by Weaver, Tim
Graham shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask him, I suppose. If I was to take a guess, I’d say he either didn’t have all the facts at that stage, or he was trying to avoid colouring my view of what happened. Maybe he thought I’d be mad at Ray or something.’
My mind rolled back to the first conversation I’d had with Katie Francis at the house. Do you think he might have been embarrassed about saying something to you? As if, by doing so, he was accusing you – and, indirectly, Mr Graham – of being involved in something you shouldn’t have? She’d seemed confused by the question, as if she’d never thought of it that way. I don’t know, she’d said. Maybe.
‘Were you disappointed Ray didn’t come to you directly?’
Graham pursed his lips, as though trying to be diplomatic. ‘It hurt a little. I guess he must have had his reasons. I was out of the country at the time, but if I’d been here, at the house, maybe it would have been different. He liked Katie, and she liked him, but she hadn’t known him for fifty-odd years like I had. That makes a difference.’
I flipped to a fresh page in the pad. ‘Did you know that Annabel and Olivia Ling were spotted near ExCeL in London a couple of days after they disappeared?’
‘That’s what DC McInnes said, yes. That obviously didn’t lead anywhere?’
‘No. You ever heard of a guy called Barry Rew?’
‘R-E-W?’
‘Yes.’
‘No. I haven’t. Sorry.’
I pushed on. ‘What can you tell me about a man called Jeremy Cornell?’
It took a couple of seconds for the name to register with him and it was the first time I’d glimpsed a man in his late sixties: the slight delay as he searched for the memory; the brief confusion as the conversation moved from one side of the world to the other. But, quickly, the cool, sparky brightness returned. ‘Cornell,’ he said, nodding his head, and it was immediately obvious how he felt. ‘How do you know about that guy?’
I had a duty to protect Lee, even if Graham wasn’t the threat, but there was no way to lie my way through this without admitting that Lee was the thread that knitted the Lings and Cornell together. ‘Paul and Carrie Ling were good friends with a guy called Lee Wilkins. I think you know him.’
His face lit up again, a mirror image of earlier, when I’d mentioned Ray Muire. ‘Lee? Yes, I know Lee very well. How is he? I haven’t seen him for months.’
‘I don’t know,’ I lied. ‘I don’t know him. I’m just getting all this second hand from Emily, Carrie Ling’s sister. She said Lee and the Lings were close.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘She said Lee had told them a lot about you.’
‘Me?’
‘She said Lee really liked you.’
Graham smiled; he seemed genuinely touched. ‘Well, that’s very nice of Lee. I liked him very much. Ray may only have been his stepdad, but Lee had a lot of Ray’s qualities and he was a damn talented entertainer too. I helped get him some work in Las Vegas.’ Then, gradually, the smile turned into a frown. ‘It was going so well for him, then he just upped and left. I don’t know where he went, or why he left town, but I called Martha a few months back to find out where he’d gone, and she said he was out in Dubai. He just upped and left the job I got him. I mean, that’s fine – he’s a grown man, he can do what he wants – but I think Martha was a bit worried about him because she was only hearing from him once a month. You can understand. Does this Emily girl know any more?’
‘No. She hasn’t spoken to him for months.’
He shook his head. ‘I really don’t understand it.’
‘Did you see much of him there?’
‘In Vegas? Yes, we had a kind … I guess, a kind of club going.’
‘Club?’
But I knew he was talking about the high-rollers group.
‘We’d get together once every quarter, this big collection of us, and we’d gamble and have a few drinks. It was part social, part business. I used it as an opportunity to network, to talk to CEOs and chairmen and see if I could drive some business, but I made some good friends there at the same time.’
‘How did Lee get involved?’
‘Ray told me Lee was out in Vegas, so the next time I flew out, I went to see him and thought he was fantastic. I suggested to Cornell that it might be fun to get him in for the evening, not expecting him to agree. But the next time I was in town, Lee turned up, did his routine and all the guys loved him so much, he ended up staying.’ He shrugged. ‘Most of us brought in a few trusted outside friends as time wore on, so it wasn’t like it was unprecedented for Lee to stay. But it probably helped that everyone liked him.’
‘You brought in friends too?’
‘Yes. Lee, of course, and an old doctor friend of mine.’
He was talking about Eric Schiltz. Lee had survived by the skin of his teeth, but Schiltz hadn’t been so lucky. I had to find a way to get Graham talking about him.
‘So who is Cornell?’
Graham took a deep breath, like it was a question he’d wanted to know the answer to for a long time. ‘Honestly? I don’t know for sure. He’s English but he’s been out in the States a long time. He told us he used to work for the Bellagio, in their security team, but now he has his own company. He’s done pretty well off it, I think.’
‘How did he get to be the one that organized your get-togethers?’
‘Through the contacts he made at the Bellagio, I guess.’
I made a note to call the casino. ‘Go on.’
‘Anyway, he phoned up a bunch of us, told us the Bellagio would cover the cost of travel and accommodation, and that we could use one of the villas as a base. I think we all saw it the same way: a chance to network, to talk to other business people, to have a little fun. There were ten of us to start with, then it got bigger and bigger. Nowadays, we’re doing it every three months and there are maybe thirty, thirty-two. I suppose, even though he works for himself, he probably gets a nice little kickback for bringing us in. I dread to think how much money the casino is making off us.’
‘What do you make of him?’
‘Of Cornell?’ A snort. ‘A creepy asshole would probably sum it up.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘No one really likes him.’
‘What does he do when you all get together?’
‘Do? Nothing. Mostly he just watches. I mean, you can have a conversation with him, but it won’t exactly be one for the ages. Occasionally he joins in, but mostly he prefers just watching from the sidelines. It’s all a bit weird – certainly for my tastes.’
‘Do you ever get the sense he’s hiding something?’
Graham frowned. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Lee just upped and left?’
He was about to reply, then stopped, his eyes fixed on a space over my shoulder. I sat back and hoped I’d played it right, hoped I’d managed to predict his train of thought. He blinked, once, twice, a distance to him now. I wanted him thinking about Lee’s sudden departure, and then – like pins being knocked down by the same ball, one after the other – the fact that Schiltz had also been absent from the group for a year. He definitely would have noted Schiltz’s absence but maybe something had taken place that meant he hadn’t looked any deeper. I could really only see two reasons for that: either, somehow, he’d been convinced that Schiltz was fine, or he’d been scared into silence. Men like Graham didn’t scare easily, especially this late on in life, but everyone was frightened of something.
Maybe the thing he feared was Cornell.
After about ten seconds he blinked again and it was like switching channels: the static cleared and he was back in the conversation. He looked at me. ‘Are you suggesting that Cornell might be the reason Lee suddenly left Vegas?’
Bingo. ‘I don’t know. Do you?’
It was like reading a road sign now: I could almost see him making the connection between Lee and Schiltz. ‘My other friend, the doctor, he
also stopped coming.’
‘Stopped coming when?’
‘About the same time.’
‘What was your friend’s name?’
‘Eric. Eric Schiltz. I mentioned him earlier when we were talking about Ray. The three of us – me, Ray and him – grew up here. Ray stayed here in Devon, but Eric fell in love with the idea of the American dream. I guess I was somewhere in between: my roots are very important to me, but I always wanted to go to the States, from early on.’
I paused, letting him gather his thoughts again.
‘Did you ever ask Eric why he stopped coming to the group?’
‘No. We had a get-together a year ago, last November time, and about two weeks later he sent me an email to tell me he probably wasn’t going to come along any more.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He just said he didn’t enjoy it very much any more.’
‘Did that surprise you?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Eric loved the get-togethers. After his wife – Nancy – died, he was always out and about being social. He kept very active. I’d never met a man who hated being alone as much as him. So, yes, it did surprise me.’
‘You, Eric and Ray were close?’
‘Oh yes.’ He shifted forward in the sofa and got to his feet, then walked past me towards the door. At first I thought he was about to leave, then he pulled the door open to reveal the series of twelve photographs behind it. ‘Come and have a look at these.’ I got up and walked across to the pictures, pretending to study them for the first time. ‘I’d been living out in California for almost a year,’ he continued, ‘desperately trying to get investors interested in Empyrean. But I was just getting nowhere. So Eric took me down to Wilshire Country Club while he was studying at UCLA, and introduced me to all these movers and shakers, all these people he’d met at the golf club, at the hospital, just in the short time he’d been out in LA. They were the difference. It’s him I’ve got to thank.’
‘So this is your first international office?’
‘Yes. I remember Eric and I were down there a lot, just watching it all take shape. We clubbed together and flew Ray out a couple of times too. They were good days.’
I let him feed on the memories for a moment.
‘Have you tried phoning him at all?’
‘Eric? Do you mean recently?’
‘Since you received that email from him.’
‘I tried a couple of times, but he never returns my calls. I wanted to arrange to go down and see him when I was last in the States, but I never managed to get hold of him.’
‘You didn’t think that was strange?’ I asked. ‘A man you’ve known for all that time, one of your best friends, suddenly stops returning your calls?’
‘His calls stopped, but his emails didn’t.’
‘You kept getting emails from him?’
‘Every so often, apologizing for not getting in touch.’
Except they wouldn’t have come from Schiltz. Lee seemed to think he was already dead by then, so whoever was sending Graham emails, it wasn’t Eric Schiltz.
Cornell.
‘Has anyone ever expressed concern over a photograph you might have, maybe of the three of you – your friend Eric, Ray Muire, you – from some point in your past?’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
This already felt like a wild, unfocused stab in the dark. I knew there was a photo of the three of them, possibly – if Carrie’s notebook entry was correct – taken in 1971, and Lee had seen a reference to a D.K., presumably the man in the background. But, apart from the likelihood that they each owned a copy, and the fact that Graham was the only one left now, it was about as much as I had. ‘Maybe you’ve got a photograph of the three of you somewhere at the house here that you keep hidden away for some reason.’
He looked confused.
‘Or maybe you’ve been asked to keep a photograph hidden?’
The same expression. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Okay. Do the initials D.K. mean anything to you?’
‘D.K.?’
‘Yeah. Maybe someone you knew in the early seventies?’
He seemed totally lost now.
‘What about Eric? Did he maybe mention one that he had in his possession that he wished he didn’t, or one that he thought might land him in some kind of trouble?’
He studied me as if he was trying to work out where this had come from – and where it was about to go. I didn’t offer to help, just waited him out.
Eventually, he shrugged. ‘If he did, I don’t remember.’
I nodded. ‘What about Cornell?’
‘Cornell?’
‘Did he ever mention a photograph?’
‘No,’ Graham said, and I caught a flash of fear in his eyes.
‘Are you okay, Carter?’
‘You’ve got me thinking.’
‘About what?’
He swallowed. ‘About whether Cornell is the reason Eric and Lee stopped coming to the get-togethers.’
‘When are you next due to see him?’
‘Cornell?’
I nodded.
He paused, his eyes back on the pictures. At his side, both hands had formed fists, like some sort of defence mechanism. ‘I’m supposed to be flying out next weekend. The middle of November is when we have our autumn meeting at the Bellagio.’
‘Can I suggest you don’t make the trip out?’
He turned to me. ‘Do you think it’s that serious?’
‘I think Cornell’s interest in you might not be a consequence of your success in the business world. I think he might have invited you to the high-rollers group so he could get the measure of you. Was it your idea to bring Schiltz to the group, or Cornell’s?’
Graham thought about it. ‘Well, he said to me …’ And then he stopped, the truth dawning on him. ‘Cornell asked me if I had a friend I’d like to invite along.’
‘Because he already knew about Eric.’
Graham seemed in shock.
‘I need you to think: was there anything, growing up, anything the three of you – Eric, Ray and you – did, or were photographed doing, that might interest Cornell?’
He was just shaking his head now, dazed.
‘Anyone you might have met?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
I thought back to what Lee had said about the photograph Carrie Ling saw. There had been a man in it, someone Lee didn’t know. He’s someone bad. If I had to guess, I’d say someone bad enough to bring down Cornell and whatever he’s involved in.
‘I need you to do something for me.’
He still looked shell-shocked. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I need you to go through your belongings, wherever it is you keep things that are important to you, and I need you to see if you have a photograph of the three of you.’
‘I’m sure there must be lots of them.’
‘Okay. Well, if that’s the case, grab any you’ve got. I also want you to check your email inbox for any messages, or attachments, Eric might have sent you.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Okay.’ But it was clear something else was playing on his mind. ‘Do …’ He stopped, ruffled, alarmed. ‘Do you think Cornell’s coming for me?’
‘I don’t think he’ll make the journey over.’ But then my mind spooled forward: Ray Muire had fallen into a river only a few miles from here. ‘Have you got security?’
‘Yes. They’re all downstairs.’
‘I haven’t got any reason to think you’re in any immediate danger.’ I looked at him, unsure if I believed what I was saying. ‘But now might be a good time to call your people and get some extra men sent down here. I’d make sure that happens today. I’ll also take your number, if you don’t mind, just in case I need to ask you anything more.’
‘Yes. That’s fine.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘It’s just a precaution.’
‘All of this because of – w
hat? – a photograph?’ For the first time, his confidence and professionalism had disappeared. ‘What the hell’s so important about a photograph?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to find out.’
39
As I got back to the village, I passed a marked police car coming the other way, heading out into the darkness, where the road bisected the Ley and the beach. There was no sign of any other cars, no police presence any more, not even the remnants of any police tape in and around the beach, which suggested the uniforms were either on their way through or they’d been doing follow-up interviews with some of the locals. Canvassing the whole village would take days, which meant return visits to clarify statements and check details.
Winding the car up into the hills overlooking the beach, I thought of Rocastle, of the interview he’d done with me the day after the body washed up. I don’t care if you’re looking into that family’s disappearance. I really don’t. What I care about is closing my case, and if you’re getting in my way … that’s when we have a problem. I understood why he’d been given the body: that required a senior cop, one with experience of working murders, and a knowledge of the local area. He ticked the boxes. But the Lings’ disappearance was much less of a fit, and it was like – by passing it off on to McInnes after only three days – he knew it. You’re a clever guy, he’d said, obviously aware I was trying to lead him down that road, that’s probably why everyone at the Met hates you. He would never front up and tell me why he took the Ling case, even if there was nothing worth telling. It wasn’t how he worked. From a single, sixty-minute conversation, I’d seen as much as I’d needed to: he was a man who gave as little as possible in order to gain as much as he could.
When I pulled into the driveway, all the lights in the house were off. That didn’t surprise me: if the past year had taught Lee anything, it was how to keep his head above water. No one knew he was here, no one even knew he was back in the country, but that wouldn’t stop twelve months of instinct kicking in: locking doors, pulling the curtains, using the darkness and the silence. Everything focused on survival.
