‘Do you have an office? I’d like to discuss something with you.’
The teeth gleamed as his lips drew slightly apart in another fake smile. ‘Would you like to tell me what it’s about?’
‘Sure, if you have an office. I am Mrs Page, and you are?’
He stepped behind the counter. ‘Alan Hunter. I am the chief sales assistant. How can I help you, Mrs Page?’
He gave her a cool, studied appraisal. Even though his eyes didn’t seem to leave hers, she felt as if he was scrutinizing her from her worn shoes to her second-hand suit. ‘May I ask what you’re selling?’
She would have liked to hit him in the face. She used to love times like this, times when, confronted by a real smartass prick, you drew out your ID and said in a low voice, ‘You want to check my ID, sonny?’
‘I’m not selling and I’m not buying. I need to talk to you in private. What did you say your name was?’
Something in her voice unnerved him so he hesitated and repeated his name.
‘Bight, Mr Hunter. I don’t want to waste any more time and I don’t want to discuss anything in this swimming pool of a lobby.’
He touched the knot of his tie and gestured towards a glass-windowed door.
Lorraine walked across the reception area and paused when she saw a picture of Brad Thorburn. He was sitting on the wing of a racing car wearing a white racing-driver’s suit. One arm clasped a helmet, the other lifted a glass of champagne. To right and left were more pictures of him posing at racetracks.
Hunter opened his office door, motioning her to enter ahead of him. ‘Are you with the police?’
She placed her purse on his empty polished mahogany desk and took out her cigarettes. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
Hunter did not demur and Lorraine surveyed the room. ‘You don’t appear to be very busy.’
‘We are, I assure you. Most of our customers wait for us to deliver, few come to the building. We have hangars and workshops out at the rear of the showroom. Can I ask what you wanted to talk to me about? Is it traffic violations?’
Lorraine sat in the perfectly positioned chair, not too far away from the desk. ‘No. It’s not about traffic violations.’
‘Is it connected with...’ Hunter opened his desk drawer and withdrew a card. ‘A Lieutenant Josh Bean?’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘He was here earlier, some kind of check on stolen vehicles.’
‘That’s not my department. I’m investigating an insurance claim.’ She took out Rosie’s pictures. ‘Do you recognize any of these men?’
Hunter leaned forward, sifting methodically through the photographs. He put seven aside. She watched as he glanced at the one of Steven Janklow. He frowned, hesitated a moment, and then looked up. ‘These seven men work here in various capacities.’
She tapped Steven Janklow’s picture. ‘How about him?’
Hunter picked up the photograph. ‘This could be Mr Janklow. He’s one of the partners but it’s not a very good picture. I recognize the car more than the face. It’s one of ours — it’s actually owned by Brad Thorburn. Is it something to do with Mr Thorburn?’
Lorraine nodded, looking around for an ashtray. As Hunter passed her a silver one with the S and A logo stamped into the centre, she noticed his gold cufflinks which also carried the insignia. She tapped the ash from her cigarette and eased out the picture of the woman driving the Mercedes. ‘Do you know her?’
He stuck out his bottom lip, shaking his head. ‘No. It could be Mrs Thorburn, Mr Thorburn’s mother, but I really wouldn’t know as I’ve never met her. But the car is the same. It belongs, as I said, to Mr Thorburn. Has it been in an accident?’
‘No.’ Lorraine packed away the pictures. ‘Do you have a schedule of who was on or off duty over a period of time?’
He nodded, tapping his foot. She then pulled out Norman Hastings’s picture. ‘Do you recognize this man?’
Hunter sighed irritably. ‘His name was Norman Hastings. Is it his insurance? He was murdered, is that what this is about?’
Lorraine assented.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I never dealt with him. All I know is he was a pain in the butt. He bought a car from us, long time ago before I joined the company.’ He leaned back, splaying out his hands affectedly. ‘If you buy one of our vehicles at the prices we ask, we have first-class mechanics and maintenance engineers at your service. We attempt to make sure no vehicle ever leaves here without its engine having been rechecked, rebuilt if necessary. Many purchasers have the cars customized to their own specifications. Every modification is made to ensure a trouble-free vehicle, but, that said, we’re not dealing in new cars. Some of these are twenty, even thirty years old, and sometimes there will be problems. But we give a six-month guarantee to every vehicle, and for the first six months we will collect and redeliver should any mechanical fault occur.’
He laughed like an actor, his speech, even his own humour rehearsed. ‘We had someone here not long ago, I think he had a Bentley, and he called us out simply because he was unsure where he should put the gas!’
‘Norman Hastings?’ Lorraine said quietly.
‘His car was a Morgan. He was on the phone almost every day wanting it collected and tested. And then we discovered that the faults were self-inflicted because he was constantly taking the engine apart and rebuilding it — or that’s what Mr Janklow said.’
‘Is Mr Janklow here today?’
‘Yes.’
Lorraine asked if it were possible to find out who was on or off work at the time of Hastings’s murder and that included Mr Janklow.
Hunter plucked at his lip. ‘Why would you want that for an insurance claim? Anyway, Mr Janklow doesn’t work on any schedule system. He comes and goes when he likes.’
Lorraine asked if Janklow was around on the evening when Holly was murdered but Hunter shrugged his shoulders. He stared at a wall calendar. ‘I simply couldn’t tell you. All I know is he arrives and leaves when he feels like it.’
‘Is there a place for parking workers’ cars?’
‘Out back. It’s like an old aircraft hangar — there’s always cars there — our own, some waiting for work to be done, others that have just been shipped in.’
Lorraine opened her notebook and reeled off the car each body had been found in but to little effect. Hunter could not recall any of them. He was becoming puzzled by the dates and lists of cars. She played a wild card. ‘Not even, say, Norman Hastings’s blue Sedan?’
‘Ah, yes, he left that here on a number of occasions.’
Lorraine felt her heart jump, like a kick of pleasure at her own cleverness. ‘Would you just check the last time you saw it here.’
Hunter looked at his watch. He picked up the phone, ‘Sheena, can you please check the last time Norman Hastings came in and left his vehicle? Thank you.’ He hung up. ‘The police asked this, and they’ve already been over the hangars.’
Lorraine lit another cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray. ‘Hastings sold his car, didn’t he? Quite a few years ago. Do you know if he purchased any other vintage car? Did he sell it via S and A?’
‘Not to my knowledge but I didn’t have anything to do with him.’
‘Did Mr Thorburn also know Hastings?’
‘I believe so.’
The phone rang and Hunter answered it. He drew a notepad towards him, said ‘yes’ a few times, thanked the caller and ripped off the page. ‘Hastings apparenthy had some arrangement to leave his car here — my secretary isn’t sure who he made it with or the last time he came.’
‘So he parked his own car here and yet he hadn’t owned one of your vehicles recently?’