A Web of Lives, Page 4

The hall clock at number eight Cheviot Close showed ten thirty. Tobin had agreed to arrive early and clean up the hall after the removal of Rosemary’s body the previous day. He was standing at the open front door watching the van carrying away the damaged piece of hall carpet as the small, blue Ford approached. Teri was accompanied by PC Murdoch in the passenger seat. She parked at the entrance to the drive and walked up to the front door, the tall policewoman following. Tobin was glad to see that she was out of uniform. He saw Teri register the bare hall floor and swallow. She muttered, ‘thanks,’ quietly as she passed him and entered the house that had suddenly become her property.

  ‘I’ve not touched anything else,’ he told Murdoch, ‘but, I was nosy.’

  She looked at him enquiringly. He held up the bunch of house keys as explanation. ‘Both cars are still in the garage. So Alan must have used something else to carry away all his stuff.’ He tried not to look too smug at this deduction. Murdoch quickly put him in his place.

  ‘That’s presuming he moved everything in one go! But, it’s a thought. I know they’re checking taxis, but I don’t know about car and van hire companies. I’ll just use the phone.’

  Tobin followed Teri to the right of the front door into the front room. It looked in perfect order. All that was out of place was a pile of the week’s unread newspapers neatly stacked on a side table. The cream leather three piece suite and pale beige, deep pile carpet looked like new. The pictures and ornamentation were exactly as he remembered them from when they were installed new fifteen years before.

  This was a room for show only, for the guests that Rosemary considered important; they had become few and far between recently. The only other reason to enter the room was to dust it.

  That prompted Tobin to think aloud about the Harper’s cleaning lady. ‘What about Mrs Hunter?’

  ‘Mother fired her about a month ago,’ said Teri. ‘She complained all the time, apparently. So….’ She raised her hands, palms up-turned, in a gesture of despair. ‘I thought I saw her working in the Co-op, recently.’

  They returned to the hall and to Murdoch, who was still on the phone. Teri looked at the expensive parquet flooring exposed by the missing carpet at the foot of the stairs. She didn’t remember it. Tobin saw her puzzled look, he could remember it and when it was laid.

  Alan had had it installed shortly after they had moved in in answer to Rosemary’s request for a wood floor. The floorers had commented on the cost and that they hadn’t laid such a good one as this for a long while. Within a month Rosemary had an enormously expensive carpet laid on top of it.

  Not wanting to see the kitchen just yet Teri led the way upstairs. At the top she hesitated unsure of where to go first. She walked forward to her left and grasped a door handle, not expecting it to work. But, it did. They entered a room that neither of them had seen before, Alan’s private study. It was bare, with just the simple, functional furniture standing on the polished wood floor. Above the desk hung a large print of a desert scene; other landscapes hung around the walls, jungles, mountains and a polar ice cap. Lighter coloured squares of wallpaper showed where other pictures had once hung and two large empty frames leant against the end of the desk. Tobin wondered if they had been portraits, as the other pictures showed no trace of people. A Turkish rug on the floor and dark drapes at the French windows completed the décor. The drawers and filing cabinets were empty save for the odd piece of scrap paper here and there.

  Outside the window was a small wooden balcony with two very weathered seats and a superb view over rolling countryside.

  They looked at each other, she shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t know if anything was missing anyway, I’ve never been in here before. I was just curious. ’The next room was a man’s bedroom; again sparsely furnished, like the study, with a single bed neatly made, two large wardrobes and a simple dressing table. Teri made a quick check of the wardrobes; one was completely empty, the other contained a lot of dark, formal looking clothes and several pairs of highly polished shoes.

  ‘All his luggage has gone,’ she pointed to the tops of the wardrobes where presumably it had been kept, ‘and his summer and casual clothes’.

  Another door led into a bathroom, a door at the far end showed it to be shared. Teri ran her finger along the shelves checking off the contents, not a masculine item could be seen among the mess of shampoos, gels, lotions and all the clutter of a woman’s bathroom.

  ‘There was only his toothbrush and shaving things’, said Teri.

  They passed through the farther door into a larger bedroom. Teri hung back and let him go first. It was a woman’s bedroom, of that there could be no doubt and it was a mess. The curtains were part open. A large double bed stood against the far wall; a duvet in a flowery cover had been kicked off and lay partly on the floor. The bottom sheet was all crumpled and twisted; one fitted corner had ridden up exposing the mattress beneath. All the drawers were open some nearly falling out; clothes hung or lay everywhere, dirty laundry was scattered around a nearly empty linen basket in one corner.

  ‘This place certainly looks like it could have been ransacked,’ said Tobin, quietly. He turned to look at her. She held her head in her left hand, hiding her eyes. He put his arm round her shoulder in comfort, but she wasn’t crying.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she whispered, embarrassed. Murdoch had caught up with them, and quietly surveyed the room.

  ‘Seen it like this before, have you?’ She asked.

  Teri just nodded and walked out of the main door.

  They caught up with her on the landing where she had stopped to take some deep breaths, the air in the bedroom had been stale and musty and had brought back memories. Still, she didn’t cry. They checked the two guest bedrooms and bathroom; they all seemed untouched. They were back at the top of the stairs. She took a deep breath and descended.

  At the bottom of the stairs, opposite the front room, was the living room. In here there was less disturbance, more a look of untidy living. There was a scattering of magazines, papers, DVDs, CDs, a cardigan and a pair of slippers. At one end of a huge, well-worn settee was a pile of cushions and at the other end a blanket had been thrown back by the last occupant. Again there was the slightly musty smell, but mixed with the smell of stale alcohol. A large stain on the carpet by the settee showed where a large amount of liquid had spilled, beside it an empty whisky bottle had been thoughtfully stood back up by someone.

  On the large coffee table in the centre of the room lay some large photo albums, two of them open, one on top of the other. Teri bent down and flicked through them. She paused at a couple of pages where photos had been removed and closed each album as she finished it. A sliver of card fell from the spine of one as she placed it to one side. It was the edge of one of the pages left behind when it had been removed by tearing along the binding perforations. She shook her head, puzzled, and held up the strip for Tobin to see.

  ‘These albums haven’t been out in ages. I’m surprised she hasn’t thrown them out, actually. Mother stopped collecting photos seven or eight years ago, I have most of them, now, I rescued them from the bin. That was at the time when things started to go downhill, or, rather, when she gave up bothering to hide it.’

  Tobin looked at her in surprise, he hadn’t realised that the marriage had been that bad for that long. If she noticed the look Teri didn’t acknowledge it, she just kept staring down at the pile of albums. He wandered around the room peering at shelves and their contents. Teri joined him at an open cupboard. The contents of one shelf had subsided where the albums had been removed. There was a mixture of old letters, notes, recipes, some old photographs and paperback books all sliding over each other.

  She gave an exclamation and her hand shot up to her mouth; she hurried from the room. Tobin and Murdoch stared after her in surprise as they listened to her footsteps running up the stairs. The policewoman joined him in the room as they looked about. They bumped sho
ulders as they tried to move in opposite directions. Tobin muttered an apology as his gaze met hers. She smiled and he saw for the first time the faint laughter lines at the corners of her eyes, he was unaccustomed to tall women who looked him directly in the eye. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from those large, smiling, dark eyes, ‘I’ve…’ He had to clear his throat. ‘I’ve brought some milk, I’ll make some coffee, shall I?’ He suggested, brightly.

  ‘You haven’t looked in the kitchen, then?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  She wrinkled her nose, which was quite an attractive gesture, and shook her head.

  ‘As bad as that?’

  ‘Oh. Yes!’

  They heard footsteps descending the stairs and Teri reappeared carrying a small, old white suitcase.

  ‘Just where she always hid it.’ She said, relieved, putting it on the table on top of the albums. She popped the clips and the lid sprang open from the pressure of all the paper inside.

  ‘Much as it always was,’ she commented. ‘There’s everything in here, from insurance policies and important stuff like that, to old bills and receipts and rubbish.’

  Teri stopped and looked at him. She smiled. ‘Look, John. I’m OK, now. Shouldn’t you be at work or something? I don’t want to keep you. We’ll be OK, now. I’ll just sit here and plod through all this.’ She gave a silly giggle at the reference to plod and the sight of PC Murdoch. ‘Sorry. I am all right, honestly, I’ll ring you later or in the morning.’ She reached up and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. He glanced at Murdoch who gave an imperceptible nod of confirmation.

  ‘OK. Ring whenever you like. I’ll not be far away.’

  By that evening she had not rung and he decided he could not wait in forever.

  His first stop was the Northumberland Arms, one of many such named pubs in the county, Tobin was several paces in, his mind distracted by the events of the day, when he saw the group of men at the bar with Brian Dale at the centre. He had never had any direct dealings with Dale, but knew of the man’s reputation. Alan had once, foolishly, become involved with him, but had got out quickly after a few months, leading to considerable animosity, to put it mildly, between the two men. Dale pushed himself away from the bar and swayed a little as he faced Tobin. ‘Well. Here’s one of his apologists,’ he stumbled over the last word. ‘But, I’d bet anything you know where he is. Some man he is,’ he looked around, addressing his bunch of cronies, ‘drove his wife to drink, pushed her down the stairs and buggered off.’

  Tobin took a breath to answer, but thought better of it and headed for the landlord who was waving at him from the other end of the bar. Tobin made his way to his favourite position at the corner of the bar, where the broad, dark wood counter turned toward the backroom; he often sat here where he could watch both bars. He pulled up a barstool and sat down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dale regain the security of the bar barging aside the men that were in his way. He shouted the length of the bar at Tobin, ‘I used to wonder just what fiddles he was working! Lived like a lord, hiding away there in his little fortress, well, he’s up to his neck in shit now. We’ll soon find out, they’ll be digging into everything. Digging in his garden, I bet!’ He burst into raucous laughter at his own joke, elbowing the nearest man to encourage him to join in.

  Dale waved his beer glass unsteadily over the heads around him; fortunately it was almost empty and didn’t slop on those who were too slow to step back. ‘I had a word with friends of mine in the police this morning.’ He confided to his colleagues, his voice getting still louder. ‘Told them the secret was in the books. “Look in his books”, I told them.’ He looked down the bar at Tobin with glazed, unfocused eyes. ‘He was good with books. They were very interested.’ The heads turned toward Tobin again, who maintained his composure by ordering a pint of beer and ignored the provocation. Dale subsided against the bar.

  ‘Pay no attention, lad. He gets like that sometimes,’ said the landlord, trying to reassure himself as much as Tobin.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Tobin, eyeing the group. ‘That’s a club for failures, if ever I saw one. We should pity them.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t shout that about, lad, never the less!’ The big, normally cheerful publican glanced nervously over his shoulder at the group; his tone had changed in the space of just a breath. Tobin paid for his beer and, puzzled, watched Austin disappear into the other bar.

  The group around Dale stirred, rearranging themselves with much scraping of furniture. Two of the group brought some more seats from elsewhere. They were not dressed as formally as the others for whom they fetched and seemed to take no real part in the conversation; also, they were obviously not drunk like the rest. Dale’s minders? Or someone else’s? Tobin sipped his beer and watched them discreetly as some other topic took their interest. All the other faces in the main group were familiar to Tobin.

  Dale, sturdily built, six feet tall, was in the haulage business; he ran the family firm inherited from his father. He was tending to overweight these days and his face was the product of too much good living and stress. The once strong, full features were disappearing under a layer of fat; the pale eyes now seemed to peek out from between sagging brows and puffy cheeks. The feature that had always made Dale distinctive, the head of thick wavy hair, was still there, but very grey now rather than the luxuriant, black mop of his younger days. He had been a striking man once upon a time.

  Another face in the group ran market stalls, Tobin didn’t know his name, but had seen him at various markets around the county at different times, selling imported fancy and seasonal goods. He was a tough looking one - the minders might be his.

  Two of the others had to be brothers, he felt sure, as they looked so alike. The older of them was a car dealer. Tobin had been to one of his showrooms when looking for his present car. He hadn’t bought there, though; all the cars had been very high mileage ex-company cars at equally high prices. The younger ‘brother’ looked out of place, uncomfortable, in his dark suit. He stood stiffly; listening to the conversation and laughing, too loudly, at what he thought was the appropriate moment. His head jerked from side to side in exaggerated fashion as he followed the talk from one person to the next; his eyes a little too wide and staring.

  The fourth suited man Tobin knew by name, Brookes. A couple of years earlier he had tried to set up in business after leaving, some said being fired by, a large, multi-national company. He couldn’t get the backing and it later emerged that the company that he had parted from had found itself in serious trouble with the Customs and Excise. There had been questions asked about dealings with transport contractors and details of imported goods and materials, or, more precisely, a lack of details. Brookes had not worked since then, officially, but had spent a great deal of time around the Dale Transport organisation, which just happened to be one of the contractors implicated in the investigation, but there had been no further action, as far as anybody knew, and interest had faded.

  Most of this gossip Tobin had gleaned from Alan, who once, three years before, foolishly had dealings with Dales, but, quickly got out. Tobin knew that there were few people that Alan Harper would refuse to deal with, and both Dale and Brookes were top of the list.

  One of the minders stepped away from the group and began talking into a mobile phone. Tobin saw that the other had detached himself and was standing beyond the group at the far end of the bar against the wall, drinking a soft drink and watching them, and watching Tobin.

  The mobile phone disappeared and the minder joined Dale to discuss something, presumably the subject of the phone call. To Tobin, as he watched from his corner of the bar, Dale now appeared much more sober. The two men checked the time on their watches and Dale turned his attention back to the group of men. Tobin caught his glance as he assumed his previous, intoxicated, manner; this was intriguing stuff.

  Dale thumped the bar counter loudly, summoning the
landlord. He placed three ten-pound notes on the top and waved his hand over the group, indicating another round of drinks, to the cheers of the group. When the drinks arrived, all large measures of spirits, except the minders, Tobin noticed that Dale‘s remained untouched, although he appeared to be getting as merry as the rest of the group. The money was certainly flowing tonight, yet Tobin’s understanding of Dale‘s position was that the business was struggling and had been for years, according to some.

  The junior Dale had invested the minimum in the firm since inheriting it from his father, also called Brian. This had been the cause for much speculation in some areas as to the honesty of the concern. Tobin had questioned Alan on the subject after his sudden departure from the firm, which he had joined as a partner despite the dire warnings of several of the local business fraternity.

  ‘You’ve gotta watch that bugger, you know.’ Tobin looked up and met the worried gaze of Austin Tadworth the landlord.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘No, seriously, watch yourself. He’s had it in for Mr Harper for a time now. Don’t know why, don’t want to, but he’s seen his chance with all this business with Mrs Harper. Hey, it’s sad that, i’nit? That’s what all this is about, you nah.’ He nodded backwards toward the group of men. Tobin knew. ‘They’ve all had dealings with Harpers and can’t wait to make the most of it. Mind my words, if Dale can get enough like that around him he’ll be big trouble.’

  ‘Thanks, Austin. I’ll take care.’ He tried to sound as sincere as he could. Somehow he could not take the group at the end of the bar too seriously. But, they still cast a shadow of doubt. Particularly as he caught another of Dale‘s steely glances.

  ‘I’m not a natural business man, you know what I mean?’ said the publican, plaintively. Tobin nodded, hoping he was just meant to agree.

  ‘I just know how to cater for people,’ he continued.

  ‘And very well you do it, Austin.’

  ‘When it comes to the clever bits with business, well … I’m not always that interested, to be honest. But, Alan’s different, he enjoys all that and he really enjoys getting into it with us, me and them like me. And I’m grateful, and all and I don’t mind who I tell. But, there’s some,’ his head inclined ever so slightly toward the Dale group, again, ‘who aren’t so grateful. They were quick enough to seek help, take it for granted, like, but then don’t accept it. You know? Can’t admit it. And there’s a few, not a million miles from here, who’ve taken good advice and then been that bloody-minded they’ve done the exact opposite. And then, when it all went wrong, who did they blame? Uhuh. Alan.’ He nodded, sagely. Then, thinking he had probably been talking far too much, bustled off into the back bar.

  How typical of Alan, Tobin thought. Many, if not most, people in Longalnbury had witnessed these little acts of kindness. Not that Alan would have called them that, himself. He was a distant man by nature, never usually getting involved with individuals, but, he would quietly mutter a word of advice or a suggestion in passing. However, whenever he received thanks, or any demonstration of gratitude, he was plainly embarrassed, but, Tobin knew, secretly pleased. However, any suggestion of personal publicity and he became openly hostile, the mere suggestion of any public display of gratitude, or any kind of photographs for publicity purposes sent him into a real spin; quite unusual behaviour which he would never explain.

  The refurbishment, a few years back, of his main office had involved displaying photographs of all the staff for clients to see; an attempt by the manager, Carol Adams, to take a photo of Alan and include it with the rest had nearly ended their ten year working relationship. Tobin had wondered if the publication of the photo he took at the charity dance Alan had organised had been the reason for not seeing him for the last few weeks.

  Austin, the landlord wandered back to Tobin’s part of the bar. Tobin pushed his empty glass toward him; he took it, selected a clean glass and began to fill it.

  ‘How long have you known Alan Harper, Austin?’ enquired Tobin. The publican blew out his cheeks, making puffing sounds as he thought back. The pint glass was full before he finally decided.

  ‘Since he arrived, I suppose. I think I can remember him coming in here looking for somewhere to stay. Well, I do remember him coming in here for that, but I think that was when he first arrived. I thought he was a foreign tourist, you know? He had this funny accent, then, quite strong. And a dark suntan, ‘cos his hair was very fair, his skin was definitely much darker. Isn’t that funny? You know, I hadn’t thought about that in years. For a while I was, you know, a bit wary of him. He was a bit strange, in some ways. Didn’t mix much for a long while, he was quite…’ He hunted about looking for an appropriate word.

  ‘Withdrawn?’

  ‘Mmm. S’pose so. He did a lot of things, lot of sport, worked hard, all that, he just didn’t socialise. That’s what it was. He was a bit like you, you know?’

  ‘Really?’ Tobin tried not to look too surprised.

  ‘Mmm. Used to do all sorts of odd jobs. Very clever, could do anything, quick as anything, ‘cos he was so fit, I suppose. But then he started doing peoples books; he was very good at that, turned out he was qualified. Very quick. Used to do them at night, you know?’

  ‘Uhuh?’ Tobin indicated for the landlord to join him in a drink.

  ‘Well, I don’t mind if I do. I’ll have a half, if that’s OK. Alan used to come in here a lot in his early days, most days, in fact. Used to do my books, in fact. Most nights then he’d have some sport practice or something going on and then come in here with whatever group it was he was with. He’d leave them and go in the office there and tidy up my accounts. I used to give him food and drink in return. Good deal, I thought. In fact,’ he said, with a degree of pride, ‘it was me what suggested he start up properly, in his own right, as a business. Trouble is, it started to cost me then!’ His hearty laugh drew attention from the other end of the bar. But, it was short-lived, they quickly returned to their discussion, they had gone very quiet Tobin realised.

  Austin was not going to be put off his story, now he had started. ‘He began to socialise a bit more then, he didn’t work quite so many hours.’ He leant across the counter, conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me though, his socialising was getting a bit near the edge, if you see what I mean.’

  Tobin raised his eyebrows in innocent enquiry.

  ‘He was a terror for the women, you know?’

  ‘Really?’ He always had been, thought Tobin.

  ‘Oh, yes. I think he had a few close calls with some husbands and boyfriends, from what I heard. There might be a few grudges still floating about, even now, after all this time.’ He glanced about him to see who might be listening, even though it was plainly obvious that they were alone. ‘There could even be some not so old. He has been seen with other women, you know? Not hereabouts, but in Morpeth and Newcastle, though. I’ve got a few friends around and they’ve seen him in pubs and restaurants with some pretty good looking women, and in clubs, too!’

  ‘Well, it’s none of my business. They could have been business contacts, for all we know.’

  ‘Oh. Of course, of course.’ He agreed, hurriedly. ‘You know me, I’m not one to spread stuff like that. I only told you because you’re a friend of his … too. We’ve got to do what we can for him, haven’t we? If there’s anything I can do to help him….’ He shrugged, waving his tea towel about as he dried glasses. Tobin sipped his drink thoughtfully as the publican sidled up the bar to check on his customers huddled at the other end. He was ignored, they had obviously found something else far more interesting now, they had become very quiet. Austin returned to his more receptive client.

  ‘How long did he run the book-keeping business, then, Austin?’

  ‘Well, he’s never stopped, really. It just got bigger; he employs others to do it, now. You remember? He employed that accountant lad, can’t remember his name
right now. He left after a year and his friend took his place, that’s Michael and he brought his friend, the other Alan, to join him a while later.

  ‘Then he took on the building society agency, and then the insurances, and then he went in partnership with the estate agency and opened the other offices. That’s where he’s made his real money, when he was bought out. His share of that was … something …’ He paused, realising that his mouth was running away. ‘… so I’m told!’

  Most of this Tobin already knew, but he hadn’t thought in detail about the value of that buy-out. There had been several estate agents offices in the chain around the area, they must have been worth quite a lot of money when they were sold, and Alan had been the major shareholder in that company. No wonder he could afford to pay off the house for Rosemary and buy Teri an expensive flat in the Jesmond area of Newcastle. He had already been a wealthy man; his value was what Tobin had just been trying to piece together in his head, with the aid of Austin’s gossip. Alan Harper had always been very discreet about his money. His car, although it was a Mercedes, was quite modest, particularly when compared to the rest of Cheviot Close. His lifestyle was also modest, he enjoyed the good things of life, of that there was no doubt, but it was all in moderation. The house had been his only real extravagance, but that had been at an understandable time, his marriage.

  Alan had fingers in so many things, some of which were certainly worth money, but many of which he kept to himself, that trying to establish his personal wealth could only be a guessing game. Tobin sat trying to mentally list the two sides, those that were financial interests and the others, like Austin and himself, who received more in the way of moral support; an investment for the future, perhaps? He didn’t get very far with his mental arithmetic. The party at the end of the bar was breaking up noisily.

  Austin was back and carried on as if he hadn't left. ‘You’ve done all right by Alan Harper, haven't you?’ He asked, bluntly. He saw Tobin’s surprised look. ‘I mean you’ve done OK for yourself, as well, you got that helping hand along the way.’ That was quite true, of course.

  All through their friendship Alan had kept feeding him little ideas and tips. Individually they had meant very little and Tobin had often been tempted to ignore them, but, time and again, they had proved correct and profitable. Where Tobin just saw routine work Alan, annoyingly, always seemed to spot little shortcuts and opportunities that brought that bit of extra money, making all the difference.

  It had been Alan’s suggestion that had started Tobin on his first, and only, business venture. They had found a small van and Tobin had started couriering from Newcastle to Longalnbury and around the county. At first, most of the work had been for Alan and his various concerns, but, word had spread quickly and Tobin found himself busy, often working seven days a week. He had kept it going for two or three years, but eventually got fed up with the hassle of employing others when the business grew too large for him to handle alone. And, he couldn’t deny that it was nothing like what he really wanted to do.

  They had tried to sell to Brian Dale, of all people, but he had laughed them off the premises. That must have been the beginning of the rot in the Dale/Harper relationship, Tobin supposed. He had subsequently sold the business quite quickly to one of the growing number of national firms, then expanding, for a considerable sum of money, in Tobin’s eyes. Alan refused to take any share of the proceeds, other than the small amount of money that was still owed him for the extra vans that had been acquired, even though the success had been due, in great part, to his skill in spotting openings. He had even joined in couriering for fun, taking a van out himself, just for a break away from his office. Interestingly, when the time came he had not tried to dissuade Tobin from selling; the novelty had obviously worn off for him, too.

  Tobin had no hesitation investing his new found wealth under the guidance of Alan, either. Once again it proved fruitful. In the space of a few years his capital had more than just grown, it had multiplied.

  But, the most promising innovation had been Tobin’s introduction to Sandra Hickman, another of Alan’s good-looking friends. She had taken over as editor of the paper shortly after Alan led the consortium of locals in acquiring the ownership. For years the local paper had been run by one man and had steadily declined in line with his health and age. They had caught it just before it buried itself.

  In a typical whirlwind of activity Alan had arranged the delivery of computer technology and the donation of the old, but still working, printing press to a museum; rearranged the delivery contracts; made new contracts with other printers and hired the new editor. Only one edition was lost, but, at the time, probably no one noticed. However, the profile of the paper quickly rose and Tobin was taken on as Sandra Hickman’s ‘Man Friday’; how she loved to wind him up with that expression; he had apparently ‘been doing nothing’ for most of the previous year and found himself volunteered for the job. It lasted for three months until he had run himself ragged. He then surprised himself by giving them the ultimatum of ‘a proper job or nothing!’ and achieving a good bargain, in his opinion. He didn’t bother trying to explain to Alan and others just why he preferred a casual arrangement of the kind he had agreed, it was easier to let them think of him as slightly eccentric. He had in fact taken a leaf out of Alan Harper‘s book and organised himself out of a bad situation while retaining the best bits.

  He began referring to himself as a journalist after this, but soon realised how pretentious this was as he got to grips with the glamour of births, marriages, deaths, court cases and road accidents. All of which had to be reported in the minimum number of words.

  ‘He means it, you know.’

  ‘What?’ Tobin looked up at Austin, the rotund mine-host, who faced him over the bar but was half glancing toward the departing group at the other end of the bar. Tobin realised that Dale had shouted some departing insult at him while he sat reminiscing into his beer glass.

  ‘I’ve not seen anyone so full of hate as that man recently,’ said Austin, pummelling glasses up and down in the sink. He felt safe to speak now that the bar was clear.

  ‘Ah! It’s just the drink, Austin.’ But Tobin was not entirely convinced. He might not have caught the shouted threat but the departing look had said more than words.

  He finished his pint and left.

  An evening stroll had been his original intention when he left his flat, but now he found himself back at his own front door, so he went in.

  With the kettle on and an hour to spare before the Ten-o-Clock News he decided to have a bit of a tidy up and sort out, or, at least, to try and begin one. He could trace the previous tidy-ups by studying the strata of debris and litter in the office. He started with the floor. To him that was logical as he would need that space to put stuff while sorting out. What he now gathered up and added to the piles already on top of the three filing cabinets was of course the product of similar, abandoned, attempts in the past. At his feet under the desk was a pile of old papers that he tipped straight into the bin. There was only one newspaper; it was folded around a stack of mail. In a flash, Tobin knew what he had forgotten. There was his credit card bill! He placed it carefully, unopened, on his keyboard. Beneath it was a large white envelope addressed in a hand that he now recognised. He dropped the rest of the mail on the floor and, with a slight tightening of the chest, slit open the envelope.

  Inside was a sheet of white paper like the one shown him at Alan’s house, only minus the stain.

  ‘John,

  I can’t begin to explain all this. I have to leave. It’s a bit awkward and I wasn’t quite ready. Will you keep an eye on things for me? Please? I’ll try and get in touch as soon as I can when things have settled down. I know this is asking a lot and it will be very difficult for you, but one day I will explain and hopefully you will understand. I think you will find it v. interesting. I’ve taken care of Rosemary, just watch out for Teri, pleas
e.

  Au revoir, mon ami,

  Alan.

  He read through the note a second time. That last line was a bit unfortunate. He picked up the envelope and studied it. He hunted out his magnifying glass; it turned up in the folder containing the maps of the Davies’ house. Through the glass he could determine that the envelope was postmarked for the Saturday before last; the weekend when Rosemary probably died. Tobin could remember receiving that mail now. He sat back and swallowed hard in a dry throat, wondering just what to do. That last line of the letter was very awkward. The kettle clicked in the kitchen.

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