‘You do know him? Don’t you?’
‘See, you ask that question like I’m some kind of eejit, man. Like I’m some eight-year-old. But I ain’t. Because what I worked out is I don’t got to answer that. And I don’t got to because you already know the answer. Or else you wouldn’t’ve asked it.’
‘I’m impressed. Is there no end to your talents?’
‘And whatever he’s said about me, whatever he’s told you, it’s because he hates me.’
‘He hasn’t said anything about you.’
‘It should be him you’re nosing around, not me. He’s a homophobe. You can get him for discrimination and that.’
‘You obviously didn’t hear me. I said, he hasn’t said anything about you. Because, at the moment, he’s not saying very much at all.’
Jake creased his forehead. He pulled the duvet tightly around him. His feet poking out of the bottom were bottle-tanned, the nails neatly cut and shining subtly with clear varnish. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that the last trace we have of him is Thursday, the twelfth of May. His mother spoke to him in the morning, didn’t hear from him again. Nobody has.’
That stopped Jake in his tracks. ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘Right.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Thursday, the twelfth of May. Four days ago. I’ve tried to wipe it from my mind. He stopped giving me my proper respect, know what I mean?’
‘That’ll be the day he went missing.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Did you have an amicable meeting that day?’
‘No. But you know that because you got it all on camera – on his spy cameras. Like when he assaulted me? Saw that, did you?’
‘We did. Care to tell me what the disagreement was about?’
‘About him being fucked up. Bein’ a homophobe. Can’t stand the sight of me since he heard about—’ He jerked his head to the ceiling to indicate Angel.
‘And he tried to shoot you because of it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you come back later that day? Or had your meeting come to a – how can we put it? – a natural conclusion at that point?’
Jake rolled his eyes again. ‘You having a joke? No – I never went back. Never will.’
‘I don’t know about this, Jake. Something’s not right. You were the last person to see this guy alive.’
‘Yes, except there are whole streetfuls of people who’d like to see that dick go missing. Why are you chewing me out about it?’
‘Streetfuls of people want him to go missing?’ Zoë scooped out her iPhone. ‘That sounds interesting. I’m sure you won’t take offence if I record this.’
‘I would.’
She lowered the phone. ‘That’s fair, Jake, not to want to have your voice on record. But let me put it on my notepad. You have my guarantee it won’t have your voice on it.’
He raised his nose disdainfully. He unfurled a hand in her direction, held it open. She looked at it for a moment. Then she clicked the phone into Notes and passed it to him. He gave the phone a brief derisory scan, as if it was a bit of roadkill she’d brought in for him to inspect, then thrust it back at her. She took it and began tapping in words as he spoke.
‘He’s got enemies.’ He gave the phone a suspicious look, but began to reel off names anyway, counting them on his fingers. ‘There’s this girl from Essex called Candi. I’m telling you, she would shoot him. In the street, tomorrow, if she saw him.’
‘A girl? A woman? Making a grown man disappear? I don’t know – we don’t usually put women in the frame for something like this.’
‘Candi? I mean, fuck, man, she’d eat your eyes out, that one. She’s got a habit and she lives with some guy called Fraser, I don’t know where exactly – somewhere over that side of the world. Then there’s this ex-SAS guy. Built like that.’ He held out his arms to indicate the man’s height and size. ‘Always used to hang around the shoots – he’s got an itch about David, know what I mean? Spanner, they called him. Don’t know why. Think his real name was Anthony or something. But … nah – he’d never have the balls for it. But there’s another one. One I really think is whacked enough to do it.’
Zoë stopped tapping and looked up at him.
‘I never knew his name.’ Jake’s voice was sober and low when he said ‘his’, as if speaking the word alone could bring hellfire down into his little thirties semi. ‘But he was the type, you know. He’d get in and out and no one would’ve seen a thing.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Dunno. Only met him once when he was down for a shoot. That’s how David done his business, innit? He’s got some gamekeeper raises pheasants for him and these dudes visit when there’s a shoot organized. This guy came down and was mouthing off. He was something in the military. The – what d’ya call it? – Ministry of you know …’
‘Defence? The Ministry of Defence?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Christian name?’
‘Dunno. David just called him “mate”. They knew each other in Kosovo. And that’s all I know about him. Otherwise, swear’ – he held his hands up – ‘I’d give it to you.’
‘Any others?’
‘No.’
Zoë tapped the last few words in, saved it, then clicked the phone off and put it into her pocket. She took a moment or two to regroup, then leaned forward to him, her elbows on her knees.
‘What?’
‘I’ve still got a problem, Jake. I mean, meet my eyes and tell me I look convinced you had nothing to do with Goldrab going missing.’
‘What the fuck’re you talking about?’
‘None of those names gets you off the hook. Do they?’
‘But I’ve got an alibi for that afternoon. Which is good news.’
‘Depending on your perspective. Who is it? Angel? Because he’d convince a jury.’
Jake gave her a sly smile, the diamond in his front tooth glinting at her, as if this was the most satisfying thing he’d done in years. ‘That’s the easiest question you’ve asked, sista. I tore my jeans when David was shooting at me. When I seen what I done I go straight into town and buy a new pair. River Island. Their workers’ll remember me and for sure they’ve got a CCTV there.’
‘But as an alibi it doesn’t work because, of course, we don’t know exactly when Goldrab went missing. It was probably that afternoon some time, because his mother couldn’t reach him on the phone in the evening, but we can’t say for sure. You could have come back later and dealt with him then. Say, six or seven o’clock.’
‘That’s OK too. Straight after I got the new jeans I went to the cinema. With my mates. I used my credit card and there were six of us. And then we spent the rest of the night in the Slug on George Street. So wherever David Goldrab was going that night, whoever he met, it weren’t me. But none of that matters, does it?’
Zoë raised an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t it?’
‘Nah,’ he said, with a smug smile. ‘Because David hasn’t been killed. David – Mr clever fucking Goldrab – oh, no, not him. He has disappeared himself.’
Chapter 12
The air above the field was full of drifting white butterflies. Like fairies floating on the wind, they trailed past Sally’s face, blocking the sunlight, alighting on her shoulders and hands. To her right she could see shapes, indistinct in the blizzard. They were important, instinctively she knew they were, and she began to walk towards them, her hands shielding her face from the insects. The first shape was big, standing high, a giant, moving white mass. A car, she saw, as she got nearer – she could make out wing mirrors and headlights through the throng. She clapped her hands and the butterflies lifted in a cloud, spun and flapped. Underneath them the car bonnet was black and shiny, and Sally saw it was Steve’s Audi. Which meant, she was sure, that the shape on the ground, ten feet away, cocooned in white, was David Goldrab.
Her heart began to pound, a giant drum, filling her chest. She took a few steps, crunching on butterflies, breaking their bodies under her shoes. David lay on his back, motionless, his arms folded across his chest, as if he was in a sarcophagus, butterflies covering his face. She didn’t want to approach, but she knew she had to. She got to within a foot, and although every sense was telling her not to, she crouched near his head, stretched her hand out towards him.