He flashed the beam up and down, still without seeing any switch. Then he pushed open the door into Aileen McWhirter’s bedroom and, as he pointed the beam into the darkness and stepped forward, something hard struck his shins with such force he shouted out in pain, lost his balance and fell to the carpeted floor, the torch rolling away from him.
41
All his life, Roy Grace had been able to think clearly under pressure. At this moment, in the pitch darkness, as his torch stopped several feet away, he knew his assailant would be expecting him to lurch forward to grab it. So instead, he rolled sharply away from it, connecting with something hard but yielding right behind him.
‘Ouch! Shit. Owwww.’
Someone cursing dropped something which thudded onto the floor. A torch? A gun? Then he heard the heavier thud of someone falling over. He twisted around in the darkness, balling his right fist, ready to punch out, rolled fast, grabbed his torch and shone it in the direction of the sounds.
And saw Gavin Daly, in a green suit, flat on his back, tie askew, eyes shut. For a moment, he thought he had killed the old man. He knelt and shone the beam directly on his face; after a few moments, Daly blinked.
‘You okay?’ Grace asked.
The old man blinked again, worriedly. Grace shone the beam on his own face for a few seconds, so Daly could see who it was. ‘Jesus!’
‘Are you okay?’ he repeated.
‘I’m okay,’ Daly gasped.
‘You scared the shit out of me.’
‘Next time come in a bloody marked police car,’ Daly gasped again. ‘And what the hell are you doing here anyway?’ He struggled with his arms, pushing himself upright, then exhaled.
‘Perhaps you can tell me what you’re doing here, sir,’ Grace said. He stood up and switched on the bedroom light, then helped the old man to his feet. Then he saw his silver-headed cane on the floor – and realized that was what he had been hit with. He handed it back to Daly.
‘I’ve just lost my sister, the only person I had left in the world who I loved.’ He shrugged. ‘I just wanted to be here – to feel her presence. Okay? And one of your officers told me I should keep an eye on this house. He said the bastards might return and take more stuff, or tell others about the things they didn’t take. I’ve had the most valuable items they left moved into storage. But someone has been here and taken something.’
‘What was it?’ Grace knelt, and examined the painful weals above his ankles.
‘Sorry if I hurt you.’
‘You’re bloody strong – especially for a man your age,’ Grace said, unable to conceal the admiration in his voice.
‘Apologies, but I didn’t know who the hell you were. I thought you might be the bastard who took the photograph of the Patek Philippe watch from Aileen’s album, coming back for something else.’
‘Aileen’s album?’
‘It was here, in her bureau, on that Thursday evening when I came here, minus the photograph of the watch.’
‘It wasn’t removed by one of my team?’
Daly shook his head. ‘No, I asked your Detective Branson colleague. It was the album with the pictures of all the high-value contents. It must have been one of the burglars who came back and took that one photograph to make it harder for you lot to identify the watch, do you think? My guess is they took that photo, as the watch is not insured, so the insurance company would have no record of it.’
Grace frowned. If that was the case, it meant the robbery team was even bigger than they had suspected. ‘It’s a possibility, sir, but that must have happened in the past forty-eight hours – no one would have had access while the house was sealed as a crime scene.’
‘Well, I decided to lie in wait for them if they did come back,’ Daly replied. ‘I barely sleep these days, anyway. But I thought you were meant to have a round-the-clock guard on this house?’
He was right, Grace knew. But he couldn’t tell him that budget cuts meant that wasn’t possible. ‘It’s being patrolled hourly, sir.’
‘It is? Well, I’ve been here since six o’-bloody-clock and I haven’t seen a police car all evening.’
‘How old are you, Mr Daly?’
‘Ninety-five.’ He exhaled sharply again.
‘You’re damned fit. You’re damned fit for a man twenty years younger! What’s your secret?’
Daly’s eyes twinkled for a moment. ‘Whiskey, cigars and the occasional wild, wild woman, Superintendent.’
Grace grinned. Then he returned to serious mode. ‘I know you’ve been asked this before, but how long did your sister live here?’
Daly thought for some moments. ‘It would have been since 1962.’
Grace thanked him.
‘Is that useful information, Detective?’
‘It might be. Tell me, sir, you know the antiques world better than anyone in this area – do you have any thoughts on who might have been behind this? Anyone local who has the ability to handle something of this size?’
‘Someone knew about the contents all right,’ Gavin Daly said. Grace stared at the single bed, which looked far too small for this huge bedroom.
‘The watch,’ Daly said. ‘You know, ultimately, that’s all I care about. Whatever else the bastards took, they can keep.’ He sat down on the bed, looking defeated.
‘Presumably the insurance will cover much, if not all, that was taken, sir?’
‘To hell with the insurance. I don’t need the money. I hope they don’t pay out. My asshole son will only put it up his nose after I’m gone, anyway.’
‘Lucas?’
‘Yes.’ He sat in silence for some moments, then looked sheepishly up at Grace. ‘You probably think I’m a hard old bastard, and you’d be right.’
Grace shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Do you have children, Detective – Detective Chief – Chief whatever? Do you?’
‘I have a young son.’
Daly nodded, then dug his hand into his inside pocket and pulled out a leather cigar holder. He removed the cover then held it out to Grace. There were three cigars in it.
Grace shook his head. ‘Thank you. I’d love one sometime, but not at this moment.’
Daly replaced the top, with a wistful smile. ‘That black detective feller I spoke to, your colleague?’
‘Detective Inspector Branson?’
He nodded. ‘Quite a comedian, isn’t he? Bit of a film buff.’
‘He’s a walking encyclopaedia of movies,’ Grace acknowledged.
Daly pursed his lips. ‘I told him something he didn’t know.’
‘Oh, really?’ Grace prepared to commit this nugget to memory, to rib Glenn with it.
‘That miserable old bastard, W. C. Fields. Know what he said when he was asked how he liked children?’
He shook his head.
‘Fried.’
Grace grinned.
‘Children, Detective Grace. I’ll tell you something. They’re almost always going to disappoint you. But that’s enough about me and my problems. What do you think? You seem to be a smart guy. Everyone tells me I’m lucky to have you on this case.’
‘I don’t have enough information at this stage to give you an informed opinion, sir. But I will tell you what my gut’s telling me. Someone with inside information did this.’
Gavin Daly nodded. ‘That knocker-boy. That’s where you need to start looking.’
‘We’re looking at him,’ Grace replied. ‘But someone’s already been looking at him even harder.’ He gave Daly a questioning stare. ‘Any idea who that might be?’
The old man’s eyes darted to the right for an instant; then he returned his stare, silently and resolutely for some moments, before shaking his head. Then he said, ‘You said you like cigars.’
‘I do.’
‘Come out into the garden. Let’s smoke a cigar together. I want to tell you my life story, about my sister and me. Maybe it will help you to understand.’