Once Ibrahim has gone, Garth will wash and dry up, and then have a little wander around Coopers Chase. See what he can see.
There is opportunity in this place, Garth can smell it. There are secrets here too, but what?
And he needs to think about Connie Johnson.
39
Down the stairs and out into the yard of the business park, Joyce and Patrice rejoin Chris and Ron. Chris looks nervous, but there’s no need: it’s all under control.
Ron, Joyce is delighted to see, looks like a terrified, defenceless old man. Joyce realizes that they sometimes take Ron for granted. All the things this man has achieved in his life. He likes to play the fool, but he’s far from it.
The first squad car screeches through the gates. Quite why the need for screeching, Joyce doesn’t know. It’s a corpse.
Two plain-clothed officers run from the car. Again, why the running?
Chris takes one of them by the arm. ‘In here, I’ll show you.’
The other officer stays with Ron, Joyce and Patrice. He has questions.
‘OK, ladies, sir, I need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?’
Ron bursts into tears, and Joyce goes to comfort him, as the young officer looks embarrassed.
‘Just take your time, and let me know what happened.’
‘We were, my friend and I – this is Ron, and I’m Joyce. We were going to a tour at the Bramber Sparkling Wine Company, it’s just over there.’
‘It was a present from my son,’ cries Ron. ‘A voucher.’
All right, Ron, don’t build your part. Then Joyce realizes that, as she has become Elizabeth, Ron is having to become her. She would definitely have said something about vouchers. Everybody is stepping up today – carry on, Ron.
‘We were so looking forward to it,’ says Joyce. ‘But we arrived late – we got lost.’
Another squad car has pulled up, and the officer waves the new officers into the hangar.
‘We’d just got out of the car, literally seconds it must have been,’ says Joyce, ‘when we heard a gunshot.’
‘You’re certain it was a gunshot?’ asks the officer.
‘Yes,’ says Joyce.
‘It’s just,’ says the officer, ‘lots of things can sound like gunshots, if you don’t have much experience with them.’
‘I have some,’ says Joyce. ‘It seemed to come from the building off to our left, and that was this building, Sussex Logistics.’
‘I see,’ says the officer. ‘And so you –’
‘Well, Ron had the number of a police officer we’d dealt with before.’
‘DCI Hudson?’
‘Good lad,’ says Ron, regaining his composure. He is loving this.
‘Also very handsome,’ says Joyce.
‘So I ring Chris,’ says Ron.
‘DCI Hudson,’ says Joyce.
‘And I’m all, “There’s been a gunshot, mate.” He’s all, “Are you sure?” and I’m all, “I’m sure, I’m sure, get your skates on, could be a madman on the loose,” whatever, and he’s a brave lad and he rushes over, eager to keep us safe. They’re not all bad, are they, coppers?’
The officer now addresses Patrice. ‘And you, madam?’
‘I’m Chris’s partner,’ says Patrice. ‘We were on our way to the garden centre when they called.’
‘OK,’ says the officer. ‘The SIO will have more questions for you later.’
On cue, SIO Jill Regan arrives in a big Lexus with a discreet blue light.
‘Nice motor,’ says Ron to Joyce.
‘You’re doing ever so well, Ron,’ says Joyce, and they squeeze each other’s hand.
‘The body’s in the hangar, ma’am,’ says the young officer. ‘These two heard the gunshot and called DCI Hudson.’
Jill studies Joyce and Ron in turn. ‘And how did you happen to have DCI Hudson’s personal number?’
As Joyce searches for a good answer, Ron bursts into tears again, and buries his head on Joyce’s shoulder. Joyce mouths, ‘Sorry,’ to Jill, who shakes her head, and walks into the building without another word.
‘Do you think we’ll be here much longer?’ Joyce asks the officer.
‘No, no,’ says the officer. ‘We’ll be back in touch with you, but you must be keen to get home.’
Keener than you know, thinks Joyce. They have an awful lot of photos to look at.
40
Ibrahim had wanted to speak to Elizabeth about the trip to meet Samantha Barnes, but Elizabeth’s phone was off. So he then thought that perhaps he might take Alan for a walk, but Joyce was not in. Ibrahim could hear Alan bark, so they chatted through the letter-box for a while, but, without a key, that was the limit of Ibrahim’s fun. At least Ron would be in, he’d thought, and they could watch a film. But, no, Ron was not at home either. Where on earth was he? Perhaps he and Pauline had made up?
Trudging home, thinking about Samantha Barnes, thinking about Garth, thinking about how their eyes had lit up when they spoke about the heroin, Ibrahim suddenly remembered he had a new friend, and another project. He didn’t always need the Thursday Murder Club!
And so Ibrahim and Bob Whittaker are now drinking mint tea and having fun. There is a serious point to what they’re doing, but there’s no harm in enjoying yourself while you’re at it. Ibrahim is reading through their latest exchange – as Mervyn – with Tatiana, while Bob sips at his tea and looks happy to be out of the house.
MERVYN:
My love is open, like the petals of a flower, long closed under Spring’s frost, scared of the sunlight that brings it life. My love is open, like a wound, delicate and vulnerable and trusting to be tended. My love is open, like a door, in a cottage, in a wood, waiting for your footsteps.
TATIANA:
The money still didn’t clear. Can you try one more time, my darling?
MERVYN:
What is money in all this? A single primrose in a meadow. A teardrop in a waterfall.
TATIANA:
The bank has not received the money. I need to buy plane tickets.
MERVYN:
Fly to me, Tatiana. Let the breath of love carry you into my arms. I will meet you at Gatwick, there is very good parking in the North Terminal, although the pricing structure leaves a little to be desired.
‘I agree with you there,’ says Bob. ‘Fifteen pounds fifty, and I was there for only an hour.’
TATIANA:
I love you, Mervyn. I must have money in next six hours or my heart will break.
MERVYN:
I will speak to the bank again. But it’s a Saturday, and they keep asking me what the money is for. I tell them it’s for love, and then they say they need to do further checks.
TATIANA:
Tell them is for a car. Don’t mention love.
MERVYN:
How can I not mention love, my dear? When every heartbeat sings your name?
TATIANA:
Tell them is for a car. And, please, hurry. I must be with you.
MERVYN:
I could get the money in cash?
‘And this is setting the bait?’ asks Bob.
‘It certainly is,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Donna’s idea.’
TATIANA:
Then you send cash?
MERVYN:
Send it? Not with the postal strikes we’ve been having. The Royal Mail has been systematically underfunded for many years. Is it any wonder that loyal workers are taking industrial action? What other option do they have? It is the malaise of late capitalism.
TATIANA: