‘More yuppie hideaways’ Rafferty added.
‘Do we know who bought the land?’ Talbot asked.
‘Believe it or not, it was a firm of accountants’ Penhallow informed him.
‘Morgan and Simons’ Rafferty elaborated. ‘The firm Peter Hyde worked for.’
‘Part of Hyde’s job was to cost out the project,’ Penhallow offered.
‘What about the houses nearby?’ Talbot enquired. ‘Had there been any complaints about this building project from local residents?’
‘None that we could find’ Rafferty replied.
‘So, how are Parriam and Jeffrey linked to this?’ Talbot enquired.
‘Jeffrey was a surveyor, right? Guess what he was working on when he topped himself?’ Rafferty said.
‘And Parriam had already designed two office blocks and fifteen different types of apartment that were to be built on that land once the warehouses were levelled’ Penhallow added.
‘There’s your link, guv’ Longley finished.
‘That still doesn’t explain why they all topped themselves’ Talbot said. ‘If they’d been murdered then I’d say let’s find out who didn’t want those warehouses being knocked down, find out who had a reason for wanting them dead, but it still doesn’t make any sense, does it?’
The policemen sat around in silence for a moment, the stillness finally broken by Talbot.
‘None of them was connected to anything to do with villains, were they? None of them taking backhanders from anybody who might run that manor or want a bit of the cream once those new flats were built?’
‘Backhanders?’ Longley chuckled. ‘They were in the building trade. How many honest builders do you know?’
The other men laughed.
‘You know what I mean’ the DI added, smiling.
‘Not a sniff of villainy with any one of them’ Rafferty told his superior. ‘If they’d smelled any sweeter you’d have seen them on a fucking perfume counter.’
Talbot rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Who stood to benefit by the three of them dying?’ he asked.
‘No one that we know of’ Longley responded.
‘And that’s the only link between the three of them, this building project?’ the DI continued. ‘Looks like we’re fucked.’
‘There was something else’ Rafferty told him. ‘And this is weird.’
Talbot turned to face his colleague.
‘In the two weeks leading up to their deaths, all three men reported having been burgled,’ Rafferty said. ‘Either their houses, their offices or their cars were turned over, but - this is the weird thing - nothing of any value was taken. None of the places was wrecked or even damaged. Whoever broke in knew exactly what they were looking for. They never touched TVs, videos, money, tapes, CDs. Nothing.’
Talbot frowned.
‘Someone went to the bother of breaking into Hyde’s, Parriam’s and Jeffrey’s’
Rafferty continued. ‘They could have cleaned them out. But, in each case, the only thing stolen was a photograph of the dead man.’
Forty
The ringing of the phone startled him.
Frank Reed heard the high-pitched tone and shook his head, as if to rouse himself from his stupor.
Lying on his sofa, feet up, he’d drifted in and out of sleep, his attention barely gripped by the programme on the television, which still glowed before him.
He swung himself upright and walked across to the small desk where the phone stood, alongside a pile of exercise books, which he knew he had to finish marking.
Later.
He picked up the phone, running a hand across his face as if that simple gesture would restore his alertness.
‘Hello’ he croaked, clearing his throat.
‘Frank.’
He didn’t recognise her voice at first.
‘Frank. It’s Ellen.’
He pressed the phone more tightly to his ear, gripping the receiver hard.
‘Ellen’ he said, finally. ‘What a pleasure.’
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
He sat down at the desk.
‘Well, if my own wife can’t disturb me, who can?’ Reed said, sardonically. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you found the time to fit me in.’
‘If you’re going to be a smart-arse, I’ll hang up now.’
‘And deprive me of your attention. No, please don’t do that.’
‘How are you keeping?’
‘As well as can be expected, and don’t make small-talk please, Ellen, it’s embarrassing. What do you want?’
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. You’re right, we do need to talk.’
He swallowed hard.
‘About us?’ he asked.
‘About Becky. You’re right, she’s your daughter, you do have a right to see her. I spoke to Jonathan about it and-‘
‘Well, as long as Jonathan agrees that’s all right, isn’t it? She’s my daughter, Ellen, not his. I don’t want him making any decisions to do with her.’
‘Don’t dictate to me. He’s her father now.’
‘He’s not her father and he never will be,’ Reed snarled, angrily. ‘Just because you walked out on me for that bastard doesn’t mean he can ever take on my role in Becky’s life.’
‘Becky thinks a lot of him.’
Reed felt something like physical pain.
‘I suppose you’ve told her how wonderful he is, how good he makes you feel.
Have you got around to telling her how wonderful in bed he is yet?’
‘Look, Frank, I rang you because I wanted to do the right thing-‘
He cut her short, trying not to shout, but struggling.
‘Then leave Ward and come home,’ he said, angrily, gripping the receiver so tightly it seemed in danger of snapping.
‘My home is with Jonathan now, and so is Becky’s,’ she told him, defiantly.
Fucking bitch.
There was a long silence, finally broken by Reed.
‘So, what do you want?’
‘You want to see Becky, spend some time with her. That’s fine. How about this weekend?’
He swallowed hard, not daring to believe what he’d heard.
‘Jonathan and I are going away for a couple of days and I thought-‘
He interrupted. ‘You needed a babysitter, is that it?’ he snapped. ‘You want me to babysit my own daughter while you and lover boy fuck off somewhere, right?’
‘You either want to see her or you don’t, Frank.’
‘You know I want to see her.’
‘So you’ll take her this weekend?’
‘And that’s it? One weekend, because it’s convenient for you? What about after that, Ellen? What about every weekend? What’s wrong with that? Or does Jonathan have plans for Becky?’
‘If you take her this weekend we’ll see about you having her on a more regular basis.’
‘Not just when it suits you,’ he spat.
‘Will you do it this weekend?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘I’ll drop her off on Saturday morning.’
‘You can remember how to get here, can you?’ he asked, acidly.
‘Just leave it, Frank.’
‘And don’t bring lover boy with you when you drop Becky.’
‘Jonathan’s busy in the morning anyway.’
‘I’ll bet he is.’
‘I’ll be round about ten.’
‘I’ll be waiting.’
‘I thought you might have had the decency to thank me,’ Ellen told him.
It was all Reed could do to prevent himself slamming down the phone.
‘Ten o’clock Saturday morning,’ he said through gritted teeth, then slipped the phone back onto its cradle, staring down at it.
He didn’t know whether to jump for joy or punch a hole in the wall.
Forty-one
The pain was deep in her belly.
Shanine Connor knew that it wasn’t hunger. She had come to recognise, only too well, that gnawing discomfort.