‘And had he?’
‘Yeah. He’d collected it from here and taken it over to the Continent. Said he’d had a premonition that I’d need it, wanted to be involved, let bygones by bygones, all that crap. I said “OK,” but he never came again.’
Lisa appeared and placed two coffees on a low table. ‘We’re in the kitchen, talking seriously,’ she said, walking out with an exaggerated wiggle and a backward glance.
I shouted a thank you after her, and when she’d gone I asked Justin, ‘How much do you know about K. Tom’s business?’
‘Nothing. He’s into all sorts of wheeling and dealing, all over my head.’
‘What about International Gem Investments? Have you heard of them?’
‘Was that the diamonds racket?’
‘Mmm.’
‘In that case, I’ve heard of them. He sent me a load of information about it and rang me up, said he’d double my money in two shakes of a cat’s tail. I showed it to my manager, who said, “No way.” Then I read that they’d gone bust and a lot of people had been hurt. Since then I’ve had nothing to do with him. Bad for my image, I’m told, as if that mattered.’
‘Sounds as if you have a good manager.’
‘The best. She’s called Lisa.’
I shook his hand and thanked him for being candid with me. He told me that he didn’t like K. Tom, but was convinced that he couldn’t kill anyone. ‘Oh, he’s not a suspect,’ I reassured him. They both walked to the gate with us, and as I got into the car Lisa said goodbye to me across the roof, her eyes lingering just a little longer than was necessary.
I broke the silence a mile down the road. ‘They’re a pleasant couple,’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘They have a parrot.’
‘Really?’
‘A scarlet macaw.’
‘Mmm.’
I looked across at Annabelle. She was staring straight forward, her face pale, hands in her lap. I felt I was with a stranger. As soon as a lay-by appeared I swung into it and stopped, switching off the engine to indicate the seriousness of the situation. Annabelle took a deep breath and bit her lip.
I said, ‘All the way up here you were quiet. In the pub with Mike and Susie you were the old charming Annabelle, a delight to be with. The same, no doubt, with Lisa Davis. Now, alone with me, you’ve gone quiet again. It’s obviously something I’ve done or said that’s upsetting you. For that, whatever it is, I apologise. If I’ve inadvertently hurt you, then I’ve hurt myself a hundred times more. But if I don’t know what it is, how can I make amends?’
She turned to face me, and I looked into those light-blue eyes that can look like cornflowers in June but now shone like glaciers. Something gripped me that I’d last experienced when I’d looked down the barrel of a twelve-bore held by a madman. It was called fear, but this time it was desolation, not death, that I was risking.
‘You think Donald did it, don’t you?’ she said.
So that was it. ‘Oh,’ I replied.
‘You think Donald killed the swans in the park. You offered to take him home so you could quiz him. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him for his fingerprints.’
My eyes flicked towards the glove box that held his coffee mug. ‘It’s a possibility,’ I told her, lamely.
‘But Donald’s parents are friends of mine, Charles. Donald is a friend of mine. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Can you imagine what it must be like for him? He was brain damaged at birth, and he knows it. He knows what he is like, and if that isn’t enough he has to fight prejudice, too. It makes me so angry.’
She was close to tears, and she doesn’t cry easily. I risked reaching out and holding her hand, and she placed her other one over mine. The best thing to say when you don’t know what to say is nothing.
I could go so far towards imagining what it must be like for Donald. Willing to work, but no proper job. No chance of ever driving a car or enjoying himself on equal terms with other young people. And then there was sex. Every time he looked at a newspaper or the TV he’d hear about couples bonking, or have some bimbo’s breasts thrust towards him. This mysterious activity was being used to sell everything from cars and coffee to walnut whips, but at twenty-eight he’d never had a nibble of it. The nearest he ever got was to dig the garden of the beautiful lady who was a friend of his parents. We’re told that it’s themselves that the mentally handicapped usually hurt, not other people. If that’s true, and it is, then they must have the forbearance of the angels.
After a few minutes I said, ‘I’ve been a policeman for a long time. Maybe too long. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost sight of how normal people behave. But I’m a good cop and I enjoy what I do. I’ve tried to share as much of it with you as I can, Annabelle, to involve you as much as possible. I’ve tried, love, believe me, I’ve tried.’
She squeezed my hand and said, ‘I know you have, Charles — that’s why you brought me here today. It’s not all your fault. I’ve been feeling a little low since the weekend, perhaps I’m over-reacting.’
I placed my hands back on the wheel and shook my head. ‘No, you’re not over-reacting. You’re dead right. I’ve let my prejudices show, and it hurts.’
Annabelle started to speak, but I interrupted her with the words, ‘Look in the glove box.’
Puzzled, she moved the catch and the lid fell open, revealing Donald’s coffee-stained mug. ‘Oh, Charles,’ she sighed, lifting it out. ‘You are impossible.’
The intention was to take Annabelle home and then visit Goodrich’s house for a last look. Maud had confiscated what documents she needed, so we’d vacated the place. It was now standing empty, but under regular surveillance from the mobiles to discourage ghouls and souvenir hunters. As we drove into town I said, ‘Goodrich — the dead man — lived alone. I’m going there next for a look round. Maybe you could come and give me a woman’s perspective on him, eh?’
She smiled indulgently. ‘You don’t have to, Charles,’ she replied. ‘What would your superiors say if they discovered that you were in the habit of taking your ladyfriends on investigations?’
‘I don’t have ladyfriends,’ I protested. ‘I have you. And we don’t have superior officers, we have senior officers. Have you ever studied psychology?’
‘Only for a year.’
‘Good, you’re hired — consultant psychologist. Hold tight, we’re back on duty.’ I flicked the Cavalier down a gear and stepped on the accelerator.
Let’s face it, anybody would grasp the opportunity to rummage round somebody else’s home. When it had belonged to a murder victim, and Annabelle still thought it was murder, you’d have to be moribund not to be intrigued. I parked on the drive and unlocked the door to the house.
‘This doesn’t feel right,’ she whispered, glancing round the kitchen. It smelt like the inside of my washing basket at the end of the week — what my mother would have described as foisty — and the dust from the fingerprint team had redistributed itself evenly over every surface. We’d turned the power off, and it was much colder than on my previous visits.
‘Why?’ I whispered back to her.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why are we whispering?’ I whispered.
I steered her through the kitchen and gave her a quick tour of the place. ‘Ooh!’ she said, when she saw the photos in the bedroom.
‘First question, Madame Psychologist, is: “Was he gay?”’
‘I’d need more evidence before I could give a diagnosis, Mr Policeman,’ she replied.
‘You psychologists are all the goddamn same,’ I railed. ‘Where would we be if we asked for evidence every time we needed to make a decision?’
‘So what are you looking for?’ Annabelle wondered.
‘Well, we’ve had a good search of the place, but we don’t seem to have discovered much about the man himself. We know quite a bit about his business, but nothing about his social life. Maybe he was gay, maybe not. Most of all we’d like some names and addresses, or telephone numbers, apart from the ones in his diary. Otherwise, anything that might be of interest.’