‘The clams are very good.’
‘Then I’ll have them.’
As the waiter left us, she reached into her handbag and took out her cigarettes.
‘You smoke a lot,’ I said.
‘Yes, I do,’ she agreed unapologetically. She lit the cigarette, and blew the smoke out through her nose. ‘Now, bearing in mind that I haven’t got a book I’m trying to con you into publishing, why don’t you tell me about your work?’
‘It’s not very interesting,’ I said.
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said evenly. ‘You aren’t the sort of man to waste his time doing something that isn’t interesting.’
Perhaps it was her words or perhaps it was her tone, but it opened the floodgates. I told her about my battles with the bookshop chains. I outlined the difficulties of getting my authors on television arts programmes. I described how I’d felt when I read the first exercise book full of Andy McBride’s wonderful prose. I talked and talked, and it was not until we had reached the dessert that I really paused for breath.
‘Do you have family?’ Marie asked.
‘You mean a wife?’
She shook her head. ‘If I thought you were married we wouldn’t be sitting here now. No, I mean blood relatives. Brothers and sisters? Uncles and aunts?’
‘I have a brother …’ I began, then stopped myself. ‘I’ve been monopolising the conversation. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself ?’
‘Oh, I’m very boring,’ she said.
‘I’m quite sure you’re not,’ I told her, returning her earlier compliment.
She shrugged. ‘All right then. I’m the original foundling, adopted when I was a baby by a big-hearted farming family deep in the Irish countryside.’ She paused, and looked vaguely annoyed with herself. ‘I always start like that, you know. As if where I come from is far more important than who I am. And it isn’t. Not at all.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ I agreed.
‘Anyway I was brought up on the farm, like I said, and attended the local primary school,’ she grinned, ‘where I shone like the brightest star in the firmament. The headmaster told my parents that it would be a sorry waste if I didn’t go to university, so …’ another shrug, ‘… when I was old enough, off I went to Trinity College Dublin.’
‘And what did you read?’
‘Law.’
‘So you’re a lawyer now?’
‘No. I tried working in a solicitor’s office for a couple of years, but it bored me. I’m an outdoors girl – even if the outdoors is only the mean streets of Oxford.’
‘Then what do you do?’ I asked.
‘I keep the town clean,’ she said, affecting a New York accent on top of her Irish lilt.
‘You mean you’re with the cleaning department?’
She laughed. ‘No, I’m a private investigator.’
Though I didn’t mean it to, my mouth must have fallen open. ‘A private investigator?’ I repeated.
‘It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it,’ she said, still in character.
‘You must be the first female private eye in Britain,’ I said.
‘Nothing like,’ she replied. ‘I’m not even the first female private eye in Oxford. There was one here nearly twenty years ago, and, by coincidence, she also had red hair.’
I checked up on it later and found Marie was quite right – so on that matter, at least, she hadn’t been lying to me.
‘Don’t run away with the idea that what I do is either dangerous or glamorous,’ she told me. ‘I’m the one who people call on to chase up bad debts and do background credit checks. It’s really a long way from the stuff you see on television.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
She gave the matter some thought.
‘Most of the time,’ she said finally, ‘which is probably as much as anyone can say about their work.’
The bill arrived. I paid it with my credit card, and without any sign of embarrassment Marie slid some notes across the table.
‘That’s not necessary,’ I said.
‘Oh yes it is,’ Marie replied firmly. ‘You agreed I could pay half, and a deal is a deal.’
We stood up, climbed the stairs, and were out on the street. It was cooler than it had been earlier, but it was still a pleasant early summer evening. I stood on the pavement, uncertain of what to do or say next.
‘I enjoyed that,’ Marie said. ‘I really did.’
‘Could we do it again, sometime?’ I asked tentatively.
She took her time lighting a cigarette and inhaling.
‘I think we could become good friends, Robert,’ she said finally.
‘But …?’
‘But you have to understand from the outset that friendship is all I want. I’m not looking for any deeper relationship. Not right now.’
‘Fine with me,’ I said, not quite sure whether I was lying or not.
She reached into her purse and took out a business card. ‘You can reach me here,’ she said.
‘You don’t have a home number?’ I asked, feeling somewhat snubbed.
She shook her head wonderingly. ‘Do you think with the kind of operation I run I can afford a home and an office?’ she said. ‘I work out of the front room of my flat, and when I need to see a client, it’s in his office we meet.’ She reached up and kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘Ring me. I mean it.’
And then she was gone, striding rapidly and confidently down St Giles’.
****
Had it meant nothing to her, that first encounter and what followed it, I asked as I lay in my hospital bed? Was I no more to her than a convenience – someone to be used while he was around, and quickly forgotten when he wasn’t? I couldn’t believe that of Marie. Yet why hadn’t she bloody phoned?
****
The receptionist at the Mountjoy Hotel was young, pretty and much less guarded than the garage supervisor.
‘Yes, I was on the graveyard shift the night before last,’ she told Flint.
‘The graveyard shift?’
‘That’s what we call the shift between ten at night and six in the morning.’
‘Do you call it that because it’s so boring?’
‘Exactly! Only the night before last it wasn’t boring at all, because there was a big party in the Grosvenor Room, so I was kept rather busy.’
‘There must have been lots of people in the lobby, then?’ Flint said, disappointedly.
The girl smiled. ‘At times, there seemed to be literally hundreds of them.’
‘But nobody who looked out of place?’
‘Out of place?’ the reception asked, puzzled.
Yes, Flint thought, somebody carrying a tool kit, for example, and looking as if he were intending to sabotage a BMW’s braking system.
‘What I mean by out of place is a person who was dressed in a way which suggested he didn’t really belong here,’ he said aloud.
‘Oh, that’s so sweet and old-fashioned,’ the receptionist said, laughing. ‘There is no proper way to dress any more. Some of our clients wear designer suits, and some walk around in old jeans with holes in them. As long as they have enough money to pay their bills, nobody cares how they look.’
‘Did you notice anyone taking the lift down to the garage?’ Flint asked, changing tack.
‘You can’t see it from the reception desk,’ the girl pointed out. ‘I must have heard it running a number of times, but I couldn’t honestly tell you whether the guests who passed by the desk were going to the lift or to the loo.’
Of course she couldn’t, Flint thought. And whoever had used the confusion created by the party as an opportunity to slip down to the garage would have been well aware of that.
****
The pub was a few doors down from the Mountjoy Hotel. It was called the Crown and Anchor, and the walls were decorated with fishermen’s nets and lobster pots.
Flint was at the bar, ordering the drinks, when the phone call came through. He listened to w
hat the man on the other end of the line had to say, and then asked a couple of questions. Once the call was over, he hung up, paid for the drinks and carried the pint pots across to the table where his sergeant was sitting.
‘That was the forensics department of the local constabulary, Sergeant Matthews,’ he said as he placed the glasses on the table. ‘The lads at their garage have been over the Jag with a fine-toothed comb. They’ve come to the conclusion that the reason it wouldn’t start yesterday morning was because of a failure in the electrical system.’
‘So before he sabotaged the Beemer’s brakes, the killer had also worked on the Jag,’ Matthews said.
‘No, that’s the point – he didn’t,’ Flint told him. ‘They’re convinced it was a genuine honest-to-goodness breakdown.’ He paused. ‘And that raises some very interesting possibilities, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’ Matthews asked.
‘Of course. Look, boyo, we have to assume that the killer knew the whole set-up. He knew where the Conroys had come from, how long they’d be staying in Bristol, and where they were going after that.’
‘Why should we assume that?’
‘Because if the Conroys had been intending to do nothing more than tootle around the city of Bristol for a couple of days, he’d have found another way to get at them. Do you see where I’m going with this? If the brakes had failed in the city centre, there’d have been a minor collision and nothing more. But he didn’t want them bruised – he wanted them dead, so he had to be aware that the next morning they’d be making a high-speed journey.’
‘You’re right,’ Matthews admitted.
‘And we can take it even further than that. If the killer knew where they were going, he also knew who would be in each car, which means—’
‘Which means that Tony Conroy and Bill Harper were never intended to be victims, because they were supposed to be in the Jag,’ Matthews interrupted.
‘And …?’
‘And the real intended victim might still be alive!’
‘That’s right,’ Flint agreed. ‘The murderer might have wanted to kill John or Edward Conway, but it’s equally possible that his target was Rob Conway.’
‘Or he could have wanted to kill all three of them,’ Matthews pointed out.
‘True,’ Flint agreed. ‘But how often is it that a … that a …’
‘Is something wrong, sir?’ Matthews asked.
‘Keep talking,’ Flint said. ‘Say anything … it doesn’t matter what.’
‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’
‘Tell me about your Uncle Blodwyn’s prize leeks. Or where you went for your summer holidays. Anything at all … as long as it leaves me free to concentrate on something else.’
‘I did have an Uncle Blodwyn as a matter of fact,’ Matthews said, catching on. ‘I don’t think he grew leeks, though. He was more of a fisherman, and—’
‘She knows she’s been spotted, and she’s leaving,’ Flint interrupted.
‘Who’s leaving?’
‘Going through the door now.’
Matthews swivelled round just in time to catch sight of the woman. The most striking thing about her was her mane of red, curly hair. But her figure was worth some attention, too. It was, perhaps, a little too full, but it was definitely very feminine.
‘Come on,’ Flint said, rising to his feet.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To have a talk with that young lady.’
Once she had the pub door between herself and them, the woman had obviously put on a spurt, and by the time the two detectives had reached the pavement, she was already climbing into the driver’s seat of a black Volkswagen GTI, some distance down the street.
‘Damn!’ Flint said as the car fired and pulled away from the kerb. ‘Well, at least I’ve got her licence plate number.’
‘I still don’t know what’s going on, sir,’ Matthews told him.
‘I thought I was imagining it at first,’ Flint said. ‘She wasn’t in the pub when we arrived, so she must have entered just after us. She was sitting at the bar, and she was watching us.’
‘Maybe she’s on the game,’ Matthews suggested.
Flint shook his head. ‘She wasn’t that blatant. In fact, she was so subtle I almost didn’t notice her. But now I’m sure she’s been following us.’
‘Why would anyone want to do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Flint admitted. ‘But once we’ve checked with the licensing authorities in Swansea we might have a better idea.’
If Owen had thought to ring me, of course, I could have told him exactly who his mystery woman was. But I would have had no explanation to offer for her presence in Bristol.
It was to be quite a time before either of us would gain an understanding of that.
Chapter Four
The knock on the door of my hospital room was tentative – perhaps almost timid.
‘Come in,’ I said.
The door swung open. I had been expecting to see yet another figure clad in white, come to dispense sympathy and tranquilisers, but instead it was Bill Harper.
‘The doctor said it would be all right for me to come and see you,’ he said, his voice as tentative as his knock. ‘But if you think it would be too much of strain on you …’
‘I’m not all that damaged,’ I said more gruffly than I’d intended. ‘Take a seat.’
Harper walked slowly across the room, as if he were still in some pain.
‘The hospital’s just discharged me,’ he said as he lowered himself gingerly onto the chair. ‘I’m going back to Cheshire for your grandfather’s funeral.’
‘What about my—?’
‘The others can’t be buried until the post mortems have been completed.’
I had a nightmare vision of the doctors cutting my brother open. Then I told myself I was being foolish – the damage had already been done, and the scalpel wasn’t going to make it any worse.
‘Will you be there for the funeral yourself?’ Harper asked.
I shook my head. ‘They’ve insisted I stay here for a couple more days.’
‘Probably wise,’ Harper said awkwardly. ‘You don’t want to take any unnecessary chances.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘The thing is,’ he continued in a sudden rush, ‘there’s something I think you should know before I go. About the crash, I mean.’
‘Don’t I know enough already?’ I asked.
‘The thing is,’ he repeated, ‘I gather you were unconscious for most of it, but I think that if I told you what happened, it might make your grief a little easier to bear.’
‘A little easier to bear!’ I repeated angrily. ‘Do you realise I’ve just lost almost my entire family?’
‘Quite so,’ Harper mumbled awkwardly. ‘Quite so. I just wanted to let you know they didn’t suffer.’
If he was trying to ease my mental anguish, he was far from succeeding.
‘How can you know?’ I demanded. ‘How can anybody know?’
Harper winced. ‘I know your brother died instantly because I was sitting right next to him.’
And so he had been – cramped between myself and John, trying to fish documents out of his executive case to brief Uncle Tony with.
I wondered whether the tight squeeze had been what saved his life.
‘What about my father?’ I asked.
Harper’s pained expression intensified. ‘You’ve got to imagine what it was like in there,’ he said. ‘The car had concertinaed and there was a strong smell of petrol. I could tell I wasn’t that badly hurt myself, and my only thought was to get everyone out before the bloody thing caught fire – everyone who was still alive, I mean, because I’d already checked and found that John had no pulse.’
I didn’t want to hear any more, but I knew that I must.
‘Go on,’ I croaked.
‘I’m talking about seconds passing here. And you have to remember – please – that I was in shock myself. I may not have done the right thing – but it felt r
ight at the time.’
At least he’d done something, I thought. At least he hadn’t sunk into unconsciousness while his family was dying around him. And though I knew it was irrational, I was once again flooded with guilt.
‘Nobody’s going to blame you for what did or didn’t happen,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you did your best.’
Harper nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
‘Tell me the rest,’ I said, seeming to gain some strength of my own from his uncertainty.
‘I was going to push you out of the car first …’ he turned his head to the right, as if he could actually see me there, wedged between himself and the car door. ‘… then Mr Conroy – your uncle Tony, I mean – groaned, and it suddenly seemed as if he was the most important person to deal with. You see, it was so hard to think—’
‘What did you do?’
‘I reached forward to unhook his seat belt. My whole body was hurting like hell, but I knew that if I blacked out then, I wouldn’t be able to save anybody – even myself. Anyway, I was still struggling with the buckle when your uncle Tony spoke.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “Don’t bother about me. Get Edward out first! For God’s sake, get Edward out!” I twisted round towards your father. His head was at a strange, unnatural angle. I felt for a pulse in his neck, and … and … there wasn’t one.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Your uncle said something like, “Is he going to be all right?” I said, “He’s dead,” but I don’t think he heard me because he looked like he was gone himself. So you see, if your father wasn’t killed instantly, it couldn’t have been more than a second or two.’
‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said.
And I meant it. What he had told me had brought a small measure of comfort. I was glad my father and brother hadn’t suffered. I took some consolation from the fact that however bad the relationship had been between my father and my uncle, Tony’s dying thoughts had been for his brother.
‘Then the fire started,’ Harper continued, his voice cracking. ‘I … I can’t tell you what it felt like. The front seats were an inferno. There was smoke everywhere. I was choking. I tried to get your door open, and that’s when I saw the aircraftmen outside. I don’t know how long they’d been there. Like I said, the whole thing must have been over in a few seconds.’
The Vital Chain Page 3
