Читать книгу Killing the Lawyers - Reginald Hill - Страница 10

It took the police doctor’s confirmation that Sandra Iles had been dead between twelve and fifteen hours to move Sergeant Chivers away from the pious hope that Joe had been caught in the act. But it didn’t move him far.

‘OK, so maybe you were just revisiting the scene of your crime,’ said Chivers. ‘Let’s concentrate on what you were doing between say seven and ten last night. And if you were sitting at home watching the telly, the courts don’t accept alibi evidence from cats!’

‘Shoot,’ said Joe. ‘Then I’m in real trouble, ’cos my witnesses are a lot less reliable than Whitey.’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘It means that for most of the time, I was here being questioned by you, Sarge. Remember?’

Chivers closed his eyes in silent pain.

‘And when you were done with me, I went straight round to the Glit to wash the taste out of my mouth,’ said Joe, pressing his advantage.

‘The lowlife that drink there are anyone’s for a pint,’ said Chivers without real conviction.

‘I’ll tell Councillor Baxendale you said that, shall I? We got there the same time, and it’s true, I bought him a pint.’

Dickie Baxendale was chair of the council’s police liaison committee.

Chivers said, ‘Just tell me again what you were doing at Number 7, Coach Mews.’

Joe told him again, or rather told him the revised version which was that, being keen to assure Ms Iles of his innocence in the matter of Potter’s death, and not trusting the police to set the record straight (a good authenticating point this) he had decided to call on her personally.

‘Mr Dorken said you spoke to someone before you went in.’

Mr Dorken, the ‘military gent’, had turned out to be a retired fashion designer. Just showed how wrong you could be.

‘That was a bit of play-acting,’ admitted Joe, who knew the value of a plum of truth in a pudding of lies. ‘The door opened by itself and I got worried ’cos Mr Dorken was watching me suspiciously. Sorry.’

‘It’s stupid enough to be true,’ admitted Chivers reluctantly.

DC Doberley called him out of the room for a moment. When he returned he said, ‘Come across any Welshmen recently, Sixsmith?’

Joe thought of Starbright Jones, decided against mentioning him, and said, ‘Can’t think of any. Why?’

‘There’s an odd message on Ms Iles’s answerphone. Funny accent, could be Welsh.’

Pride almost made Joe protest, but sense prevailed.

He said, ‘Everybody sounds funny on tape. Can I go now, Sarge? I’ve got an appointment. For a job. In sport.’

‘Oh yes? Who with? Head scout down the football club?’ Chivers sneered.

And Joe couldn’t resist replying, ‘No. It’s Zak Oto down the Plezz. Got your ticket for the opening, have you, Sarge?’

To the faithful, the Plezz with its great silver sports dome from which radiated all the other support and activity buildings in broad and tree-flanked avenues, was Luton’s Taj Mahal. Literally, according to some who claimed that every local mobster who’d gone missing in the past decade had been consigned to the depths of its concrete foundations. Metaphorically there was certainly blood on its bricks. Since the idea first got floated in the overreaching eighties, fortunes had been made and lost, reputations inflated and burst, both locally and nationally. At times the government had pointed to it proudly as the very model of partnership between public money and private enterprise, at others it had provided a gleeful opposition with yet more ammo to hurl across the floor of the House. But once under way, like a juggernaut it had rolled on: and though the complexion of the local council had fluctuated in tune with the times, and work had sometimes slowed almost to a standstill, no one had had the nerve to pull the plug altogether and make Luton and its folly the mockery of the civilized world.

So now, ten years on, it was finished, and though Joe had generally been of the party who thought the whole idea was crazy, now as he drove along the main avenue, with that phlegmatic pragmatism which makes Lutonians such great survivors, he felt a glow of proprietorial pride.

He was a bit late, partly Chivers’s fault, partly Whitey’s. He’d rushed back to rescue the cat from the office and found him full of indignation at having been left so long. Also of pee because he was clearly going to have nothing to do with his new puce tray, so they’d had to stop at the first flowerbed as they reached the Plezz complex and despite the evident urgency, it had taken the cat the usual ten minutes of careful exploration with many false starts to find the piece of earth precisely suited to his purpose.

Being late didn’t matter, however, as he clearly wasn’t expected.

‘I’m here to see Zak Oto,’ said Joe to the armed guard. In fact he wasn’t armed, but he looked as if this was just because he’d left his Kalashnikov in his ARV as he felt like tearing intruders limb from limb today.

‘You and a thousand others,’ he said. ‘Piss off.’

‘She’s expecting me,’ said Joe.

‘She’d be wise to have an abortion then,’ said the guard.

‘Hey, man, why so rude?’ asked Joe. ‘OK, you’ve got a job to do, but maybe you should remember who’s paying you and do it politely.’

‘Sorry,’ said the guard. ‘Piss off, sir!’

Joe regarded him almost admiringly. Dick Hull, manager of the Glit where they liked their humour subtle, should book this guy for Show Nite.

Meanwhile he stood there, like the big dog they’d told him about at school, guarding the entrance to hell, though why anyone should have wanted to get into hell Joe had never quite grasped. But the way to get round him was toss him something to eat.

Trouble was, Joe couldn’t think of anything this guy might have an appetite for except maybe his head.

‘Joe Sixsmith? Is that you?’

A burly balding man in a tracksuit had come out of the door leading into the depths of the Dome. He was smiling at Joe.

‘Yeah, this is me,’ admitted Joe.

‘Thought it was. Don’t recognize me, do you?’

In fact the man’s creased and weather-beaten face did look familiar. But there was a sense of a thinner, younger face peering out of fortyish flesh which was more, though differently, familiar.

‘Jim Hardiman,’ said the man. ‘We were at school together.’

It was the nose that finally did it.

‘You mean Hooter Hardiman?’ said Joe.

A shadow touched the smile like a crow floating across the sun.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Long time no see, eh?’

But in fact Joe had seen Hardiman several times both in the local paper and on the telly since he had come to prominence, first as Zak’s trainer, then as sports director of the Plezz. He felt ashamed as a PI that he’d never made the connection between the grown man, Jim, and the schoolboy, Hooter. His excuse was that the nose which had stood out like a chilli on a cheesecake at fifteen had been absorbed and assimilated by forty. Also the boy had been a class above him and they’d never had much more contact than the usual ritual bullying a schoolboy heavy feels it necessary to dish out to whoever gets in his way in order to encourage the others.

But now it was best-years-of-our-lives time.

‘Heard a lot about you recently, Joe, and often meant to look you up. Have a chat about the good old times we had together.’

Would take all of ten seconds, thought Joe.

He said, ‘That would be great, Hoo … er, Jim. But I’m here to see Zak just now. Any idea where she is?’

‘Zak? She expecting you?’

‘That’s right, Mr Hardiman. Ms Oto told me to look out for him.’

This was the gung-ho guard unexpectedly coming to his support.

Joe said, ‘You knew that, why all this guard-dog crud?’

‘Thought you were just a pushy fan, didn’t I? Ms Oto didn’t tell me you’d look like … how you look.’

A diplomat already, thought Joe.

Hardiman said, Thanks, Dave. Come on, Joe. Let me show you the way.’

He set off into the Dome with Joe following. The place was full of workmen.

‘You going to be ready on time?’ said Joe, gingerly edging past WET PAINT signs.

‘No sweat,’ said Hardiman. ‘Gilding the lily is all. Time for a quick word.’

It wasn’t a question. As he uttered the words he opened a door marked DIRECTOR OF PHYSICAL RECREATION, a title rather larger than the office he ushered Joe into. There were lots of files and correspondence in evidence, but all neatly stacked. To Joe, who could create chaos out of two sheets of paper and an empty desk, it looked like the workplace of a busy but well-ordered man.

‘Have a pew,’ said Hardiman, ‘and tell me what this is all about.’

‘Can’t do that, Hoo … er, Jim,’ said Joe. ‘Private business.’

‘So you’re here professionally?’

So it wasn’t Hooter who suggested me, thought Joe as he shrugged noncommittally.

‘OK. But I need to know if this is anything to do with that stupid business about that phone call.’

Another shrug. It was pretty good this shrugging business. Saved a man a lot of tripping over his tongue.

‘I’ll take that as a yes. Listen, Joe, I appreciate you got a duty of confidentiality, but I’ve got duties too, and anything to do with the New Year meeting is my business. Zak told me about the call, I told her it was the price of fame, some nutter, ignore it. I thought I got through. What’s happened? There been more?’

Joe varied the shrug with a little hand movement, sort of French, he felt.

‘OK, so there’s been more. Listen, Joe, I’ve got to know this. Is Zak seriously thinking about scratching because of this crap?’

There didn’t seem any harm in saying, ‘No, I don’t think scratching’s an option,’ till he’d said it, after which he realized it implied agreement with all that had gone before. But shoot, not even a Frenchman could shrug forever.

‘Thank God for that. But if she’s so worried, why hire you? Why not talk to me again, or go to the police?’

Back to the shrug.

‘I’ll tell you why,’ said Hardiman after a moment’s pause for thought. ‘The girl’s worried someone close to her may be involved. And if that’s right, if it’s someone in her family, Zak wouldn’t want that to get public. She’s a loyal girl.’

Wasn’t so loyal to you, thought Joe.

He said, ‘Why should she think someone in her family could be out to harm her? Thought she was the apple of their eye.’

‘I take it you haven’t met her sister?’ said Hardiman. ‘Zak might be the apple of her parents’ eyes, but she’s the pip up sister Mary’s nose.’

With a mental sigh, Joe abandoned all shrugs and pretence. This sounded too important to miss.

He said, ‘What’s the set-up? Young sister having all the talent, getting all the attention?’

‘Half right,’ said Hardiman. ‘But Mary was talented too, very talented. Squash was her game, and she was good. I’ve known her a long time. She used to work out at the gym where I took my athletes for weight training. From thirteen, fourteen on she had just one idea in her mind. She was going to be the world’s Number One Woman, and nothing was going to get in her way. And I think she might have made it too if it hadn’t been for the accident.’

‘Hey, I think I remember something of that in the Bugle,’ said Joe. ‘Car smash, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right. She was driving her parents to see Zak run. They were shaken and bruised, nothing more, but Mary got her knee mangled. End of hopes.’

Joe said, ‘You tell that story like there’s a lot more to it, Jim.’

‘Sensitive soul, aren’t you?’ said Hardiman. ‘Listen, I’m into confidentiality too. Was a time when Zak used to tell me everything. There are things I figure you ought to know because of this situation you’ve got yourself into. But I don’t want Zak knowing it comes from me, you understand me, Joe?’

Back to the playground, Hooter’s voice soft, but his eyes oh so hard and menacing.

‘Just tell me what you want to tell me, Jim,’ said Joe mildly.

Hardiman looked like this wasn’t the cued response, then said, ‘OK. Way I got it from Zak was that in her parents’ eyes she was the star who needed cosseting, Mary was the toughie could look after herself. Easy to see why. Mary was completely single minded, didn’t care what kind of impression she made. While Zak, well, you’ve met her. Can’t help liking her, can you?’

‘No,’ agreed Joe. ‘So what happened?’

‘OK, this night, Mary was late picking up her parents – her dad’s car was in dock, which was why she was doing the driving. Reason she was late was she’d been playing in a club competition and the woman she beat was the Great Britain Number 2, and there’d been a journalist there who’d wanted to interview her afterwards. None of her family there though. So she’d got home full of this, only to be yelled at ’cos she was late taking them to see Zak run. Henry, that’s her dad, was nagging away at her, can’t you go faster, that sort of thing. So she jumped a light. Which was when it happened. And when Zak got to see her in hospital, first thing she said was, now you’ll be satisfied, last time I’ll have an excuse being late for seeing you run. Laying it all on Zak.’

‘How’d Zak take it?’

‘Like the trooper she is. When Mary got out of hospital it was Zak kept her up to scratch with her physio. I think Mary would have been happy to walk with a stick the rest of her life so’s no one would forget. As it was she seemed set to laze around at home looking miserable till Zak got her a job with her agent.’

‘That’s this guy Endor, isn’t it? Read about him too. Local isn’t he?’

‘Not really. Flash house out near Biggleswade, but he’s a professional Cockney, on the make, on the up,’ said Hardiman without much sign of affection.

Blames him for Zak going to the States and changing trainers? wondered Joe.

‘But, to be fair, he seems to be doing OK by the girl,’ Hardiman went on, as if realizing he’d let his feelings show. ‘He spotted Zak was going to need an agent before she’d got around to thinking of it for herself. But she’s no fool. Once she heard his proposal, she sat down and re-evaluated things. I think she signed up on a short-term contract, and part of the deal was that Endor gave Mary a job without it looking like a fix.’

‘Must’ve been pretty obvious,’ said Joe. ‘And some folk might think it was rubbing Mary’s nose in it, putting her where she’d see the figures clicking up every day telling her how well her sister was doing.’

His aim was to provoke and it worked.

‘That shows you know dick about Zak,’ snarled Hardiman.

‘While you know her inside out?’

‘I know her better than most. You’ve got to get close to someone you’re training. Sometimes you can get too close.’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘Young kids are vulnerable. They find a friendly ear to pour things into which, a couple of years later as they grow up, they wish maybe they hadn’t. So then they look for a reason to split.’

‘Thought you and Zak parted by mutual consent ’cos she wanted to go stateside and you wanted to take this job at the Plezz?’

‘I was talking in general, Joe, not about me and Zak,’ said Hardiman coldly. ‘Listen, Joe, you tread carefully here, right? Last thing I want is some family row blowing up in the Plezz, so save your dramatic revelations till Zak’s on her way back to the States.’

‘Should’ve thought the last thing you wanted was Zak coming last,’ said Joe.

Hardiman shook his head and sighed deeply.

‘Joe,’ he said. ‘The Grand Opening isn’t about Zak, it’s about the Plezz. After it’s over, then the real work begins, and it doesn’t matter if during the course of the ceremonies the mayor gets fighting drunk, the visiting dignitaries all fall into the pool, or Zak Oto gets run into the track by a no-name from nowhere. In fact if one or all of those happen, we’d probably get much more publicity than if everything goes to plan. This time next week, the mayor will be sober, the dignitaries dry, and Zak long gone to sunny Virginia. And all of us back here will be settling down to the long hard struggle to make this place pay.’

He paused and Joe digested the speech.

‘So you’re not bothered about Zak?’ he said finally.

‘Of course I’m bothered about Zak!’ said Hardiman indignantly. ‘I put years into that girl, the important years. I’m looking forward to a good decade of watching her tear up the record books, and all the while I’ll be thinking, it was me who got you started, girl! And I’ll tell you one thing, Joe. Doesn’t matter what some nutter might be saying, once Zak gets out on that track, she’ll run to win. She doesn’t know any other way. I guarantee that, ’cos it was me that put it there!’

Good speech, thought Joe. But when you’re watching her winning Olympic Gold, won’t you be thinking, it should be me there at trackside, me she’s running up to with the big thank-you hug for all to see on worldwide telly?

He recalled vaguely that last summer when Zak had announced she was definitely heading west, some of the tabloids had tried to whip rumours of an acrimonious parting into a full-blown row. Both of the notional participants, however, had been at pains to play things down. Zak, looking so lovely you’d have believed it if she’d told you she could fly, had talked about her gratitude to Jim and his total support for her decision that the American option was best for her, both personally and athletically. And Hardiman had completed the smother job by announcing that he was taking up the post of sports director at the Plezz. ‘With Zak’s talent, coaching her was a full-time commitment and I was never going to be able to combine it with getting things off the ground at the Pleasure Dome,’ he’d said, cleverly suggesting that if any dumping had been done, he was the dumpster.

‘Now let’s see if I can find Zak for you. I think she’ll be in the café with the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Didn’t she say? Her agent, her Yank trainer, and of course big sister are all here.’

He made them all sound like a gang of freeloading hangers-on.

‘So what exactly happens on New Year’s Day?’ asked Joe as they set off walking once more.

‘Well, there’s an official opening of the stadium, flashing lights, boys and girls dancing, that sort of thing, followed by the competition, with Zak’s race as the highlight, of course. Then in the evening there’s a civic reception in the art gallery to inaugurate the other facilities, Zak will be asked to unveil a plaque, everyone will get noisily pissed, and the ratepayers will foot the bill. The luminaries of Luton are fighting for invites. If you don’t have a ticket, you’re dead.’

‘I’m dead,’ said Joe.

Hardiman laughed and pushed open a door which led into a self-serve café, gaily decorated in the bistro style and tiered down to a plate-glass wall which let every table have a view of the track below. There was no food on offer yet, but on the serving counter a coffee machine bubbled away.

‘Won’t this be the place to eat though?’ said Hardiman proudly. ‘Gobbling up your grub, while down there they’re gobbling up world records.’

‘Pretty optimistic, aren’t you?’ said Joe.

‘We’ve got the fastest boards and the most generous indoor bends in Europe,’ boasted Hardiman. ‘They’ll soon catch on, anyone after a world record, Luton’s the only place to be. There’s Zak down there.’

Joe had already spotted the girl sitting at a table on the lowest tier with three people, two men and a woman. These three were drinking coffee. Zak was sucking on a bottle of her beloved Bloo-Joo which she removed from her mouth and waved as they approached.

‘Hi, Joe,’ she said. ‘Glad you could make it. You guys, this is Joe I was telling you about. Joe, meet my sister Mary, my agent Doug Endor, and my coach, Abe Schoenfeld.’

Schoenfeld was late twenties, athletic of build and glistening with what looked like spray-on health. He said, ‘Hi, Joe,’ in a Clint Eastwood accent. Endor, who was about thirty, tall, craggily handsome, and wearing an eat-your-heart-out-paupers mohair suit, offered his hand and said, ‘Glad to know you, Joe.’ Sister Mary didn’t even look at him. She was shorter than Joe and muscularly built. He tried to see a resemblance to Zak and couldn’t.

‘Grab a seat, Joe,’ said Zak.

He sat. Hardiman said, ‘Catch you later, Joe,’ and walked away.

Sulking because he hadn’t been asked to stay? Or maybe you didn’t invite directors to sit in their own sports centres.

‘So tell me, Joe, what’s your line?’ said Abe Schoenfeld.

Joe glanced uneasily at Zak. She’d intro’d him as Joe I was telling you about. Presumably she’d given the agreed story about taking pity on the out-of-work uncle of an old friend. But what work was he out of?

Zak said, ‘Abe means, what’s your physical thing, Joe. He reckons everyone is some sort of athlete, even if it’s only second-hand.’

‘Like watching, you mean?’ said Joe. ‘I’ve got a season ticket for the Town.’

‘That’s soccer, right? You play?’

‘Used to kick a ball around when I was at school.’

‘But not now? Nothing else? Tennis? Maybe not. Rock climbing? Swimming?’

‘Go to a judo class,’ he said.

‘Knew there was something,’ said Schoenfeld. ‘You can always tell the guys who haven’t dropped right through. You should do weights. Right body shape, good shoulders, heavy legs.’

‘You’re right about the legs,’ said Joe. ‘Feel heavier every time I go upstairs.’

‘Abe is always looking for new talent,’ laughed Zak. ‘OK, you guys, I’m going to show Joe around, let him know what he’s going to be doing.’

She stood up. Joe followed suit. So did Mary.

Endor said, ‘Mary, doll, spare a mo? Couple of fings I need to talk over.’

Professional Cockney, Hardiman had said. Sounded real enough to Joe.

‘I’ll be back in the office next week,’ said Mary coldly. ‘Just now I’m on vacation, remember?’

She walked away with the faintest hint of a limp.

‘Mary works for your agent, does she?’ asked Joe as he followed Zak out of the restaurant area.

‘That’s right. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason,’ said Joe, surprised by the sharpness of her tone, ‘She don’t look very happy.’

‘Well, that’s her business, wouldn’t you say?’ said Zak coldly.

Joe took a deep breath. One of the early maxims in the so far very slim Joe Sixsmith Book of Advice to Would-be Detectives was, if you’re going to quarrel with your client, get it over with before the bill mounts up.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s my business if I’m going to work for you. I need to be able to ask you anything I like and get a straight answer.’

There it was. She was frowning. She was a nice kid but seeing her with her entourage had underlined that she was also, if not yet a queen, certainly a princess getting used to the deference of her own court.

Could be it was off-with-his-head time.

Instead she suddenly smiled and said, ‘OK. You do the press-ups or you change your coach. Right?’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Joe. ‘Talking of which, you did change your coach last summer. Or rather by going to America you cut off your connection with Hardiman. Any hard feelings?’

Always best to get all versions of a story.

‘You’ve been reading the wrong papers, Joe,’ she said. ‘No, it was pretty painless, the right move for both of us at the right time.’

‘Well, that was handy,’ said Joe.

‘Things sometimes work like that,’ said Zak, with all the confidence of one who hadn’t yet received too many half bricks in the neck from life. ‘If we hadn’t stayed good friends, you don’t think I’d be here now? When Jim heard I was coming home for Christmas, it was him got the idea of boosting the official opening of the Plezz by having an athletics meeting with me running an exhibition. I wouldn’t have done it for anybody else.’

‘How did Abe react?’

‘No problem. He reckoned I’d be ready for a real tester about now.’

‘So this is a real race? Not just an exhibition run?’ Thinking, it would be a lot easier for you to ‘lose’ in a real race.

‘It’s a real race. Lots of top trackers who wouldn’t mind showing me their bums. Abe wouldn’t have come across if he didn’t think he was needed.’

‘He’s staying with you?’

‘No way,’ she laughed. ‘We’re all full up at home, and I try not to track my business into the house anyway. No, Abe’s very comfortable at the Kimberley.’

Joe whistled. ‘With their prices, I should hope he is.’

The Kimberley was one of Luton’s top hotels.

‘He says it’s OK,’ said Zak, coming to a halt and opening a door marked Women’s Locker Room. ‘Come on in. I’ve got the place to myself at the moment. This here’s my locker.’

‘Oh yes. Great. Nice locker.’

‘Where I found the second note,’ she said gently.

He examined it carefully because that’s what she seemed to expect him to do.

‘No sign of forcing,’ he said professionally.

‘No. I checked. What about fingerprints.’

‘Left the powder in the office,’ he said. Then, recalling another of his maxims, don’t get smart with the clients, he added, ‘What I mean is, no point. Key in, turn, pull open with the key, drop the note inside, push, turn, remove key, and you’re away without laying a finger on the door. Anyone else using the Dome before it officially opens?’

‘I know the Spartans, that’s my old club, have been using the track evenings for training to help it settle. Plus there’s the workmen putting finishing touches. Plus people using other bits of the Plezz could easily stroll in here. Shouldn’t you concentrate on who’s got access to the spare keys? Can’t be too many of them.’

Oh dear, thought Joe. Like a good princess, she wasn’t going to be shy about telling the help what they ought to be working at.

He said, ‘Got your key handy?’

She passed it over. Joe moved along the wall of metal lockers. They came in blocks of eight. Zak’s was second from the left. He counted two in the next block and inserted the key. The door opened. He did the same with the next block:

‘This way the manufacturers only need eight variations on locks and keys instead of an infinity,’ he explained.

‘But it’s lousy security!’ she protested angrily.

‘Saves ratepayers’ money,’ said Joe with civic sternness. ‘As for security, your crook’s got to work it out first.’

‘You worked it out,’ she said not unadmiringly.

‘That’s my job,’ he said modestly, not thinking it worthwhile to reveal that the lockers at Robco Engineering where he’d worked nearly twenty years had suffered from the same deficiency which he’d worked out after ten.

‘So that means there’s my key, and the duplicate key and the master key plus the keys for every second locker in every block in every changing room in the complex?’

‘That’s right,’ said Joe. ‘The note that landed on your pillow is a better bet.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.

‘Because,’ he said patiently, ‘getting into a house is a lot harder than getting into a changing room. Who else was in the house that night?’

She said, ‘Mum, dad, Eddie, my kid brother, and Mary.’

‘Oh yes. You were telling me about your sister but we got diverted.’

Polite way of putting it.

She looked ready to renew her objections to answering questions about her family, then she took a deep breath and said, ‘Mary’s four years older than me. When I was a kid, I hung around her all the time. Must have driven her mad but she never showed it. When I got into junior athletics she was really supportive, took me along to her gym to work out, came and shouted for me when I was running.’

‘She was into sport too?’ asked Joe.

‘Oh yes. She’s got a great eye. Squash was her thing. She won lots of junior trophies and her first season when she moved up to senior level, she got to the national semis. She was going places.’

‘But?’

‘But two years ago she was in a car accident. Her knee got busted pretty bad. They put it together again fine, but not so they felt it would stand up to the strain of training for and playing top-level squash. Otherwise though it’s completely normal.’

‘I thought she had a bit of a limp.’

‘Oh yes. No physical reason according to the doctors, but it comes on from time to time.’

Especially when you’re around? wondered Joe. But he thought it better to leave it for now.

‘She start working for Endor before he became your agent or after?’ he asked.

‘Oh, after, I think,’ she said vaguely. ‘She’s doing really well.’

‘Yeah? Take you over on her own account eventually?’

‘Could be. Main thing is she’s off work now till the New Year so it’s great we can spend time together.’

‘That’s right. Family’s important,’ said Joe. ‘Any chance I can take a look at your house?’

Take a look at the rest of your family, he meant.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to finish my day’s schedule here. Why don’t you come back about four, pick me and my gear up and drive me home? That way you’ll look like you’re working for your living.’

‘OK,’ said Joe. ‘By the way, what’s happened to Starbright?’

‘Missing him already, are you?’ grinned Zak. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be around.’

He was. First person Joe saw as he walked away from the locker room was the cuboid Celt.

‘Hi there,’ said Joe. ‘Thought you were supposed to be a minder?’

‘Thought you were supposed to be a detective,’ sneered Starbright in his high-pitched voice. ‘Saw you arrive. Didn’t report straight to Miss Oto though, did you? Had a long chat with Hardiman first.’

‘Yeah, well,’ said Joe, for some reason feeling as defensive as a preacher spotted going into a cathouse. ‘Turns out he’s an old schoolfriend.’

‘Very cosy,’ said the Welshman. ‘Share a cell, did you?’

Joe was getting a bit tired of this.

‘I’m a PI,’ he said. ‘I do my job by talking to people. Thought you did yours by sticking close to whoever you’re being paid to look after. What if there’d been a mad axeman in the locker room?’

‘Had you to look after her in there, didn’t she?’ said Starbright. ‘It’s a mad axeman you’re expecting then?’

How much does he know about what’s going on? wondered Joe. Maybe as official minder he should be brought up to speed, but that was Zak’s call.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘What she tells you is her business, OK? But believe me, my business has got nothing to do with your business. Breaking bones, I mean.’

‘You amaze me,’ said Starbright.

Zak had come out of the locker room and was walking away from them down the corridor. Even from the back she looked beautiful. Starbright went after her. Even in retreat he looked menacing.

Funny the way the Lord doled out his gifts, thought Joe Sixsmith a touch enviously.

But not enough for it to touch his tranquillity more than the moment it took to turn and start towards the car park, which, though he did not know he’d got it, was perhaps a greater gift than either menace or beauty.