‘So that’s one forensics team still busy at the garage,’ Bob was saying, ‘another wanted at the graveyard, and a third at the scrapyard. Tall order, Jane.’
‘And while you’re at it, how about checking the whereabouts of Mr Flowers?’
‘Is that my quota for the day?’
Jane didn’t answer. She was just realising that Renshaw had disappeared back into his office. She headed after him, walking into a single, chaotic room, at the far end of which was another door. The door was open. It led out into the scrapyard. When she went through it, a couple of guard dogs started snarling and straining against their leashes. They hadn’t barked for their owner. They knew him too well.
George Renshaw was gone.
She cursed under her breath and started to search the scrapyard. He could be hiding anywhere, but she reckoned he wasn’t that stupid. He was on foot, though, so she could follow in her car. But she couldn’t leave the scene. The Bentley might vanish into thin air, just like Renshaw had done. Or prints could be wiped clean, evidence removed. She got Bob on the phone again.
‘Donald Empson’s car,’ she told him. ‘I need its details.’
‘Hang on, I’ll start a fresh list…’ She could hear Bob sighing as he made a note to himself. ‘Will that be all?’
‘Not quite. George Renshaw has just done a runner on me.’
‘I’ll put the word out. Seems to me we might need some extra help.’
‘I’ll take it up with the boss.’
‘You think Gorgeous George had Raymond killed?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
‘With Don Empson pointing the gun? Or the nephew maybe?’
Jane didn’t answer. She had reached in through a broken window and removed the Bentley’s ignition key. Walking to the back of the car, she took a deep breath before unlocking the boot. It was empty. No visible traces of blood, and none that she could see on the steering wheel or either of the front seats. In fact, recent damage aside, it was pristine. Yet the shooter had lost blood, hadn’t he? And Empson had sported no injuries when he’d been taken to the police station. Then there was the graveyard, the man called Gravy and his bed not slept in.
It didn’t add up.
‘Just tell forensics to get a move on,’ she said into the phone.
Chapter Eight. Gravy’s Story (3)
I liked the room. It was so clean, I almost didn’t want to touch anything. After all, none of it really belonged to me. Celine was different. She was wearing the white robe from the bathroom and a pair of white slippers. She’d used the shower and opened the minibar. Not that we were sharing a room, mind! Separate rooms, but with a door between them. Adjoining rooms, the woman on the desk downstairs had said. This was ‘one of the capital’s most deluxe hotels’. It had a swimming pool and something called a spa. It had big televisions and a kettle and an iron and ironing board. It had magazines and a bowl of fruit on the table. I’d fallen asleep on my sofa, hadn’t even managed to make it as far as the bed. When I woke up, Celine had been out shopping. She’d bought a clean shirt and trousers for me. The trousers were a bit too long, but fine at the waist. The shirt was fine, too. She told me I could stay for a day or two. ‘Just until I make my plans.’ But I wasn’t to speak to anyone or phone anyone or go outside or anything.
‘Just pretend you’re on holiday.’
The view from my window was like something from a film, a big street and then Edinburgh Castle. There was a bar and a restaurant downstairs but Celine said I was to phone room service.
‘Meals in your room, Gravy. Don’t want anyone seeing you.’
I got the feeling that was why she kept the door between our rooms open. She was keeping an eye on me. She told me not to get any ‘funny ideas’.
‘Okay,’ I said.
I’d already drunk all the tea and coffee in my room. She let me take some of hers. The red bag was in the wardrobe in her room. She said she would give me some money before we split up. Benjy’s car was in the hotel garage. One of the hotel people had asked if I wanted it cleaned. I’d shaken my head.
‘Sure?’
I was definitely sure. Sure, sure, sure, sure. Five times for luck.
Celine was lying along her sofa, drinking another of the tiny bottles from her minibar. It was still morning. I wondered what my boss would be thinking. I wondered about the people I shared my house with. I had jobs that needed doing. I would lose a day’s pay. My gloves were still in the car. What if someone broke in and stole them? I didn’t even have the keys, one of the hotel people had kept them. That was bad, now that I thought about it. I stood in the doorway, staring at Celine. She was watching TV. People were in a room and they were shouting at each other. There was a man with a microphone who didn’t seem to be helping.
‘I need to fetch something from the car,’ I told her.
‘What?’
‘My gloves. They’re on the seat in the back.’
‘What do you need them for?’
‘I just do.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘I do.’
She looked at me, then sighed. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘Give me five minutes to get dressed.’
There were half a dozen big bags on the bed, all the clothes she’d bought. I nodded and went back into my room.
In fact, it took her more like fifteen minutes. She had put on some make-up and some perfume. She looked and smelled nice. ‘Make sure you bring your key,’ she said.
On our way down in the lift, she told me she wanted me to know something.
‘Just in case anything happens to me.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘Nothing, I hope. Train to London… but they’ll be watching the stations, won’t they? There’s a boat from Rosyth to the continent, but I’d need a passport. I’m not sure yet, Gravy. There’s got to be some place, hasn’t there?’
‘Lots of places,’ I agreed.
‘Somewhere I’ll be safe. People want to hurt me, Gravy.’
‘What people?’
‘Well, maybe not hurt me, maybe just scare me.’ The lift doors opened and we got out. She didn’t say anything else. She asked the man behind the desk for the car key.
‘We’ll bring the car round, madam.’
‘No, we just need to get something.’
So he went off and came back with the key. ‘Bay twelve, madam.’
We started walking again. Out of the hotel and across a sort of courtyard. The car park was on the other side of this. It was concrete, several storeys high. Celine started talking again.
‘I saw something I shouldn’t have, Gravy. I was out walking by Brigham Woods. Do you know where that is? Edge of the city. I was trying to clear my head. A boyfriend had dumped me. Fair enough, it happens, but he’d taken up with someone I knew. Someone I thought was a pal. And how could I ask them?’
‘Ask them what?’
‘How long it had been going on.’
‘A walk is good when you want to think,’ I agreed.
‘Bad timing, though. There was a car, see. Three men in it. I got a good look at them. Couple of days later, it’s in the papers. “Body found in Brigham Woods.” So I went to the cops. I was just… I dunno, I just thought how amazing to be part of that, to know something that could change everything. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Maybe.’
We were walking up the slope into the car park. It was dim in there. There were numbers on the floor. Bay twelve, we wanted…
‘I could ID the men, you see. And it turns out one of them was the victim, and the other two work for a man called George Renshaw. He’s a villain, Gravy, and his second-in-command is called Don Empson. The police showed me their photographs. It was sort of too late by then, even though I knew I was in deep. I tried telling them I couldn’t be sure, not a hundred per cent sure. I said I wasn’t going to testify in court. But they kept on at me. Then they told me it might be best if I moved out of my flat for a while. I knew what that meant, it meant they were on to me…’