Risky Business

by W. Soliman

  “Yeah, but only when he realised dosh had gone missing. That didn’t happen until some months after the kid had her treatment. That’s when Kendall tackled him. He must have heard word that Garnet, or whoever, was out to get him and went to warn him. Obviously, Kendall knew why Jeff had, er, borrowed the funds and probably tried to persuade him to save his own skin by telling the truth and offering to pay it back. Even hard men like Garnet tend to lighten up a bit when a sick kid’s involved.” Reg paused for breath. “It might not have been Garnet, of course. Jeff was involved with some pretty heavy hitters.”

  “A bent bookie’s always in demand,” I said with a wry smile.

  “Jeff was determined to do something right with his life so he set some money aside for the kid.”

  “Set up a trust fund,” I said, anticipating where he was going with this.

  “Yeah, some dosh for the kid when she turned eighteen or if she had a relapse and needed more medical treatment. He went to Miller and had it all drawn up legal like and invested somewhere. If the kid’s mother needed money she could go to Jeff or Miller and ask for it.”

  “And in the event that something happened to Jeff, you took his place as trustee?”

  “Yeap.”

  “Why you then, Reg?”

  But I thought I knew the answer to my own question. Spelling had to be careful not to upset his wife and keep his promise to the child’s mother not to let on that the kid was his. Reg might look like a down-and-outer but he wasn’t daft, had an old lag’s code of honour and, crucially, no relatives to ask awkward questions.

  “Just doing a mate a favour. Anyway, I went to see Miller at his invitation because the kid turned eighteen recently and the money had to be signed over to her.”

  “I see.” I sipped my coffee as I thought it through. “You don’t think Miller was murdered because he set up that trust with money stolen from his main client?”

  “I doubt it after all this time.” He added three spoons of sugar into his refilled mug of tea and stirred it vigorously, slopping some onto the plastic tablecloth. “Besides, I don’t think he knows anything about it. Only Miller, Jeff Spelling, me and the kid’s mother knew, and I don’t imagine any one of us blabbed. But it shook me a bit when Miller turned up dead, and I needed someone I could trust to know about it.” He shrugged. “Just in case, like.”

  “You’ll be quite safe, Reg,” I said, wondering if it was bad luck to give assurances when…well, when I wasn’t sure about anything to do with this whole business.

  “If you say so, Mr. H.”

  “I’ll need the name of the kid’s mother. And the kid too.”

  “Why? You said this wouldn’t go no further.”

  When he still hesitated, I pressed him. “You came to me with this, Reg, because you trust me.”

  “I suppose.” He paused. “The mum’s name is Sheila Randall. She lives in Hove.” He rattled off the address from memory. “Her kid’s a student at the university here in Brighton. Her name’s Carolyn.”

  “Right.” I made a note of all that, paid for his breakfast and gave him a few quid for his trouble. “Keep your ear to the ground, Reg,” I said, putting my biking jacket back on. “Let me know if you hear anything interesting about Garnet or about Miller’s murder. And you know where to find me if Slater keeps hassling you.”

  “Will do, Mr. H.”

  I left him drinking his oversweetened tea, looking as though he bore the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

  As I rode back to the boat I mulled it all over. Where did this leave Cleo’s dad? This alternative information might cast doubt over his guilt but that wasn’t much help if we couldn’t put someone else in the frame. And we couldn’t. I might suspect who was behind it all but that was very different from being able to prove it. Besides, I wanted the organ-grinder, not the monkey.

  I decided against contacting Cleo with this latest information. Instead I spent the evening with just Gil and Scott Joplin on the stereo for company. It was mild and I sat out in the cockpit, staring at the sky as I thought it all through, planning my next move. My options were limited. I had information concerning Jeff Spelling’s activities that no one else knew about but which got me precisely nowhere. Jillian Slater was still baying for my blood and I also had the identity of the boat’s saboteur to uncover, Andrea Garnet financially in my debt, Paul at a disadvantage, Mike Kendall’s situation to sort…oh, and Hal’s problems that I’d promised to look into.

  Retirement was turning out to be bloody hard work.

  * * *

  The following morning I still had no clear idea what to do next. My phone rang at just after ten, making the decision for me. It was a subdued-sounding Paul asking for a meeting. I agreed and at midday, Gil, Paul and I were sitting at a quiet table outside one of the bars attached to the marina. Paul and I drank designer lager straight from the bottle. Gil stuck with water.

  By his standards Paul was conservatively dressed. In his jeans and tank top, he would have passed unnoticed in a crowd. The designer shades covering his eyes were the only indication of his flamboyant personality. Although I had a pretty good idea what had brought about the transformation, I had no intention of pulling my little surprise just yet. He’d called this meeting so I left it to him to break the silence.

  “So, little brother,” he said, a trace of the old, taunting Paul in his voice. “Here we are.”

  “Yeap.” I leaned back, regarding him with a level expression. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well, I thought you’d like to know that your colleagues came to see me yesterday.” He paused, presumably expecting me to say something.

  I didn’t oblige, wondering why he needed to meet just to tell me that. Knowing Paul, he’d said something to drop me in it and wanted the satisfaction of seeing my reaction.

  “A charming lady inspector,” he said.

  Slater being described as charming. Well, there was a first time for everything. “I didn’t think she’d be your type,” I said.

  “I can appreciate beauty in all its forms. Doesn’t mean I want to own it.”

  I didn’t reply. There wasn’t really anything to say.

  “I told her I’d been away at the time of the crime, could prove it and knew nothing about it.”

  “You lied, in other words.”

  He reacted with a sharp intake of breath. “Well, you would think that, wouldn’t you?”

  “You didn’t think your romantic attachment to the late Mr. Miller was relevant?” I stared straight ahead as I spoke but was aware of his sharp gaze resting on my profile. I expected him to carry on denying it but instead he merely shook his head, almost smiling.

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  “Not a lot, no.”

  “How did you know? Jason hadn’t come out. No one knew.”

  “You asked to see me,” I said, answering his question indirectly. “When did you last actively seek my company, unless it was to cause trouble or to seek my help?”

  He chuckled. “Good point.”

  “You want to know what the police know without breaking faith with Miller by revealing his secret, even in death.”

  “It was important to him that no one knew,” he said with a quiet dignity I found hard to associate with him. “And yeah, I figured you’d know where the police are going with this.”

  I quirked a brow. “Even though I’m a suspect?”

  “Unfortunately even I’m having a hard time imagining you as a murderer.”

  I wasn’t too sure if I liked this new, chummy Paul and wasn’t about to be taken in by him. “Then you definitely want something.”

  He threw up his hands but whether to indicate that I’d guessed right or as a sign of surrender I was unable to tell. “How did you know about us?” he asked.

/>   “Your framed picture. I saw it in Miller’s lounge. Don’t think I was supposed to but I’m nosy by nature. It was careless of him to leave the door open.”

  “The fool!” He shook his head, speaking the words with obvious affection. “I told him to hide it when you asked to see him. In fact I told him not to see you at all but he was curious to know what you wanted.”

  I’ll just bet he was. “You saw him before he was killed?”

  “No, we spoke on the phone.”

  I believed him. At least about that. “But you found the body and didn’t report it. That in itself is a crime. The police lost precious time tracking down the killer because they didn’t know anyone had been killed until much later.”

  “How the—”

  “The crime scene pictures,” I said slowly, as though speaking to a backward child. “I’ve seen them and your silver-framed shrine is missing.”

  “Damn, you’re good.” He fell silent.

  I left him to his cogitations, signalling a waitress for another round. Me buying Paul a drink. Who would have thought it? I watched him struggle to contain his emotions, feeling almost sorry for him. He’d removed his glasses to reveal eyes that were dull and lifeless. The dark circles beneath them suggested he hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep. He’d clearly had strong feelings for Miller and was having a hard time coming to terms with his murder. I resisted the urge to tell him that he now knew how it felt. It also made me wonder if I was right to suspect him of having committed the crime.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low and completely devoid of any artifice. “I must have got back not long after the murderer had done his stuff. It was a hell of a shock. All that blood. The smell.” He shuddered, his face deathly pale. “Don’t think I’ll ever get the image out of my head. How did you do it, Charlie? Dealing with shit like that for so many years.”

  I shrugged. “You get immune after a time and tell yourself it’s just a job.”

  “I threw up in the john until my throat was raw. Felt a bit better after that, got over the initial shock and knew the first thing I had to do was clear out anything that linked the two of us. There was that picture, a few cards, not much else. We were careful.”

  And chalk and cheese. A stuffy, middle-aged solicitor unsure of his sexuality and an overtly gay peacock proud of who he was. Opposites attract, I guess.

  “But you still didn’t call the police?”

  “How would I explain having a key?” He shook his head. “Better to leave it. I cleared off again and didn’t come back for several days. I couldn’t bear to see…” His voice broke. “I couldn’t bear to see his body being removed like a lump of meat.”

  “How did you get into the building? Through the garage presumably.”

  “Yeah, I parked up and took the stairs.”

  “Crap security then.”

  “The garage is only accessible with a zapper thing and residents are presumed to be upstanding citizens, entitled to some privacy.”

  I snorted. “Like I said, crap security.”

  “I probably deserved that.”

  I thought about all the grief he’d given me over the years. All the cruel things he’d said about my mother, even as recently as at Hal’s party. “There’s no probably about it.”

  His eyes were flat and hard when he looked at me again, a spark of defiance lurking in their otherwise lifeless depths. I could sense how badly he wanted to get up and walk away. How much it was costing him to come to me, cap in hand.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said.

  I didn’t reply. But he was wrong. He was hurting badly and I wouldn’t wish that sort of pain on anyone. Not even Paul.

  “I need you to find out who did this, Charlie, and why.”

  “You don’t want much then. The police don’t have a clue but you think I can crack it.”

  “I know you don’t like me.” His expression was as close to being contrite as I’d ever seen it. “I suppose I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to over the years, but I was hoping that you’d be able to put your own feelings aside and—”

  “Why me?”

  “You’ve drawn a blank regarding your mother’s murder but I still respect your instincts as a detective. If anyone can find out, it’s you.”

  I was almost touched by the vote of confidence but knew Paul too well to be taken in by it. “You know nothing about my abilities.”

  He blew air through his lips. “In the early days, when I still had regular contact with the aged parents, it’s all I ever heard from your dad. Drove Mum and me up the wall, it did.”

  “What?” If he’d told me I’d won the lottery I couldn’t have been more surprised. “That can’t be right. He hated what I did.”

  “He hated you giving up music but he was proud of your climb up the ranks in the police. Kept cuttings about anything mentioning you. Probably still does.”

  I shook my head. “Even so, why would I help you, Paul? You’ve never done anything except ridicule me.”

  “And why the fuck do you think that was?”

  I was almost relieved by the reemergence of the old Paul. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “You had it all. Looks, talent, a full set of parents, people who put you before themselves.” He puffed out his chest, his expression glistening with resentment. “Even an old man who was proud enough to keep a scrapbook charting your career.” He glowered at a woman unfortunate enough to bash her hip against our table. She opened her mouth, presumably to apologise, took one look at Paul’s face and left without saying a word. He watched her go, then turned to face me. “I was jealous, pure and simple. There, feel free to gloat any time you please.”

  I said nothing.

  “It all came so easily to you. Especially the music.”

  “Yeah and the more I practised the easier it came.” I sighed. “Jealousy is for kids, Paul. You didn’t need to keep up that vendetta.”

  “Perhaps not.” His elbows were planted on his splayed thighs. He dropped his head into his hands and stared at the floor. “But it was either that or face up to what a prat I’d been. It’s different now. I need to know what happened to Jason and why. And if that means baring my soul to you, then I’m even prepared to go down that route.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Marianne’s money. You wanted to know what I did with it. If I tell you, will you help me?”

  I tried to remain casual but felt my entire body tense. “If I think you’re telling the truth.”

  “Oh, you’ll know I am.”

  “All right then, I agree to consider helping. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Okay, I guess I have no choice then.”

  “Not much, no.” Why wasn’t I enjoying this more?

  “Like I said, I was driven by my jealousy of you. It fired me with determination to make decent money. Give the old folks someone else to be proud of.”

  I didn’t bother to mention what I thought of his doing so with someone else’s dosh.

  “I used some of it to buy my apartment. They were far cheaper back then.”

  “And the rest?”

  “A racehorse syndicate.”

  I sat bolt upright and stared at him. “You have got to be joking!”

  “Well, I always did enjoy the thrill of the chase. Besides, it was a great opportunity.”

  “But it obviously didn’t pay off because you’re now working for Hal.”

  “When I say opportunity, it got me noticed by the right people. People who could open all sorts of doors that would otherwise have remained firmly closed.”

  “Okay, so who are these paragons of virtue?” I had a horrible feeling I knew what he was going to say.

  “A guy called Peter Garnet.” His mouth curved. “I t
hink you’ve heard of him.”

  I’d been stupid enough to think that Paul was opening up to me because he cared about Miller. The moment he mentioned Garnet’s name, doubts surfaced. It was one coincidence too many and I felt sure I was being set up. But there again, was it so very unlikely? All along the way this had been about gambling in one form or another. And in this part of the world, you couldn’t do much of that without crossing paths with Garnet. Anyway, I decided to play along, just to see where Paul was going with this.

  “Okay,” I said, ignoring his jibe. “If it was so successful, where are the proceeds?”

  “I used them to start my own powerboat team,” he said, looking a bit sheepish. “But it didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned. That’s why I’m with Hal. I still love the sport, the buzz I get from it, and want to stay involved.”

  Against all the odds, I believed him. He really hadn’t used that money to have my mother killed. I didn’t know if I was more relieved or discouraged to be back to square one.

  “But you still run errands for Garnet, don’t you?” I asked, looking him squarely in the eye.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m a detective. It’s my job to know these things.”

  “I still have a couple of horses in syndicate with him. When I was short of dosh and couldn’t pay my share of the training fees, he helped me out.”

  “And he’s owned you ever since?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why did you tamper with the stern gland on my boat?” I hadn’t been sure that it was Paul, but the moment I threw the suggestion into the ring his expression gave him away.

  “Garnet knows you’ve been sniffing round his business and doesn’t like it. He wanted you warned off.”

  “So he had someone follow me?”

  “I don’t know about that.” He lifted his shoulders a little too nonchalantly. “Probably.”

  Thanks, Reg, I thought without rancour. He obviously had tipped Garnet off that first time we met in the pub. Not that I blamed him. He’d survived for as long as he had by playing both ends off against the middle. If anyone saw us talking and Reg didn’t cover his back by telling Garnet himself, he’d get a visit from Glover. Knowing Reg, he wouldn’t have told him much. But enough to have someone follow me from the pub. And when that didn’t work, to have my boat tampered with. It had to be one hell of a secret he was trying to protect.