lot to do until I’ve spoken to Mr Wetherspoon and we’ve had a chat with the Excise boys. Their counterpoints in Holland might have something on this
Slider’s unhappy look said he knew that.
Atherton felt compelled to rescue his boss. ‘Except that he was murdered, sir,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes, well,’ Porson allowed graciously, ‘except for that.’
Joanna came down to the kitchen early on Monday morning with George in her arms. A thin sunshine was mucking about with the stainless steel pots on the high shelf by the stove, and her missing husband was standing staring at nothing while the kettle emptied itself in steam over the ceiling.
‘We need to get an electric one,’ she said, reaching over and turning off the gas.
‘Uh?’ Slider said, jerking back to reality.
‘Blue!’ said George, holding out his arms with a beam of delight. It was a great thing in any life, Slider thought, accepting the surprisingly solid bulk into his own arms, to have someone who was always so unequivocally glad to see you. He looked at Joanna. ‘I’m sorry I woke you up. I tried to get out of bed carefully.’
‘I know you did. But I always know when you’ve gone. You having tea?’
‘Please.’
‘Peas,’ George said. He took a good grip on Slider’s ear so he could lean over his shoulder and watch his mother getting out mugs and tea bags. ‘More!’ he said urgently, pointing with his other hand, moist pink forefinger energetically poking from the dimpled fist. He had recently discovered the joys of pointing and did it assiduously.
Joanna held up his feeder cup. ‘Do you want some milk, George?’
‘Mum-mum-mum-mum-mum,’ George said.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ She set about the twin tasks of tea and milk and said gently to her spouse, ‘Didn’t sleep well?’
‘Not much. Sorry. Was I restless? I tried to keep still.’
‘I could feel you trying. The case, is it?’
‘Yes. There are things I can’t quite get to grips with.’
‘You will, Oscar,’ Joanna said with calm certainty. ‘You look tired, though. Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? Maybe you’ll sleep.’
Slider smiled. ‘Not a chance. My brain’s spinning like a teetotal, as Porson would say. I might as well use it to good purpose and go in early. If I read back over all the notes something might click.’
Joanna tested a spot of milk on her hand, licked it off and held out the cup to George, who became urgent with morning hunger.
‘Orbal! Blue! Ahmah!’ he cried.
‘This child has a remarkable vocabulary,’ Slider remarked.
‘Thank you,’ Joanna said as she relinquished the cup – no harm in trying early for manners.
‘Fank,’ George said, beamed at his accomplishment, and rammed the spout into his mouth, sucking greedily.
‘Did he just say thanks?’ Slider asked, turning to look at Joanna.
‘He does copy sounds,’ she said. ‘He said “door” the other day. And “ball”.’
‘Stone me, the child’s a genius.’ Slider gaped. ‘He’s barely more than a year old!’
‘He’s sixteen months,’ Joanna said, amused. ‘And that’s what children of that age do. You just don’t remember. Here’s your tea. Give him to me while you drink it.’
He passed George over, started sipping his tea, and noted that Joanna, having hitched the baby on to her left side, was not only drinking her own tea, but was actually starting to make toast as well. So, she could do other things while holding a baby, but a poor imbecile man couldn’t, was that it?
‘Do you want a boiled egg?’ she asked.
‘I take it back. It’s not the child that’s a genius, it’s you,’ Slider said. ‘The domestic octopus. If I could patent you I’d make a fortune.’
‘One egg or two?’ she asked, turning her head with a smile that melted his loins.
‘Voluptuous siren,’ Slider said. And to George, ‘Let’s hear you repeat that, boy.’
George unplugged himself from the cup, fixed his father with his blue gaze and said, ‘Boy!’
‘Close enough for jazz,’ said Slider.
Connolly, first in, poked her head round Slider’s door and said, ‘Oh. I thought I heard someone. Morning, boss.’
‘Must be telepathy,’ he said.
‘Is that right? What?’
‘It was you I wanted,’ Slider said. ‘I have a job for you, but I don’t know how you’ll do it.’ He explained. ‘I thought of you because you’re good at getting people to talk to you.’
She nodded, her eyes far away. ‘I think I can see me way. Don’t worry, boss. It’ll be grand.’
‘And of course – as quickly as possible,’ he added.
Angela Fraser was what Swilley described to herself as ‘wired’ – tense, excited, but elated with it. She met her in Cafe Rouge, sufficiently far down the parade from the office to avoid being spotted if Amanda should happen to come back.
‘She’s been in a filthy mood since your blokes came in,’ Angela confided, sitting beside Swilley on a banquette, at the back of the restaurant and facing the door. It was part of her new persona as a secret agent: she reckoned she could see anyone coming in before they saw her, and nip into the ladies, which was back here, if necessary. ‘Snapping at everyone, complaining about the coffee. Can’t get anything right for her. She sent back a letter because there was the tiniest little crease in the paper. She even bitched about one of the clients, and they’re like gods to her, normally.’
‘Has she given you any idea why she’s in a bad mood?’ Swilley asked.
‘I’d have said it was grief over David dying if she was anyone else, but I don’t think that woman’s got a heart. I think she’s worried, but I don’t know what about. Unless—’ The wide open eyes searched Norma’s face. ‘You think she had something to do with it, don’t you? The murder.’
‘I don’t think anything,’ Swilley said blandly. ‘I just do as I’m told, and leave the thinking to my boss. He’s good at it.’
‘I liked him,’ Angela said, settling down. ‘He reminded me of this teacher I had at school, Mr Maltby. Maths. He was nice. I was rubbish at maths, but he always made you feel you could do stuff, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Swilley said. ‘So what have you found out?’
‘Well, there’s a lot of stuff in Amanda’s room, and she leaves it all locked up when she goes out.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve never known an office where so much is locked away. I mean, salaries, yes, and staff files, but not anything else. What could she have to keep secret? We all know all the clients and their backgrounds. But I did get to look at the accounts. Some of it’s in books that Nora keeps, and there’s a lot more on her computer. It’s security locked, but I know her access code.’
Norma was amused. ‘How come?’
‘She’s a dipstick,’ Angela said simply. ‘She wrote it on a sticky label and stuck it on the side of her top right- hand drawer. Thinks no one’ll ever find it there, but I’ve seen her checking it before she logs on. Anyway, I found out the main things you wanted to know. The first thing is that we don’t get a government grant, which really surprised me. I’d have thought that’d be the first thing Amanda would go for, because the government’s dead keen on getting disabled people back to work.’
‘So where does the income come from?’
‘Well, the companies pay a fee. The big ones have to employ so many disabled by law, so they pay us a retainer to find the right person whenever they need one, and the smaller companies pay on a case by case basis. And then there are donations. I guess that’s what Amanda spends her time doing. It’s mostly from private individuals, and one or two companies – manufacturers of mobility equipment and disability aids mostly – but the biggest donor is the Windhover Trust.’
Swilley looked enquiring. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, to see if Fraser knew.
