‘And where do you want me to look?’
‘I’ll rummage in the pockets of his suits, see what I can find there. How about if you had a good fossick through his bookshelves; see what that tells you about the man. You’re better read than me,’ I added.
‘Mmm. Right.’
I could see that she was apprehensive about being left alone. ‘C’mon, I’ll show you his library,’ I said, giving her a squeeze.
There were fifteen suits in the wardrobe. I found cinema tickets in the more casual pockets, a menu for a Rotary Club bash in a dinner jacket. It would be interesting to know what films he liked, but hardly productive. The odd fiver and a tenner were stuffed into top pockets, as if he’d been given them in change at the bar and not bothered to put them in his wallet. There was a membership card for a dining club and another condom. He had more ties than a lottery winner has relatives, and amongst his highly polished shoe collection I found a pair of tooled leather cowboy boots that he must have bought in a moment of weakness and never worn. I’d have loved them.
I lifted drawers out and looked into the bare cabinets. His nooks and crannies were a lot cleaner than mine. Nothing in his luggage — matching Vuitton — but the name tickets were from the Caribbean Queen Cruise Line. So he’d been on a cruise. Lucky him.
I wandered in to see Annabelle. ‘How’s it going?’ I asked.
‘His reading tastes are about as dismal as yours.’ Pulling a volume out she said, ‘Look at this.’
It was The Illustrated Kama Sutra. I extended an arm towards the bedroom, saying, ‘We could always…no better not. It might confuse the SOCO.’
We’d already seen the Kama Sutra, and a catalogue of ladies’ underwear of the type that a lady would never wear. It wasn’t enough to typecast him. I told her that I was going downstairs, to investigate the lounge, and a patrol car called while I was there. I thought about making some tea, but decided it might look callous. His drinks cabinet was well stocked, mainly whisky, and he had all the Mad Max and Lethal Weapon videos. In a display cabinet were some Lladro figures, several pieces of Caithness glass — how do they do that? — and three cheap little trophies announcing that he’d been Salesman of the Year. Personally, I’d have taken the GTX with wide wheels and go-faster stripes. It’s easy to knock — I’ve never made Cop of the Year. All I found down the back of the settee was a paperclip and a button.
‘Charles?’ I heard, followed by footfalls on the stairs.
‘In here.’
Annabelle came through the doorway, doing her best to stifle a smile. ‘Cherchez la femme,’ she said, holding a dark brown folder towards me.
‘What have you there?’ I asked.
‘Photographs.’ She placed the folder on the table and pulled a sheaf of glossy prints from it, blown up to about ten by eight. The logo on the folder was the same as on his luggage labels — wavy lines, surmounted by a crown.
In the first photograph, which was in a cardboard mount so you could stand it on the sideboard, Goodrich had his arm round an attractive woman and they were gazing into each other’s eyes. He was wearing a flowered shirt and they both had chains of blooms draped around their necks. Behind them was a lifebuoy with the name Caribbean Queen emblazoned on it.
‘Do you know her?’ Annabelle asked.
‘No. Never seen her before. Let’s look at the others.’
The next one showed him resplendent in white tuxedo, shaking hands with a ship’s officer, presumably the captain. I had the impression that it was part of a rituaclass="underline" shake hands with the skipper as you go in to dinner, then buy the photo at an inflated price while you’re feeling replete. A nice little earner, as they say.
‘Sadly, I’ve never met him, either,’ I declared, pointing at the captain. ‘Next please.’
There were five of them on this one. Two pirates were standing behind three paying customers, making sure they had a good time by threatening them with plastic cutlasses and leering at the camera. Goodrich and the woman we’d seen earlier were laughing, but the other man with them looked embarrassed.
It’s hard to tell with photographs. They’re not the definitive evidence that you are led to believe by films and books, but I was fairly sure I knew who this third person was.
‘But I have met him,’ I said, pointing.
‘Ooh, good. Who is he?’
‘He’s called Eastwood. I think I’d better have another word with him.’
‘Does he live nearby?’
‘Fairly near. Like, next door.’
‘Right, boss. Let’s go.’
‘Uh uh. The only place you are going is home. I don’t want you solving my most difficult case single-handed. Besides, he’ll be at work.’
Driving to Annabelle’s, I told her that it wasn’t murder, but that we were using the enquiry to look into Goodrich’s business dealings, which looked shady. I left it at that and she didn’t ask any questions, although I’d gamble that she had plenty.
‘The Davises were a decent couple,’ I said. ‘Very pleasant.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You don’t sound sure.’
‘She fancied you. Don’t tell me you did not notice.’
‘Er, no. Can’t say I did.’
‘Well, I noticed.’
‘Really? She is rather attractive, so maybe it’s as well they’re going away tomorrow,’ I said, smiling.
‘She’s not going with him. Not for a couple of weeks. So I don’t want you making any follow-up enquiries.’
‘Oh, er, right.’
At her gate I thanked her for her assistance, and told her I meant it. I wasn’t being patronising. ‘You never told me where you found the pictures,’ I added.
‘They were just inside a book.’
‘The Kama Sutra?’
‘Mechanised Warfare on the Eastern Front.’
‘No wonder we missed them.’
As she opened the car door I said, ‘Am I forgiven, then?’
Annabelle closed the door again. ‘Not completely,’ she answered, looking at me but not smiling. ‘But perhaps in a day or two.’
‘OK. I’ll settle for that.’
She heaved a big sigh and fidgeted with the collar of her jacket. ‘It’s not your fault, Charles,’ she confessed. ‘It’s me. Next Saturday would have been mine and Peter’s wedding anniversary. I’ve been trying to push it out of my mind, but when you said it was Mike and Susie’s…’
She shrugged her shoulders and left the rest of it unsaid.
‘I’m sorry, I never realised,’ I told her.
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘Look,’ I started, not really knowing what I was going to say. ‘I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I can either smother you with attention, take your mind off things, or maybe you’d prefer some time to yourself?’
‘I thought you were busy, with this enquiry.’
‘Priorities. I can make time.’
She was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘I think I’d like a few days to myself, if you don’t mind, Charles.’
‘OK,’ I mumbled.
There are two roundabouts, three sets of traffic lights and about eight junctions between Annabelle’s house and mine, but I don’t remember negotiating any of them. It had to happen, but I couldn’t help feeling that something was slipping away. I expect too much from relationships, invest everything I have in them, but it’s me that hurts when they fall through. I’d never felt like this before about anyone, and knew I never would again. There’d been an awful lot of before, but there could never be another again. I yanked the handbrake on outside the place I call home, then realised I was supposed to have gone to the police station. I cursed and restarted the engine.
The office was deserted, which was fine by me. I typed my reports and read some others. Eastwood would be busy assistant-managering at the York and Durham. I’d assume he worked normal office hours and hit him at about six, after he’d eaten but before he started on the Temeraire.