Finding someone to murder Suzi won’t be easy. If she dies any time soon, there’s only one suspect, and that’s Danny. He needs to put lots of layers between himself and the killer, money has to go through lots of different hands, and each of those hands gets to keep a bit of it on the way. But Danny trusts someone who trusts someone who trusts someone, and Suzi can meet with the sort of accident that might make the police suspicious, but will send them chasing their tails for a few weeks before they get dizzy and stop running.
Jason Ritchie is altogether easier. He’s made so many enemies over the years, been in enough tricky situations, that when he turns up dead the poor police will have pages of suspects to deal with. Would Danny even be in the first fifty names? He doubts it. With Jason you can just shoot him from a speeding car, dump the motor at a friendly farm and be sitting down for a pint by lunchtime.
One of the faces on the 15th green looks up at the balcony. He shouts a greeting, and Danny waves back. Danny forgets his name, an amphetamine dealer from Billericay, enjoying his Portuguese retirement. You saw a lot of friendly faces out here.
Friendly, sure, but it still pays to be careful. Danny ducks back into his room and pulls the curtains. Don’t want word getting out that he’s here. Suzi and Jason Ritchie will be dead soon enough, but it’s worth remembering that Jason Ritchie will probably kill him first if he finds out where he is.
What a business. There’s nothing like it.
25
From the window of Joyce’s flat, Ibrahim can see people heading towards the chapel for Saturday service. Some in couples but most alone. Some hunched or stooped, some with walking frames, making slow progress towards hard seats and comforting words. There are people who have been to church every weekend for over ninety years. Today some of them walk past the site of the senseless murder of a young woman, yet still they walk. Ibrahim has never found answers in a church, but perhaps these people are asking different questions? We’re all just trying to make sense of things, and you must take meaning wherever you can find it.
Alan takes a Polo from Ibrahim’s hand and rolls on the floor in delight. We all have different needs.
They are enjoying tea and toast. Joanna had asked for coffee, but Joyce said she was making tea, and Joanna said surely it was all the same kettle for goodness’ sake, and Joyce said it was too fiddly to do both, so Joanna said she would come and make one herself, but then Paul said shall we talk about these text messages first, and Joyce said six teas, then, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Joanna forwarded them to Joyce when she arrived, and Joyce has now forwarded them to everyone else. They start to read. It is shoddy stuff. Ibrahim doesn’t like a job badly done, and this job is badly done.
Sorry mate, what is this? A test of our friendship? I’m letting you know I’m okay, and this is what I get?
Jesus Paul. When I need you most, you pull this? We both know the name of the car. Stop messing around and let people know I’m okay.
I’m sorry if I’ve offended you Paul. I thought we were friends, but I can’t trust you. Signing off for good now.
‘Even Alan could see these were fake,’ he says.
Alan, upon hearing his name, wags his tail and nods.
‘I got worried after the third message,’ says Paul. ‘It was Joanna’s idea to ask the question about the car.’
‘That was quick thinking,’ says Elizabeth. If Joanna catches the compliment, she doesn’t let it show. ‘It’s his phone. But it’s not him.’
‘So someone’s pretending to be Nick Silver,’ says Ron. ‘Does that mean they’ve killed him? Sorry, Paul.’
‘If you want my view …’ Joanna starts.
‘We do,’ says Joyce, from the kitchen.
‘… if he was alive, they could have just asked him what the name of his car was. Instead of picking a fight and disappearing. That says to me they’ve killed him. Sorry, Paul.’
Ibrahim sees Elizabeth nod. She had clearly been thinking that, but is glad that someone else has said it.
‘So what now?’ Paul asks.
‘I have a question for you, Paul,’ says Elizabeth. ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘Please,’ says Paul. ‘I’ve never been questioned by an ex-spy before.’
‘No such thing as an ex-spy,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Did you know that Holly and Nick have a safe in The Compound containing three hundred and fifty million pounds in Bitcoin?’
Paul looks at Joanna. ‘Three hundred and fifty million? Is that why they killed Holly?’
‘You had no idea?’ Elizabeth asks him.
Paul shakes his head. ‘I knew they were doing well – Nick had money – but I didn’t know about the Bitcoin.’
‘No idea they had hundreds of millions locked away?’ Elizabeth is pressing him. Paul will be too polite to push back, Ibrahim knows that, but if she goes too far Joanna will have something to say about it. ‘Nick never even hinted? Holly never mentioned it? To their old friend?’
‘Not a word,’ says Paul.
‘I find that terrifically hard to believe,’ says Elizabeth.
Joanna has a look on her face that reminds Ibrahim of something. He can’t quite place it, but he will.
She looks directly at Elizabeth. ‘Elizabeth, may I make an observation?’
‘Can I stop you?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘No,’ says Joanna.
‘Like mother like daughter,’ says Elizabeth.
That was the look. Joanna has the same look that Joyce has when another dog starts chasing Alan. A protective fury. A calm menace.
‘Not everyone spends their life needing to know everyone else’s business, Elizabeth.’ Joanna is very measured, as Joyce so often is.
‘Murder changes that, dear,’ says Elizabeth.
Oh, goodness, Elizabeth, don’t call her ‘dear’.
‘One of Paul’s oldest friends has just been killed,’ says Joanna. ‘And another one has gone missing. We’ve driven three hours to get here on a Saturday morning to come and help, to show you the texts we received and to give you all the information we have.’
Joyce walks back in with the teas, unaware of the heavyweight fight unfolding in front of her.
‘Now,’ says Joanna, ‘you’re in my mum’s flat, and my mum adores you, but, and listen to this carefully, Elizabeth. Are you listening?’
Elizabeth says nothing.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Joanna, sitting forward. ‘I asked if you were listening?’
‘I’m listening,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Good,’ says Joanna. ‘I am not my mum. I swear if you talk to my husband like that again, we’re leaving. We should have taken these text messages to the police, but we’re showing them to you instead. And we’re showing them to you because we respect you. Please show us the same courtesy.’
Elizabeth gives perhaps the smallest nod in recorded human history.
Joanna sits back. ‘Thank you, Elizabeth. I trust you understand me.’
Ibrahim is so tempted to applaud that he has to start stroking Alan, to ensure he doesn’t have both hands available.
Joyce offers a cup of tea to Joanna. ‘You know, I probably could find some instant coffee if you really fancy it?’
Joanna shakes her head and winks at her mum, who winks back.
‘But you have money invested?’ Ibrahim asks. While another fight between Joanna and Elizabeth would be glorious to see, for Joyce’s sake he feels like he should start asking some of the questions too. ‘You never thought to get involved?’
Paul shrugs. ‘I gave them some money years ago, ten thousand I inherited from my grandad. Every now and again Nick would tell me things were going well. One day they’d sell and I’d do nicely out of it.’