d call him.”
“So you don’t have any theories of your own about who might have killed Rob?”
“I wish I could tell you something that would help you, but I’m afraid I can’t. He was just getting on with doing whatever he did, then suddenly this terrible thing happened.”
She said she had to go. I thanked her and handed her a business card. She said, “My name is Jane Caldwell. You can look me up on the internet if you need to get back to me.” She started to close the door, then said, “I wish you luck with your quest.”
Chapter 50
Back in my flat, I settled at my computer and contemplated my options. In theory I should be running another web search on Rob Openshaw, but I was toying with an alternative plan: searching on his daughter Ellie.
I’d tried a couple more of the houses along Rob Openshaw’s terrace, but without any luck. I was unperturbed; the woman next door had given me plenty of food for thought.
It wasn’t seriously thinking that Ellie could have killed her own father. After all, she’d found his body while I was there, and her horror at the experience had been palpable. So had her alarm when I’d turned up at her mother’s house in California. Yet in the absence of any other clues I kept coming back to her. However unlikely it was, I had to consider the possibility that she might somehow have been involved.
I googled the name Ellie Openshaw, and it didn’t take me long to home in on a few random images. There she was in some kind of pageant in her home town, looking a couple of years younger than her present self; and here she was in a grinning close-up with two other girls. But my cursory search brought me no real insight into her life or her thoughts.
As I stared at her picture it occurred to me for the first time that she was quite pretty in an unformed, adolescent kind of way: short dark hair, rounded features, brown eyes. On the few occasions when I’d met her the only expressions I’d seen on her face had been belligerence and fear.
I couldn’t find any references to her life in England, but perhaps it had been too brief for her to make much of a mark here. I remembered that Jane next door had said Ellie used to hang out with a lad named Chico, so I tried googling the two names together to see what might come up. Nothing of any use did.
If there was anything more to find out about her I would need to probe more deeply, but that presented me with a problem. Digging into the web presence of a teenage girl was likely to appear suspicious at the best of times, and this wasn’t the best of times. What would the police think if they found out?
I left a voicemail for Dave, and he phoned me back later that day.
“Another favour?” he asked. “Or have you been arrested yet again?”
“Just a question for you this time.”
“That makes a change.”
“When you were talking to your police mate in north London, did you happen to ask him if his team had looked at Rob Openshaw’s daughter Ellie in connection with the killing?”
“Funnily enough, I didn’t. Next question?”
“Oh. Well, do the police over there know that she has anger management issues? Back in the States a few years ago she broke her own brother’s arm. Apparently she was lucky no formal action was taken against her.”
This seemed to put Dave off his stride. He said, “How the hell do you know that?”
“I went to see her mother in California, and I met another woman who knew her.”
“Did you now?” I could hear a note of reluctant admiration in his voice. “I’ve no idea if they picked up on that, but it’s quite possible they didn’t.”
“I’ll see if I can find out any more.”
“You know what I’m going to say – don’t start treading on anyone’s toes. It won’t do you any favours.”
“I know.”
* * *
I called Sam’s friend Noel and explained what I wanted.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You want me to dig into the life of this American teenager without leaving any trail behind – but you don’t actually know what you’re looking for?”
“I
know it sounds half-baked, but I won’t know what’s important until I see it.”
“It doesn’t sound half-baked.” He paused. “It sounds challenging.”
Such hesitancy was unlike Noel. I said, “But you can do it, can you? Without being found out?”
“I should think so, yeah. It’s the bit about working out what’s important that might make it tricky.”
“You’re looking for anything at all that might shed light on the death of this girl’s father. That’s the bottom line.”
“Fair enough, but I can’t guarantee instant results.”
“That’s why this time you really must bill me. I won’t let you do anything unless you agree.”
“OK, I won’t argue with that. But wait and see what I find out before you start pulling out your wallet.”
“It’s a deal. And by the way, there’s a friend of this girl’s in London who might be worth following up at the same time. I only have a first name, I’m afraid. It’s a young lad called Chico.” I told him how I thought it was spelled.
“Leave it with me. I’ll text you if I find out anything worth knowing.”
Half an hour after this conversation Dave called me back.
“Guess what,” he said. “We’re going out for another curry tomorrow night. You’ve single-handedly created a new dinner circle for me.”
“Just consider me your social secretary.”
He grunted. “Anyway, when we were fixing this on the phone, I asked Pat Evans about your girl Ellie.”
“And?”
“They did consider her for the killing. They had to, didn’t they? It’s their job. But there was no motive and no evidence … and this is her own dad we’re talking about. And at the end of the day she’s only a fifteen-year-old kid. Also she had an alibi for the time of the killing, and the webcam opposite confirmed that she turned up at the house after you did.”
“Have you told your mate about her anger management problems?”
“I have – but he doesn’t think it’ll change their view of her. She’s not a suspect, so it’s not relevant.”
“Huh.” I thought about that. “Do we know who gave her the alibi?”
He sighed. “Some friend of hers. And that’s all I know, all right?”
Chapter 51
Early that evening Sam’s friend Jess phoned me. She said, “We wondered if you fancied a quick pint?”
A voice in the background said, “No we didn’t!” I was pretty sure it was Sam.
I said, “Yeah, why not?”
“Great. We’re somewhere in Covent Garden. What’s the name of this place?” I could hear a muted discussion. “She’s not sure, but we think it’s the White Hart or the Golden Hind or the Humping Stag – anyway, some kind of ruminant animal. You’ll have to use your intuition.”
I knew the pub she meant. It was an easy journey on the Northern line. Less than half an hour later I was scanning the bar for the two women. Jess was sitting at a table by the window. Sam was in the process of rising to her feet, apparently about to leave. She cut a striking figure in her jeans and straight top with its pink and magenta accents: her market gear for the day, no doubt.
“Hi Mike,” she said as I approached. “I’m sorry to rush away, but I’ve got to get back to Ronnie’s to help her unload the van. I told her I’d only be half an hour.”
“Ronnie can manage on her own for once,” Jess said to her. “Stay and chat. We don’t often get the chance.”
Sam looked dubious. “No, I’d better go. Mike will keep you entertained.” She gave me a slightly strained smile.
Jess still wasn’t appeased. “If you can’t let your hair down when you’re in London, when can you?”
“Maybe next time. Bye.”
Jess watched as she threaded her way to the door, then turned to me. “That went well.”
“What did?”
“I try to buy you guys some quality time, and that’s all the thanks I get.”
“I don’t think Sam knows we need quality time. And I doubt if she likes set-ups.”
“More to the point, Nick’s shadow looms large.”
“Sam is still her own person. That won’t change.”
“I hope not.”
I went over to the bar to buy another round of drinks, then rejoined Jess. For once she had her hair tied back in a bunch, not fanned out, but the torrent of tight waves seemed to be bursting to escape.
I said, “How’s the fashion retailing business?”
“Oh, you know. Up and down. More down than up, to be honest.”
“Uncertain times.”
“You said it.”
I felt I couldn’t contribute much more on this subject. I said, “Did you hear about Nick’s friend Dan? Such a shame.”
Immediately she was alert. “You knew him then?”
“Not personally, but he seemed a good guy. Why, did you?”
“Yes, I met him at Sam and Nick’s place, at a dinner party. In fact that was the last time I was invited there in Nick’s company. He was a lovely guy – funny, charming. We saw each other a couple of times after that. He was married, of course, but he was separated from his wife.”
“I had no idea. I wouldn’t have brought this up if I’d known.”
“It didn’t really go anywhere … but I think it might have.”
I gave her a sympathetic look.
She shook her head slowly. “I still find it hard to believe he would have taken an overdose. I didn’t see the slightest sign of drug abuse when I was with him.”
We sat in silence for a moment, then she said, “Of course, Dan’s death has hit me professionally as well as personally.”
“How so?”
“It’s complicated.” She paused to marshal her thoughts. “Dan’s property firm has a stake in an out-of-town shopping mall near Rugby. They’re going to expand, and my firm has made a commitment to occupying a large retail unit in the new development. But Dan was going to help us get us out of it.”
“Why was that?”
“When we committed to the deal it made good commercial sense, but the project has dragged on for more than two years.”
Her look indicated that this was supposed to explain everything, but I was still catching up. I said, “And the significance of that is … ?”
“Well, everything in my business has changed in that time. Home shopping has started to put a serious dent in conventional retailing. More and more of our business is transacted online. On top of that, the economy is all over the place. Frankly we need another retail outlet like a hole in the head.”
“Couldn’t you just pull out of the development?”
“Obviously, yes, but there would be penalties. Big ones.” She leaned forward over the table, warming to her subject. “The thing about these projects is that one retailer draws in another, and collectively they give the scheme momentum. The last thing developers want is for any of them to drop out after they’ve signed up. If the cancellation rate hits critical mass, the whole scheme collapses. So the developers make it as hard as they can for any retailer to withdraw once it’s made a commitment.”
“That all makes sense.”
“Not all developments are like this one, you understand. It depends on the developer, the location, the background – all kinds of things. The termination clauses in this deal are pretty swingeing.”
“But we’re not exactly talking millions here, are we? It would hardly bring a retailer to its knees, I wouldn’t have thought.”
“No, but when you’re already having a tough time keeping your creditors at bay, it could be the last straw.”
“And are you?”
“Off the record, let’s just say we’ve done better in the past.”
“So where does Dan Risby fit in?”
“Well, after we got to know each other I explained all this to him, and he took a step back – he looked at the whole project again. The upshot was that he decided there was no point in forcing it through.”
/> “I’m assuming he didn’t just do this as a favour to you?”
“No, no, of course not. But I think I was able to make the retail perspective real for him. He realised that if the scheme went ahead, half the retailers could end up making a loss on their investment. If that happened, the whole thing would be a disaster, and his company would ultimately lose out. They’d be left with a white elephant on their hands.”
“And he could take that decision himself, could he?”
“He had enough sway on the project board to swing it. But now that he’s out of the picture, we’ve been told that the other directors are going to push ahead with the scheme after all.” She sighed in resignation. “Either we’ll have to pay a bloody great penalty charge to pull out of our involvement, or we’ll just have to go ahead and open our store regardless, and hope that it somehow pays its way.” She put her wine glass down decisively on the table. “But it won’t. I can tell you that now.”
Chapter 52
The next day a piece of luck came my way. I had a phone call from Guy Dereham, who wanted to know if I would be willing to go to a press conference near Wolverhampton the following day. “Normally I wouldn’t ask you to waste your time on it, but these people are threatening to spend money with us, so we need to show a face and be nice to them.”
The prospect of a trip to the West Midlands undammed my thoughts on what Jess had told me yesterday. There was something odd about the retail development she’d described to me, and I couldn’t dismiss the thought that Nick Hathaway was somehow involved.
I didn’t have the full story yet, but I now saw a chance to find out more. Rugby was on the way to Wolverhampton, so this trip should leave me time to go and see the shopping centre for myself on my way back.
The press conference was scheduled for noon, and I mistimed the hundred-mile drive, arriving at the truck bodybuilder’s factory in Bloxwich with only minutes to spare. There were presentations, photographs, schmoozing with the directors and a stand-up lunch in the board room. I got away at three o’clock.
The Concrete Ceiling Page 21
