Clean Break

Linda smiled and took out her notebook. As she scribbled a reminder to herself, she said, “You do realize you’re going to have to come back with us and give a full statement this time? Not just about this, but about the Kerrchem sabotage?”

I sighed, resigned to my fate. “I spent yesterday evening in the nick helping the Art Squad and the Drugs Squad with their inquiries. Much more of this, and I’m going to be asking for overtime.”

Linda chuckled. “You’ve got more chance of getting it out of your clients than out of our budget. Listen, would you prefer it if I took your statement?”

Another careerist. But this time, it suited me to go along. “Do you really think Jackson’s going to give up the opportunity to make my life seriously uncomfortable1?”

Linda nodded toward the door of the motel. A man I took to be Desmond Halloran was stumbling toward the car park, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a policeman on each arm. “I think Inspector Jackson’s going to have his hands full with those two. Just thank your lucky stars that from here on in, you’re a bit player.”

Next came Gail Morton, more respectable in leggings, scoop-necked T-shirt and the kind of fashion leather jacket that makes you angry on behalf of the cow. Jackson held her firmly by one arm, with the other two officers bringing up the rear. The lovers were each thrust into a separate car, and Jackson came over to us.

“I’ll see you back in Stockport,” he said darkly to me, his eyes menacing behind the tinted lenses.

“I thought the police were supposed to be grateful for cooperation from members of the public,” I said airily.

“We are,” he snarled. “What we don’t like is smartarses who think they know how to do our jobs.”

He walked away before I could come up with a snappy rejoinder. Probably just as well. I didn’t want to miss tomorrow night’s date with Michael Haroun. I started the car and pulled in behind the two police motors. “If they smash the speed limit on the way back, I want immunity from speeders,” I told Linda.

“You don’t have to keep up with them,” she pointed out. “I do know where we’re going, even if you don’t.”

“Listen,” I said. “Your boss is so paranoid about me that if I disappear from his rearview mirror he’s going to put out an all-points bulletin to stop and shoot me on sight for abducting a police officer.”

“You’re probably right. He’s just brassed off because he was looking at the angle of possible collusion between the two bereaved spouses. Unfortunately, we’re handicapped by having to operate inside the law, so we hadn’t managed to make as much progress as you,” Linda said ironically.

“Touche. I’ll remember that when I’m making my statement.”

“I would, if I were you. Certain of my colleagues would love to have something to charge you with.”

I reached over and pulled my mobile phone out of my bag. “I’d better cover my back, then.” Ruth was going to be thrilled. Much as she loved me, holding my hand twice in two days was stretching our friendship more than somewhat.

For the second night ru

Linda frowned. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Do you believe that my client is God?”

Linda tipped her head back, stared at the ceiling and sighed. “No, Ms. Hunter, I do not believe that your client is God.” Waiting for the punch line.

“Then why do you expect her to be omniscient? We’ve been here for seven hours and my client has cooperated fully with you. Now we’ve reached the point where either you arrest her, or we’re going home to bed. Which is it going to be, Ms. Shaw?”

“Give me a minute,” she said. She was back in just over five. “You can go now. But we may have some more questions for Ms. Bra

“And she may or may not answer them,” Ruth said sweetly as we headed out the door.

When I got home, there was still no sign of Richard. I was too wound up to sleep, so I switched on the computer and played myself at snooker until my eyes were so tired I couldn’t tell the reds from the black. I staggered off to bed then, only to dream of Gail Morton ru

The next morning, I had to deal with the depressing job I’d been avoiding ever since I’d got back from Italy. I drove out to Birch-field Place, noticing that the leaves were starting to fall. I hate the autumn. Not because it heralds winter or symbolizes the death of the year or anything like that. I just hate the way fallen leaves turn to slime on country roads and bring on four-wheel drift as soon as you corner at anything more than walking pace.

It was one of the days the house was open to the public, and I found Henry hiding from the masses in his little office in the private apartments. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see me, which I put down to the pile of paperwork threatening to topple over and cover his desk. But the upper classes never let mere irritation interfere with their ma

“And you, Henry.” I sat down opposite him.

“Mr. Haroun from the insurance company tells me you’ve been having a rather exotic time lately,” he said. I thought I detected a slight note of reproach in his voice.

“Exotic. Now, there’s a word,” I said. “I’m sorry you heard it from him rather than directly from me, but I’ve been a bit hectic the last few days, and I thought the main priority was to make sure you could get reinsured at a decent premium as fast as possible.”

“Oh, absolutely, you did quite the right thing. And you must let me have your bill for your trip to Europe. It sounds utterly dreadful, but the one positive thing to come out of it is that Mr. Haroun has agreed to pay some of your bill as a quid pro quo for your putting a stop to these burglaries.” All of a sudden, he’d gone motormouth on me.

I looked at him. “Don’t you want to know about your Monet?” I asked.

He flushed. “Mr. Haroun said you hadn’t managed to recover it. I… I didn’t want to remind you of your lack of success in that respect when you’d been so successful otherwise.”

The smell of bullshit filled my nostrils. “What I didn’t tell Mr. Haroun is that the painting showed up in the paperwork,” I said. “What it looked like to me was that the painting had been received by the drug ru

“You mean it might still turn up?” he asked. Too nervously for my liking.

“It’s possible,” I said. “But there could be another explanation.”

By now, he wasn’t even trying to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not following you.” He looked up, caught my glance and looked away, his boyish smile self-deprecating. “I’m obviously not as well up in the ways of criminals as you, Kate.”

“You want me to spell it out, Henry? You’ve been nervous about this investigation right from the start. I worked with you on the security for this place, and I think I got to know you well enough to realize you’re not the sort of bloke who gets wound up about something like a burglary where no one’s been hurt. So there had to be another reason. I only realized it some time during the fourth hour of close questioning by the Art Squad. Henry, if what you had nicked off your wall is a Monet, I am Marie of Romania.”