***
They caught the last London train of the day from Penzance. It drew out past St. Michael’s Bay through the dusky early evening. They would probably never return to the town. So much they had cared about and striven for and struggled with was slipping away behind them into the retreating day.
Ten minutes later, they reached St. Erth, where the St. Ives train was waiting at the bay platform. Hayley gazed out at it dreamily. “Remember our trip to St. Ives, Tim?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“It feels longer.”
“A lot’s happened.”
“Yeah.” She nodded vaguely. “I was leading you on then.”
“You had your reasons.”
“I thought I had. Now they seem… hardly like reasons at all.” The St. Ives train slowly passed from view as they drew out of the station. Hayley turned from the window and looked at Harding. “What are we going to do when we get to London?”
“Not sure.” He smiled, willing her to be reassured by his words. “But I will be by the time we arrive.”
It was a pledge Harding was determined to fulfil. He persuaded Hayley to eat a sandwich and drink some water. She fell asleep sometime after the train left Plymouth. He wondered, watching her, whether he should have taken her to the hospital in Penzance, but convinced himself she was actually looking better, despite her despondency; there was even a hint of colour in her cheeks. He wanted to sleep himself but instead he forced his mind to concentrate on the problem he knew he would have to solve if Hayley’s future was to be a better place than her past; and his with it.
A couple of hours later, with Hayley still asleep, he closeted himself in a loo and phoned Ann Gashry.
“I’ve found her, Ann.”
“Thank God.”
“She didn’t kill Barney. I know that now for certain.”
“I felt sure of it. Where are you?”
“On a train. Heading your way. Can we stay with you tonight?”
“Of course.”
“I should warn you. She’s had a rough time. She’ll need… gentle handling.”
“She’ll get it.”
“Have the police been on to you again?”
“No.”
“So…”
“She’ll be safe here, Mr. Harding. For a while at least.”
“A while is all we need. Did you speak to Nathan’s girlfriend?”
“Yes. But she didn’t tell me anything valuable. He was worried about something, but she couldn’t persuade him to say what. She thinks someone was putting pressure on him. But she doesn’t know who. Or why. She doesn’t believe he committed suicide, but…”
“She can’t prove it.”
“Exactly. Can you?”
“No.”
“Then what are we to do? If they catch Hayley, they will charge her with Barney Tozer’s murder.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“How can you prevent it?”
“I think I know a way.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He confronted his reflection in the mirror on the wall. The expression of the man staring back at him did not echo the confidence of his words. His gaze was wary, anxious, no more than stubbornly hopeful. “I really do.”
FORTY-NINE
Sunday morning in Dulwich. Ann Gashry’s house was a haven of healing silence. Harding woke late and found Ann in the drawing room, sipping coffee and leafing through the Observer like a woman pursuing a solitary weekly routine, calmly and self-sufficiently entirely untroubled by the events he had related to her late the previous night. But she was not untroubled, of course. He knew that well enough.
“Did you look in on Hayley?” she asked, pouring him some coffee.
“Yes.”
“Still sleeping?”
“Like a baby.” He thought for a moment of Josie Martyn’s baby, whose life had been snatched away before it had even begun. And then he thought of the baby’s father and uncle. For all that they had done to Kerry and been prepared to do to Hayley, the rawness of their loss still gnawed at him. He sighed. “I think she should stay here today.”
“Of course.”
“But tomorrow, I want you to take her away.”
“Away?”
“Wherever you like. It doesn’t matter. As long as I don’t know where you’ve gone.”
“I fail to understand, Mr. Harding. As long as you don’t know?”
“It’s important I shouldn’t be able to tell anyone where you are.”
Ann frowned quizzically at him. Then comprehension dawned. “You fear you may be… forced to tell what you know?”
“The man I’m going to have to deal with…”
“Whybrow?”
“Yes. He’s a… ruthless operator. As we’ve seen.”
“How do you hope to get the better of him?”
“By playing him at his own game.”
“But he knows the rules better than you. By your own admission.”
“He does indeed.”
“Then…”
“It’s a gamble, I know. But it’s the only way to get Hayley out of trouble.”
“And if it doesn’t come off?”
Harding took a sip of coffee. Strong and black, it clarified his thinking, sharpened his certainty. This was the only way. “I’m going to give it my best shot, Ann. That’s all I can do.”
He phoned the Cortiina in Munich. Whybrow had checked out the day before, along with Carol. So, they were back in Monaco. It would end for Harding where it had begun. One way or another. He phoned British Airways and booked himself onto an evening flight to Nice.
Ann prepared a breakfast tray for Hayley. Harding took it up to her room. The long sleep had done her good. She was looking better, younger, more like herself with each passing hour. But a shadow still lay across her. That too was apparent.
“What time is it?” she asked, sipping her orange juice.
“Lunchtime.” He smiled.
“I wish… you’d slept with me.” She blushed. “I mean, just slept.”
“I did. For a while.”
“I expect Ann’s guessed. She’s a hard person to keep a secret from.”
“I’ve asked her to take you away tomorrow.”
“Where to?”
“That’s up to her.”
“You’re not coming with us?”
“There’s something I have to do back home.”
“Home?”
“Where I live. At the moment.”
“You’re going to see Whybrow.”
“Maybe.”
“Or Carol.”
“Maybe both.”
“To stop it getting any worse.” She had deliberately echoed his words of the day before.
“I think I can.”
“You’re taking a big chance.”
“Not so big.”
“So you say. Either way it’s for me.”
“You have to trust me.”
“I don’t have to.” She reached out for his hand. “I just do.”
“I know.” They kissed.
“When do you leave?”
“Later today.”
“And when do I see you again?”
“Soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He left before he strictly needed to, before his resolve could be tested too far. He walked away alone along Bedmore Road, sensing Hayley’s eyes on him but not daring to look back. With Metherell’s alibi and his own eye-witness testimony, he reckoned Hayley would never be convicted of Tozer’s murder even if she was charged. But he wanted a cleaner, swifter end to her troubles than that and believed he could achieve it-and more-by confronting Whybrow If he was right, they would be reunited within days, free to build a life together. If he was right.
It was nearly midnight French time when he reached his apartment in Villefranche. Never had it felt less
like home. He headed straight out to a bar he knew that opened late, but found it already closed, so contented himself with an aimless walk by the harbour before returning to the apartment and trying-with eventual success-to sleep.
He woke later than he might have expected the following morning. By his calculations, Ann and Hayley would already be on the move, destination unknown-to him. He showered and shaved, then went out for breakfast to the bar that had disappointed him the night before. This time it was open. He sat outside with his croissant and coffee in the warm spring sunshine.
He phoned Luc, who assured him Jardiniera was running like clockwork in his continued absence. Harding found himself wondering if Luc might be interested in buying him out. There was money in the young man’s family, after all. But that was for another day.
Next he phoned Carol. She did not answer. He left a message, asking if he could visit her that afternoon. He suggested four o’clock. “I have something to tell you I think you’ll want to hear,” he emphasized.
He polished off a corretto before his last call. Whybrow’s mobile was on voicemail, but Harding guessed he would be at Starburst International’s offices in Monte Carlo. So he was. And when Harding gave his name to the honey-toned receptionist, he was put through promptly.
“Well, well. Tim. Where are you? Still communing with friends and family in England?”
“No. I’ve come back. Like you.”
“Yes. The German authorities were eventually persuaded to release Barney’s body. I believe Carol will be fixing a date for the funeral today.”
“Have the police given you any news of Hayley?”
“I’m afraid not. She seems to have vanished into thin air.”
“Worrying for you.”
“More disappointing. We’d all like Barney’s murderer to be apprehended, wouldn’t we?”
“Absolutely.”
“Heard anything yourself?”
“About Hayley?”
“Isn’t that who we were discussing?” An inflexion of irony mixed with mild irritation had entered Whybrow’s voice.
“It’s certainly who I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Face to face, I mean.”
“That could be difficult. I have a busy day ahead of me.”
“Squeeze me into your schedule, Tony. You won’t regret it. And you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Will I?”
“Definitely.”
There was a lengthy pause. Harding could hear the faint and thoughtful clicking of Whybrow’s tongue against his front teeth. Then: “In that case… how can I refuse?”
FIFTY
Whybrow was late for their appointment at the Café de Paris. Harding sat at an outside table, sipping a beer and studying the passers-by drifting aimlessly and affluently between the competing architectural extravagances of the Casino and the Hôtel de Paris. He wondered if both the lateness and the choice of venue were deliberate tactics on Whybrow’s part: an engineered opportunity for Harding to consider the realities of wealth and the power that underpinned it. No one dressed scruffily in Monte Carlo. No one had dirt under their fingernails or cause to hurry. The Place du Casino was an arena for the discreet display of material prosperity tax-free, unencumbered, unashamed. It was the world Whybrow moved in and was familiar with. Harding was the outsider, the unwelcome interloper, the fish who did not understand how small he was in a pond only the likes of Whybrow knew the real size of. That he should think twice before issuing any kind of challenge here was implicit; that he should take the easy way out, self-evident.
But he was not about to, however long he was kept waiting. And that, it turned out, was not so very long after all.
Whybrow looked as languidly groomed and casually elegant as usual. He greeted Harding with a measured smile and a knowing tilt of the head. “This must make a pleasant change from England,” he said, casting an appreciative glance around the sun-splashed square.
“And from Munich,” Harding countered.
“True enough.” Whybrow nodded to the approaching waiter. “Perrier. And… another beer for you, Tim?”
“Sure.”
“OK. Perrier. Une bière.” The waiter bustled away. Whybrow sat down in the shade, plucked off his sunglasses and looked expectantly at Harding across the table. “Not started back to work yet, then?”
“Not yet.”
“Luc reliable, is he?”
“Yes,” Harding replied, cautiously. “He is.”
“Trustworthy?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re lucky. Having people you can really trust around you is the key to success in business. And not just in business, of course. But they’re not easy to find.”
“In my experience, trust breeds trust.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Well, it’s a point of view.” And it was one Whybrow pondered as the waiter returned with their drinks. He deposited them with a flourish, lodged a second bill under the ashtray and departed. Whybrow watched him go, then said, “As you can imagine, most of the staff at Starburst are still in shock following Barney’s death. My enforced absence last week left matters a little… rudderless. So, I have clients to reassure and issues to resolve aplenty. It’s a pleasure seeing you, of course, but…”
“You want to know why I insisted we meet.”
“Yes. Though I hope I didn’t force you to insist.”
“Have you consulted Carol about these… issues you need to resolve?”
Whybrow’s posture stiffened slightly. He sat forward in his chair. “Don’t take this amiss, Tim, but what have the details of how Carol wants me to manage Starburst International to do with you?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
“As I recall, you said you wanted to discuss Hayley”
“So I do. But it’s all connected, isn’t it? Hayley, Barney, Carol, you and… Starburst International. All… linked.”
“By what?”
“Ah well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?”
“It’s a question that eludes me, I’m afraid. What are you trying to say?”
“I heard about Nathan Gashry’s death while I was in England.”
“I naturally assumed you had.”
“What did you make of it?”
Whybrow shrugged. “Suicide’s generally an impenetrable act. I had some dealings with the man on Barney’s behalf when we were arranging how to finance Kerry’s treatment at the Horstelmann Clinic. For what it’s worth, I thought him… arrogant but insecure. A little… flaky.”
“Potentially suicidal?”
“In retrospect, yes.”
“His girlfriend thinks otherwise.”
Whybrow frowned. “You’ve spoken to her?”
“Any reason why I shouldn’t have?”
“None. Apart from the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“That you must have better things to do with your time.” Whybrow flattened his palms on the tabletop in a strange, declaratory gesture. “Carol tells me you’ve established Humphrey Tozer stole the ring from Heartsease. It’s helpful to have that loose end tied up, I suppose, but essentially irrelevant. As is whatever self-destructive impulse drove Nathan Gashry to take his own life. Barney asked you to deal with a small problem for him and you did your best, I don’t doubt, but since then it seems to me… you’ve been out of your depth.”
“I have?”
“As confirmed by your failure to anticipate the threat Hayley posed to Barney.”
“But she didn’t pose a threat, Tony. That’s the point. Not after her aborted attack on Carol. Specifically not in Munich five days later. She posed no threat there at all.”
Whybrow’s hands left the table. He sat back. “I’m not with you, Tim. You were there when Hayley murdered Barney. You saw her do it.”
“Not exactly. I saw someone who resembled Hayley. Someone got up to resemble her.”
Whybrow
gave him a long, hard look. “Surely not.”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Certain… it wasn’t Hayley?”
“Exactly.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Well, I am. And I’ll be telling the German police as much very soon.”
Whybrow glided one hand slowly over the crown of his closely shaven head. Was he nervous? Harding could only hope so. “What’s made you question the evidence of your own eyes, Tim?”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past few days. A lot of… reviewing. I’ve sorted out what really happened from what I was manipulated into believing happened.”
“Really?”
“Nathan Gashry’s death clinched it for me. He knew Hayley hadn’t asked him to call Barney. He was paid to say she had. Or blackmailed. Or… otherwise induced. It doesn’t much matter how or why. What matters is that he was a weak link in the chain. That’s why he was taken out.”
“Taken out?”
“Murdered.”
“You seem to be developing a rather elaborate conspiracy theory in the glaring absence of an alternative suspect. Who but Hayley could have had any reason to kill Barney?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I imagine it’s all about money. Maybe Barney wasn’t willing to be as… financially flexible… as someone else wanted him to be. Or maybe he discovered someone was… cheating him. Either way when Hayley attacked Carol, she handed that someone a golden opportunity to get Barney off their back once and for all, with Hayley ready and waiting to take the blame.”
“I see. Well, this is… amazing.”
“But true.”
“You intend to tell the police what you’ve told me?”
“Yes.”
“So, why tell me first?”
“Because, once I’ve convinced them Hayley’s innocent, they’re bound to cast around for another suspect. I expect they’ll start with Barney’s business associates. It’d be logical. Money is the root of all evil, after all. That could cause you some… embarrassment.”
“Why?”
“You were acquainted with Nathan Gashry. You said so yourself. If Nathan mentioned you to his girlfriend, or his sister; if there’s any suggestion he didn’t fall to his death but was pushed; if there’s any irregularity however slight, in Starburst International’s recent dealings… Well, I don’t need to spell it out, do I?”
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