willing to sign anything they put in front of him.
Without another word to Gemma she walked across the patio to a small leaded window and smashed it. Three blows made a hole big enough for her to reach inside and unfasten the latch.
‘Who would’ve thought it?’ Gemma said.
‘What?’
‘Jo Stevens. Housebreaker.’
‘Are you going to help me in?’
They slid a plant tub against the wall and Jo used it to climb up and through the window space. She found herself in a toilet and stepped down by way of the pedestal. She located the living room, unlocked the patio windows, and let Gemma in.
‘Hooligan,’ Gemma said.
‘Accomplice.’
‘What happens now?’
‘We see what we can find, and preferably something that links him to Meredith Sentinel. Letters, photos, an address book. Anything.’
‘Shall I start in here, then?’
‘Better,’ Jo said. ‘I’ll do upstairs.’
She felt uneasy walking through someone’s home uninvited, but her reason for being there outweighed the reservations. She knew at once that she wouldn’t find much in common with Denis Cartwright. The stairs were carpeted in a bright synthetic green only a man would have chosen, and an insensitive man at that.
She found his bedroom. Better start in the most promising place, she decided. The colour scheme here was equally hideous: the walls in khaki with yellow stripes. The bed was king-size, with a brown quilt. A couple of pictures of old sailing ships were on the wall. No personal items on view. Not a single photo. A stack of books by the bed showed he was a reader of C.S. Forester and Patrick O’Brian-more evidence of a maritime interest.
In the wardrobe his bow ties had a drawer all their own. All the clothes were neatly folded and tidily arranged, but gave off a smell that reminded her of charity shops. She opened the bedside cabinet drawer. Cartwright took diazepam and was a chocolate eater. Nothing to suggest he was also a murderer.
The en suite was clean and bare. He’d taken his washing kit with him.
She went to the top of the stairs and leaned over. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Zilch,’ Gemma called back. ‘I don’t think much of his taste in music. It’s all brass bands and military stuff.’
‘I’ll join you shortly.’
She found a small guest bedroom that-at a stretch-might have been meant for a woman to use. The wallpaper was more feminine, sky blue with daisy shapes. A queen-size bed left little space for much else. A white dressing gown made of towelling hung in an otherwise empty built-in wardrobe. The only picture was a cheap print of Dell Quay. Why do people choose to hang pictures in their houses of local scenes they can visit in five minutes? She could find no evidence that any woman had recently used the room. Why would she, if she was the lover? Only, Jo thought, if the lady found his bedroom wallpaper so off-putting that she insisted on doing the business here.
She checked the bathroom and another bedroom converted into a computer room except that the computer had gone. The police must have taken it. There were just some outmoded diskettes, a printer, mouse-mat, mouse, and loose cables.
‘The place has been stripped of anything interesting,’ she told Gemma downstairs.
‘I know. I found a space where a filing cabinet stands. You can see where the sun bleached the wall above it, and there are paper clips on the floor.’
‘If he was more untidy I’d hope to find something. Isn’t it infuriating?’
‘Don’t let it get you down,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ll think of another angle. Want a glass of sherry? I found some in a cupboard.’
‘I need something for sure.’
Gemma poured amontillado into two glasses. ‘We’re not too smart, you and me.’
‘Why?’
‘Leaving our fingerprints everywhere. The break-in wasn’t the neatest, either.’
‘Is anyone going to care? We haven’t nicked anything. I haven’t seen anything I’d want to nick.’
‘We’re drinking his sherry.’
‘He owes us,’ Jo said, ‘for being such a tosser.’
Gemma laughed. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
The break-in had achieved one good result. The pair were back in harmony again, as united as they’d been when they quit the yoga class together. ‘If my parents could see me now,’ Jo said, ‘they’d die of shame, poor old dears. They’re so conventional.’
‘Mine are dead,’ Gemma said, ‘so I can be as shameful as I want and nobody gives a stuff. Actually, I envy you. I’d like to have someone to shock.’
‘Rick?’
‘He shocks me.’
‘He’s serious, though, and serious people are easy to kid along.’
‘Maybe, but they can bite back. I was in a cold sweat when he said he’d killed Denis Cartwright.’
‘Me, too,’ Jo said.
‘I guess you’re right about Rick making that up, but this house does have the feel of a place that’s lost its owner for good.’
‘I know what you mean.’
Somewhere in the far distance a police siren wailed. Gemma looked anxious. Jo shook her head.
‘So what’s next on the agenda?’ Gemma said. ‘Any more break-ins planned?’
Another shake of the head from Jo. ‘I’m running out of ideas. I’m worried sick about Jake and what’s happening to him.’
‘I got that message a while ago. You won’t be much use to anyone if you get yourself in a state.’
‘What would you do, Gem?’
‘To help Jake, you mean? I’d chat up some of the guys down at the boat yard, or in the pub at Dell Quay, and see if anyone knows if Cartwright owned a boat and if its still on its mooring. Or gone.’
‘Cool. I like it.’
‘Shall we go, then?’
They came out through the patio door, which meant leaving it unlocked. Obligations changed after you’d crossed to the criminal side. As Gemma pointed out, if any other housebreakers wanted to go in and leave more fingerprints they were welcome.
The pity of it was that nothing had been achieved except to put them in more trouble. Jo stood on the patio thinking about Cartwright. ‘Does he have a car? He must, living out here in the country. Where is it?’
‘There’s no garage,’ Gemma said. ‘I reckon he leaves it on the drive.’
‘What does he drive?’
‘A big old Peugeot Estate. Red.’
‘For one guy?’
‘He delivers orders. Plenty of room in the back.’
‘Is that why you have such a dinky car-so you can’t be asked to deliver stuff?’
Gemma smiled.
‘If he was sailing off somewhere,’ Jo said, ‘he may have left his car at the quay.’
‘Good thought. Want to look?’
‘Before we do,’ Jo said, facing the garden, ‘there’s one other place we ought to check.’
‘Where?’
‘We haven’t seen under the cover.’ She went down the steps to the pool, where the sheet of heavy duty blue polypropylene was stretched across the pool and tiled surround and fastened with straps and springs to anchors set in concrete.
‘Can we shift it?’ Gemma said doubtfully.
Jo walked around the edge and stopped at the far end. ‘Some of these springs aren’t properly attached. If we
