Guilty Pleasures (17 page)

‘Trouble is, we've no idea who he is, and we hoped you could fill us in a little, Mr Tripp. We gather that you were at least acquainted with him.'

‘I've never used his real name, ever. Even to Lina he was always X. Because I promised I wouldn't. I'm not even sure the name he gave me is his real name, because he didn't trust many people. He scavenged car-boot sales and skips, and despite his perpetual fug of alcohol he had an eye for a bargain. He bought dirt cheap and sold for not very much more. Lina was shocked at how little I paid him, but that was part of the deal. He told me if I gave him twenty pounds, it would become twenty pounds' worth of alcohol. He didn't need to tell me that such an amount could be fatal. He made regular trips here and, I should imagine, to other dealers. I never asked, though, Mr White, because I was sure he wouldn't tell me. Once he came to find DI Morris of the Met Fine Arts Squad having breakfast here. I should be very surprised if he told him any more about himself. And very recently he came across Lina, I hear – who fed him well and gave him a couple of pounds more than he'd have got out of me.' He flashed me a loving smile.

‘Did he always bring good quality items, sir?'

‘Sometimes he brought absolute pups. I still paid him. Once he brought an item I sold for thousands. I still gave him no more than a tenner. But he wanted me to know if anything happened to him. If he died, of course,' he corrected himself angrily. ‘I don't think he expected it to be in a comfortable bed. He said he always carried a slip of paper telling whoever found him to contact me.' Griff's voice was very bleak. ‘Always,' he added.

Steve's head jerked back. ‘I don't think – I'd better check on that, sir.'

‘Please do. It may have significance. You know that someone forced his way into our cottage recently – I've only just returned from a touch of convalescence. The intruder gained admittance by claiming he had news of X for me.'

Steve had done his homework. ‘You didn't say that in your statement, sir.'

‘So I didn't. Because X wouldn't have thanked me for bringing him to your attention. But now he's dead, I can.'

‘You still refer to him as X, sir.'

‘My apologies. Graham Parker. I believe he was in what they now call the military, which is surely an adjective, not a noun. Another Americanism, I fear. The SAS. So he was a tough man. I only dared mention his family once. I believe the expression is “being blanked out”. As for his daily doings, I know nothing. It wasn't that I didn't care, Officer. I took the view that as long as he came here for regular amounts of money – and yes, I fed him too, Lina, when he would accept it – I was keeping together what little was left of his self-esteem. In fact, I was always surprised to see him again – constantly afraid that one of your colleagues would bring the sad news of his death, brought by that slip of paper which I deduce has not been found. Or acted on?' Griff shot him a suddenly sharp look.

Steve took the hint. Producing his mobile, he asked Griff if he could make a call.

‘You'll find the best coverage over by the door.'

We watched Steve's face. We knew the answer before he gave it.

‘So what happened to it?' he wondered aloud, sitting down hard. He produced that grin again, but an ironic version, making him look very sinister. ‘Your visitor might know. And I've some news, sir. Normally in a case like this, the PM is low priority. It's suddenly jumped up the list.'

Griff nodded. ‘Are you ex-army yourself?'

‘I look as if I should have been, you mean? Actually, my degree was in Divinity.'

I tried not to goggle and even harder not to squeak when I piped up, ‘He sold me a snuffbox. Pretty well the twin of the priceless one I talked about on TV. It was a fake,' I said bluntly. ‘I didn't say anything so I don't know if he knew it was. But he was ready to grab it back when I asked him if he'd got it from near Bossingham. Does this mean he knew something or that he just didn't like being questioned?' I asked, meaning the question for Griff.

‘More likely just the latter,' he said.

If I hadn't been to London, Griff reasoned, London should come to me. The bags he'd had to leave in the kitchen were full of things he hoped would please me. The plunder this time included the latest phone, with every app in the world: I'd have to ask Morris to talk me through using it, since Griff handed it over as if it had dropped from a spaceship. There were prettier undies than I'd ever have bought for myself, unguents to keep me eternally youthful and sweet smelling, a palette of eye make-up, and so many titbits from Harrods Food Hall we might never have to cook again. Actually, these were really for Griff, but I accepted them as part of the whole coney . . . corny . . . the whole overflowing horn thing they had on statues with flowers and fruit tumbling out. I'd have to look it up. There was even another bear from Aidan, another limited-edition button-eared Steiff. They really had started to attach themselves to me, like the beginning of an expensive collection, but I relegated them to my bookshelves so that Tim, who cost comparatively little but who was worth more than rubies, wouldn't feel threatened.

Cornucopia
!

Griff's face had healed nicely, and he tried desperately to bubble with enthusiasm about his trip.

‘There's no need,' I said, pouring him a more generous pre-supper drink than usual. ‘I hardly knew X, but I feel sort of sore, here.' I pressed my heart. ‘Did you really tell Steve White everything about him?'

‘Everything I knew. Which was nothing. Family? Friends? There must be people out there wondering what happened to dear old Graham, or to that strange Mr Parker. And now they may find out the most horrible way.'

While I put out a selection of the Harrods' delights, Griff checked the messages I'd taken for him and his personal, as opposed to our business, emails. The phone rang. I was ready to dive for it, but of course he was in the office already, so I was jumping up and down by the time Griff returned.

‘Josie,' he said. ‘Apparently, your double is alive and kicking in St Leonard's. She's seen her twice on the bus. But, of course, poor Josie isn't up to tailing anyone, not unobtrusively at least, poor darling.' He looked at me. ‘Do I gather that dear Josie wasn't the person you hoped was phoning?'

‘It's the news I didn't want. I've a nasty feeling it's not going to turn out well, this double.'

He hugged me, but then held me so he could look at my face. ‘Could she be a half-sister? Would this worry you? You've pretty well got your father house-trained at last. Are you afraid this newcomer will upset the tenor of your existence?'

I let him see that I was trying hard to work things out. ‘I think my father and I are gradually managing a working relationship, not really father and daughter for all he wants me to call him Pa. Yes!' He'd know my smile wasn't altogether wholehearted. ‘Quite a breakthrough. And in the past, when he thought other people might have some claim on him, he went out of his way – for him! – to reassure me that they'd have to work their passage, same as I'd done. So that's not really a problem. It's just the fact that this other Lina's obviously really upset someone else very badly. The guy at the Cathedral,' I reminded him. ‘I met him again in M and S and he recurled—'

‘Recoiled, loved one.'

‘He recoiled as if he'd come across a viper among the olive oil bottles.'

‘As one would. So what do you propose to do?'

‘Lie low for a bit. With witnesses, preferably! Oh, Griff, I've spent so much time with Robin, who's going through some sort of personal crisis, and with Morris, whose got a bit of a crisis of his own, I'm so behind in my work, and we've got Matford looming and—'

‘Morris? A crisis? Not that I want you to break confidences, loved one.'

‘The cuts and his job, for one thing. And there's a problem with Penny.'

‘Ah.' To my surprise he hugged me again.

I had a sudden panic. Would he smell Morris's aftershave on my hair? And what would he say – or worse, not say – if he did?

‘We could skip Matford? It's only one day.'

‘I've got a repair for Harvey I told him I'd return to him when we were down. Oh, Griff, that nice man Trev had a tracking device planted on his van – two, actually, same as Robin did – when he brought the vase down. Everything's so bloody complicated – hiding in my workroom doing nothing but make things better seems such a lovely idea.'

‘One that can easily be put into operation, I trust. But your work needs a steady hand, dear child. With all that's been afflicting you, are you sure you can manage it?'

I think my jaw jutted a bit. ‘I've never let anyone down yet.'

With Griff pottering around the cottage and taking over the Internet part of our business again, I settled down into a steady routine of work. Weekday and weekend blended into one when I shut the workroom door.

At least, that was the theory.

Griff set himself the task of dealing with Robin: he prepared a pile of meals for his freezer and, against my advice, set off in our van to deliver them. He also made me take time out to return the hire car. Talk about bravado. I just hoped the villain who was so keen on getting his hands on the box had seen the TV programme and knew I didn't have it any more.

Steve dropped by again, but he needed to speak to Griff, not me, so I only had an edited version of the interviews, which, Griff told me, only consisted of news that there was nothing definite from the PM, but further tests were needed and would take time.

‘By the way, I said we'd pay for his funeral, as and when,' he added sadly.

Morris, deep into the Monet plot, texted me from time to time and sent a couple of longer emails. It seemed he had half his house back, but that he and Penny lived in different parts of it (was it some mansion?). He spent as much time with Leda as he could, for which Penny seemed grateful. I don't know whether this was meant to cheer me or not; I don't know whether it did or not.

EIGHTEEN

N
o one seeing Matford would imagine what a haven of safety it seemed to me. I even greeted the smell like an old friend.

I've never been sure what the smell was. A lot of industrial-strength disinfectant for starters. That isn't surprising, since Matford isn't an upmarket girls' school supplementing the fees to maintain a Victorian pile or a purpose-built hall like those in the NEC. Matford lurks in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Exeter and is really a cattle market. If you have any doubts, look behind the stalls and their displays: you'll see large signs directing you to the Dairy Cattle Sale Ring and Sheep Pennage and giving you advice on how to keep flies and midges from your stock. There's a firm of charted accountants, presumably specializing in farmers' money, and, something Griff always points out, no matter how many times I've seen them, the premises of Townsend, Chartered Surveyors. I always manage a giggle for him when he offers to cross out the ‘s' to make the surname like mine.

It wasn't so much a giggle as an ironic snort that we both gave when we saw where our stand had been located this time. Right outside the offices of Devon County Council Trading Standards Service.

‘Just in case we try to palm off a dud and get caught out,' Griff said.

As if.

Once we had set up, adjusting the lighting as carefully as if we were in the salon of a stately home, I set out for my usual prowl. Often dealers came across items that didn't sit well with their usual stock and would give fellow dealers a discount on them. Griff had a partial Clarice Cliff tea set he really didn't like and was well out of our core period, but even as I headed off, I could see a Cliff specialist heading his way. On a mostly treen stand, I was offered a shagreen spectacle case that was ideal for one of our regulars back in Kent. What I really hoped was that I would be summoned to something by my divvy instinct, as I often was – though preferably nothing as controversial as the snuffbox.

Not a single inviting vibe. I was just about to drift back when I saw a familiar face. What was Titus Oates doing so far from home? There was no point in making a beeline for him: that wasn't how you approached Titus. But he caught my eye and gave the tiniest of nods.

I was just passing the Prime Cattle sign when he drifted over to me.

‘A lot of murky stuff going on,' he said. ‘Griff OK now?'

‘Over there. Shame about X.'

His face tightened, no doubt about it. And Titus never, ever allowed himself to show emotion. ‘Told you to watch your back, didn't I?' He added, ‘Never drank himself to death before, did he?'

I stared. So he thought the death was suspicious – I think.

Another tiny nod. ‘Your old man's very busy. Wouldn't do to drop by without due warning. Specially with that cop of yours in tow.'

‘I texted Pa the other day. He said it wasn't a good time. And I've been busy since. Well, this for one thing.' Why did I always end up talking like him?

‘Pa? Hmm. Might welcome your thoughts on something. Not now.' He was gone.

What an honour! The great Titus wanting my advice! It wasn't usually like that. What on earth was he puzzled by? I did another turn of the area, in the opposite direction from the one he'd taken, but still had no vibes. Not good ones, at least.

‘Are you well, my love?' Griff greeted me, still stowing cash in his wallet.

‘Just the smell making me queasy, probably.'

‘It's enough to turn one vegetarian, isn't it? Ah! Here comes Joe Public. And in good numbers too.'