‘What did you say?’
‘I told him to drop it. I told him to go and build somewhere else.’
‘And?’
‘He just laughed. He told me I didn’t know what I was talking about. He said the world had moved on. He told me that Cornwall needed people like him. He said it was time I got real.’
After that, he said, they barely talked at all. Whenever they were together, Kinsey made sure there were other people around — other guys, people like Andy Poole, people he could rely on. Pendrick looked up at her. He knew Kinsey was frightened of him because he could see it in his face.
‘And did that make you feel good?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did he do what you wanted?’
‘Of course not. You know that. You’ve seen those vile brochures he had done.’
Lizzie nodded. Pendrick was still rowing, still pulling hard on the machine: 20,762 metres.
‘Is that enough to kill someone? A brochure?’
‘Of course not. It was the girls as well. The Thai girls. He got them from an agency in Exeter. He’d boast about that too, in the boat. He’d tell us what they did for him, what he liked most. He had a special girl. He called her Blossom. Apparently she didn’t speak a word of English and he liked that because he didn’t have to talk to her. What that guy did was unforgivable.’
‘To the girls?’
‘To everyone. He screwed everyone. He couldn’t stop himself. Guys like that don’t deserve a life.’
On the Saturday night, he said, they’d all gone back to Kinsey’s apartment. At first Pendrick hadn’t wanted to be any part of the celebration but Lenahan had talked him into it. Bring a bit of class to the gathering. Give the wee man a shock. And so they’d all walked across to Exmouth Quays and piled into the lift and carried on drinking.
‘It was me who first realised how pissed Kinsey was. He’d been drinking like a schoolgirl all night, knocking back the champagne — Christ knows how much he must have drunk. Then Tash arrived with the takeaway and he was shovelling that in too. There was no way he wasn’t going to be ill. You could see it coming.’
When he started throwing up over the balcony no one else noticed. Pendrick went out there and got him to bed.
‘Why? Why did you do that?’
‘Because I’d made a decision.’
‘About what?’
‘About him, about Kinsey. I’d had enough. I was going to do it.’
‘Kill him?’
‘Yes. I didn’t know how but that’s what I was going to do.’
‘Why?’
Pendrick’s rhythm began to slow and for a moment Lizzie thought he was going to stop, but then he picked up again, ducking his head to wipe the sweat from his eyes.
‘He had this laptop. He said it was in his bedroom. And before he started throwing up he’d promised us all a bit of a show. He called it his PowerPoint. I think he meant it as a joke.’
‘You took a look at the laptop?’
‘I did. I was using his en suite. He loved showing all this shit off. Granite walls. Jacuzzi. The laptop was on his bed. I fired it up and there she was.’
‘Who?’
‘Blossom. The Thai girl.’
‘And?’
‘You don’t want to know. After that the guy hadn’t got a prayer.’
‘So you got him in from the balcony? This is later?’
‘Yeah. I left him on the bed. All I wanted were his door keys.’
‘Where were they?’
‘In his trackie bottoms. I just took them. The state of the guy, I don’t think he even knew they’d gone. Yeah, sweet. .’
He was speeding up now, pushing hard with his legs against the machine. Tash, he said, had organised the taxi. He’d been the first to be dropped off. He’d waited up until half two and then walked back to Exmouth Quays. He’d approached Regatta Court via the beach. It was pouring with rain and he hadn’t seen a soul. The key to Kinsey’s apartment also opened the main door to the block. Once inside the apartment, he’d gone into Kinsey’s bedroom. Judging by the smell from the en suite, he must have been sick again.
‘Was he asleep?’
‘Spark out.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I unlocked the sliding door to the balcony, went back to fetch him and just tipped him over.’
‘Didn’t he struggle?’
‘Not really. He was still pissed, completely out of it.’
‘And that was it? Simple as that?’
‘Yeah. Call it waste disposal if you like. Afterwards I went back for the laptop and threw it into the dock. I was back home by half three — ’ he glanced up at her ‘- and I slept like a baby.’
By midday Constantine had finally hit the buffers. Milo Symons, while admitting the theft charge, had refused to answer any more questions about Kinsey’s death, while Tash Donovan was asking her lawyer whether he could make any kind of case against the police for harassment. Why do these people keeping banging on, she kept asking him. Don’t they understand about veggies?
By now, with Houghton’s agreement, Det-Supt Nandy had decided to charge both Donovan and Symons with theft and release them on police bail. They’d have to attend the magistrates’ court on Friday morning, where a decision would be taken about a possible referral to the Crown Court. With respect to any murder charge, Nandy was obliged to accept that lack of evidence put the investigative ball back in the Coroner’s lap. Constantine’s MCIT squad had done its best to unearth evidence of foul play but had found nothing. In all probability, by accident or otherwise, Jake Kinsey had taken his own life. Case closed.
Houghton insisted on taking Suttle for lunch. They drove to Topsham, a flourishing village upstream from Exmouth, and went to a pub down by the river. It was a glorious day, warm enough to sit at a table by the water. Suttle insisted he wasn’t hungry but Houghton ignored him. She knew his affection for ham, egg and chips. She even returned with two sachets of brown sauce.
‘You look terrible,’ she said. ‘Is it Kinsey or something else?’
Suttle wouldn’t answer. In one sense it was both. But how on earth could he explain that his wife had been off with a key witness?
Houghton wouldn’t give up.
‘Are you sleeping OK?’
‘Yeah. Pretty much.’
‘Grace all right?’
‘She’s sweet.’
‘Lizzie?’
‘Lizzie’s fine.’
‘So what happened to your hand?’
Suttle fought the temptation to cover his right hand. His knuckles were bruised from last night. He said he didn’t want to talk about it.
‘Some kind of fight?’
‘Yeah. My fault.’
‘And the other guy?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘It was a guy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Not Lizzie?’
‘No.’
The food arrived. They ate in silence. Suttle didn’t want to talk about Kinsey or Donovan or Symons or any of the rest of it. He didn’t really want to talk about anything. On every front his life seemed to have come to an end. Much like Constantine.
Houghton had other ideas. She told him that Nandy had been impressed.
‘He might not show it, Jimmy, but he thinks you’re the business.’
‘Great. Didn’t work though, did it?’
‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is you tried. He likes that. He loves people who answer back.’
‘Is that how you got to be a D/I?’
‘Partly.’ She nodded. ‘Yeah. He likes people who argue their case. You did just that. He can’t fault you for running with it. And he can’t fault you for effort.’
He eyed her for a moment. He felt immensely weary.
‘Is all this meant to be some kind of compensation prize?’
‘That’s infantile, if I may say so. You’re better than this, Jimmy.’
‘Yeah? Am I?’
He held her gaze, then pushed the plate away. He said he was grateful and he meant it, but she was right. He was going through a shit time and the worst of it was that he didn’t know how it was going to end.
Houghton nodded, said nothing. A swan pushed through the reeds at the water’s edge. She tossed it a fragment of roll. Then one of Suttle’s chips. More swans.