‘The Chase boy has just come in for his father’s will.’
The Master searches a jacket pocket for his cigarettes. ‘And?’
‘He was asking what Nathaniel might have been ashamed of.’
‘He used that word, did he? Or is it your interpretation of what he said?’
‘He used it. He told Lupus that he’d been left some kind of letter. Apparently, the police recovered it from the scene.’
The Master lights a Dunhill with a gold monogrammed lighter. ‘What’s in it? Some form of accusations or confession?’
Cetus tries to allay his fears. ‘Nothing so drastic. If there had been anything explicit in there, no doubt the gentlemen of the constabulary would be camped in my office asking awkward questions.’
The Master blows out smoke and looks across the courtyard. ‘But they have been in touch. You said so and Grus says some DI thinks she’s got herself something of a case.’
‘That’s true but it’s routine. They found invoices in Nathaniel’s study and wanted to know if we still acted for him. And don’t worry about the DI.’
‘I shan’t.’ The Master paces a little. ‘From what Nathaniel told me, they had a fractured relationship. Unfortunately, his son is unlikely to be our friend.’
‘That would fit with his behaviour at my office.’
The Master thinks for a few moments. ‘A shame. Given his father’s contribution to the Craft, he’d have been an asset. Did the police ask about the will?’
‘Of course.’
‘And presumably he gets everything?’
‘Everything.’
‘You must have done well out of this fee-wise.’
Cetus is offended. ‘I treated Nathaniel well. He was a friend, remember.’
The Master berates himself. A crass remark. ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t have made light of the situation.’ He looks to a junior colleague at the edge of the courtyard pointing to his watch. ‘I’m going to have to go.’
‘Are you thinking of postponing?’
‘We can’t.’ The Master takes a final draw on the cigarette before dropping it and grinding it into the gravel. ‘The divination is clear. The completion must be at midpoint between evening twilight on solstitium and morning twilight of the day after, or it has no meaning.’
Cetus is quiet and the Master senses something. ‘We will be ready with the second offering, won’t we?’
‘We will. All will go as planned. But what of Chase the Younger?’
The Master nods at the colleague hovering not far away. He silently mouths that he’ll only be another minute. After the man is gone, he concludes the calclass="underline" ‘I will have the son taken care of. Just make sure the other arrangements go as planned.’
30
Caitlyn’s instructions were clear. Rent a room. Chill a bottle of champagne. Put two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s in the minibar — any flavour except Cake Batter. Run a bath — three quarters full. No smelly stuff — just water, hot water. Bring protection. Non-flavoured and ribbed. At least five. Make sure there’s plenty of dope and ecstasy.
Caitlyn is plainly used to getting whatever she wants. Fine by him. At least there’s no mistaking what this get-together is going to be about. No need for small talk, no painful progressing from kiss to fumble to hopefully much more. He has cancelled everything he had planned for the rest of the day. Which wasn’t that much.
He has little problem getting the stuff. He already has a block of Lebanese Black and a few days’ worth of Es and he picks up the ice cream and a couple of bottles of Louis Roederer Cristal in the Food Hall at Selfridge’s. Then he drives over to Hyde Park and books a suite at Été, a discreet boutique hotel noted for its French cuisine. Even he considers arguing over the thousand-pound room tariff — then he remembers that he’s now in the media and is about to bed a celebutante.
The suite turns out to be almost worth it: a king-size bed draped in a golden quilt, heavy matching window curtains lined in burnt orange and tied back to reveal a small terrace and some white metal seating. He draws the curtains and lights the Egyptian-style pot lamps either side of the bed.
He plugs his iPod into a docking station. What to put on? The sudden question scares him. You can tell a lot about a person from their choice of music. He wheels through some of his later downloads and settles on Plan B’s The Defamation of Strickland Banks. ‘Love Goes Down’ is coming to an end when there’s a rap on the door.
It’s smack on two p.m. He was sure she was going to be late. He was wrong. He opens the door. She’s carrying a light-cream coat over her arm and wearing a near-translucent gathered-sleeve tea dress. ‘Don’t just stare, let me in!’
He steps aside. ‘Sorry, you just look so …’ He realises she’s worried about being seen and shuts the door quickly. ‘… beautiful.’ As he turns she’s right next to him. She drops the coat and a small matching handbag and kisses him. It’s like being gently electrified. Flows all the way through him. This is already about more than the great sex he knows is going to follow.
Caitlyn breaks for air and smiles. ‘I have an hour. That’s all. Sixty minutes. Let’s get started.’
31
Detective Sergeant Jimmy Dockery is Wiltshire’s Horatio Caine. Or so he thinks. He speaks slower than a dying man with asthma and even on the dullest days wears sunglasses. The kind that went out of fashion with Top Gun.
Bullied as a kid, the ginger whinger got his own back by becoming a cop. The only problem is, unlike the CSI: Miami lieutenant, he’s not a hot shot. He’s not even a lukewarm shot. But he is the Deputy Chief Constable’s son and everything pales into a ginger fuzz after that single fact.
‘I heard you need help, Detective Inspector.’ He hovers over her shoulder, then slides into a seat alongside and flashes his best smile. ‘Glad to be of service.’
Megan feels a shiver of revulsion. ‘Thanks, Jimmy.’ She pulls over some stapled statements and a thick file. ‘This is background on the Chase suicide. You know about that, don’t you?’
He looks blank.
She resists screaming. ‘Professor Nathaniel Chase, international author, archaeologist, antiquities trader, has a place out on Cranborne Chase, at Tollard Royal where the rich folk live.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know who you mean.’
She knows he doesn’t but ploughs on. ‘Google him, and there’s background on him in here, as well as the suicide.’ She opens the file and points out a list of contact numbers. ‘This is the mobile number of Gideon Chase, Nathaniel’s son. He has asked to see the body. Would you mind making sure he’s dealt with sympathetically?’ She wonders if Jimmy’s repertoire stretches that far.
‘Consider it done.’ He smiles broadly and widens his eyes. It’s a little trick he’s picked up. A dead certain way of letting her know that’s he is more than just willing to do his duty at work.
She can’t believe he’s hitting on her. ‘What are you waiting for, Jimmy?’ She tilts her head. Much as she might study a strange insect that’s appeared from beneath a rock. ‘Apparently, I only have the pleasure of your company for two days, so now is a really good time to get started.’
He takes the hint, walks away with a backhanded wave. ‘Later, boss.’
Megan unclenches her fists. She has to learn to relax. Not suffering fools is one thing, wanting to crack them in the nose is another. She makes black tea in the small kitchen area off the main office and comes back to her desk just in time to catch the phone ringing. She spills some of the hot drink on the paperwork in the rush to grab it. ‘DI Baker. Damn.’