“Four years ago you bought a warehouse in . . .” O’Neill let his voice trail off, making a show of hunting through his notebook for the address and then reading it out. “It’s now a rake of luxury offices and apartments. You made quite a killing on it so I hear.”
Lytton made a gesture of impatience. “I may have bought the building you describe, detective inspector,” he said. “My company buys a lot of property all over the world. Without going through the files I couldn’t say.” He peeled back the cuff of his dark wool overcoat to check his watch. “It doesn’t ring any bells.”
“Really sir?” O’Neill pursed his lips. “Only, I thought this one might have stuck in your mind for some reason.”
A muscle twitched in the side of Lytton’s jaw. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Got you jumpy now haven’t I?
“Because that particular building was on the market almost derelict for nearly two years before you bid them peanuts for it,” O’Neill said quietly. “Do you recall why that was?”
Lytton had gone very still, his gaze resting coolly on the detective. “Go on.”
“Well according to the information that’s come to light sir, no buyer had been found because of a very nasty murder that took place there. A young barman by the name of Callum Perry was stabbed to death on the second floor.”
“I’m sorry I still don’t—”
“He was killed by a woman called Kelly Jacks.”
Lytton’s mouth snapped shut. He was silent for a long time, brows drawn down into something resembling a scowl.
O’Neill watched him closely. “Ring any bells now sir?”
“I didn’t make the connection,” he said tightly. He looked up, expression smoothing out, back into confidence and, O’Neill felt, arrogance. “It was a long time ago and like I said, detective inspector, I buy a lot of property.”
How very convenient.
O’Neill waited to see how long Lytton would spin out his memory lapse. Not long if the way the man soon checked his watch again was anything to go by.
“I doubt you came all the way over here just to remind me about a time several years ago when my path might have crossed with Kelly’s, even at a distance,” he said. He reached for the Aston’s door handle again. “Now, I’m going to be late for a very important meeting. Was there anything else?”
“Just one thing sir,” O’Neill said heavily. “I’d hate you to feel you . . . owed her anything for any reason. So I’d just like to remind you that if she should happen to get in touch we’re open twenty-four hours a day.” He handed over a card which Lytton took with obvious reluctance. “Please call us.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you sir. I’d hate to have to pursue you for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive. Not on top of your recent . . . tragedy, that is.”
But his subtle warning was lost as Matthew Lytton slid behind the wheel of the Aston and fired the throaty engine. The reverse lights were already blazing before O’Neill was back inside the Mondeo.
O’Neill took his time buckling the seatbelt and starting the engine before he put the car into gear and pulled slowly out of the way. Lytton shot out of his space and chirruped the tyres on the block paving as he dumped the big car into first.
“Wherever you’re going sunshine, you’re certainly in a bloody hurry to get there,” O’Neill said out loud.
He briefly considered tailing the Aston just to make life awkward for its owner. The impulse didn’t last long. Lytton was not above making his feelings felt, O’Neill guessed. One irate phone call to the chief super—or the press—and I’ll be down-sized onto shit duty in some godforsaken ghetto.
Still it hadn’t been a wasted journey by any means.
He picked up his cellphone, pressed the office speed dial.
“Dempsey?” he said when the line was answered. “Do me a favour will you? Put in a request for Matthew Lytton’s phone records—home, office and cellphone. Let’s see if he’s been in contact with Jacks.”
“You think he might have been boss?”
“Yeah I do.” He cut the call, sat for a moment deep in thought. “Why else,” he murmured to the empty car, “would you refer to a woman—one you claim to have met only once—by her first name? Only a small slip, Mattie boy, but still a slip . . .”
64
Kelly checked her watch and shut down the laptop. She knew she was cutting it fine to get to Clapham Common in time to meet with Lytton but the last thing she wanted was to hang around somewhere public. She reckoned he’d give her five minutes’ leeway.
She shrugged into her hooded sweatshirt and picked up the backpack which still contained his wife’s borrowed clothes. At least this gave her the chance to return them—or throw them back in his face. Her hand tightened on the straps. She hadn’t yet decided which.
The slam of the front door to the flat made her start. She glanced up to see Elvis slouch into the living room. He stopped when he saw her, eyes circling to take in the closed-down laptop and the backpack she was holding.
“Tina said you was to stay put,” he said sounding aggrieved. “You need anything I’m supposed to get it for you.”
“I need to go out—just for a while,” Kelly said giving him what she hoped was a placatory smile. “I have to meet with someone—someone who might be able to help me.”
Either that or Harry Grogan’s thug will be waiting for me again.
Elvis shook his head, emphatic. “Not a good idea,” he said, moving forwards so he blocked her path to the door. “Erm, what about after dark? Wait ’til then. Safer, y’know?”
Kelly paused, eyeing his agitation with her own sense of disquiet. “I need to go now Elvis,” she said gently. “In fact I’m probably going to be late, so—”
“You can’t leave!”
“Why not?” Kelly gave a cool stare at his outburst. He shuffled his feet, flushing but didn’t move out of her way.
“You just can’t go, all right?” he said, his voice turning belligerent now but Kelly caught an underlying note of panic there too.
She froze. “Elvis, what did you do?”
“Nothing!” But he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You just stay here, yeah? And everything will be cool.”
“Round here they’d sell their granny for less.”
She remembered Tina’s opinion on the ten-grand price on her head. Alarmed now, she made to push past Elvis but he gave her an unexpected backwards shove. She stumbled, reaching out for the Formica table to stop herself falling.