'Dunno.' He searched his mind for scraps. 'The consul's a big London investor. They divorced three years back.'
Could that be? 'Yanks make their millions in New York and Los Angeles. That's why they're all millionaires.'
'He insures antiques. She recruits investors for him.'
'An antiques club?'
They were common enough. I'd not heard of a local one starting up, not at this level.
Usually they're small fry, everybody chipping in a shilling a week and hoping to get a cheap Rembrandt.
'Last I heard, Bernicka was seeing her. Trying to communicate with Leonardo da Vinci.'
Bernicka is enough to make a saint groan. I groaned.
'Nobody else?'
He looked askance. Like I said, squid eyes, trying to find a rock. He was an enemy to me once, hoping for neutrality. Finally, out it came.
'Remember Vestry?'
'Aye. Topped himself.' One of our local tragedies.
He came to a decision. 'Suicide. I'd look into his death, if I were you.'
'Sep Verner. Wasn't he Soco?'
'Scene of the Crime Officer? Yep. Don't say I said, eh?'
'Now, would I?' I said evenly.
'Is that it?'
I said ta, and thumbed a lift to town. Consistent rumours, then, but not much else. I'd been tempted to tap Rio for a few zlotniks, except it didn't seem proper, him collecting for flowers for that terrible accident... I caught myself. It's hard not to be dragged in when the lie – sorry, fib – is that good. I ought to have remembered that, too.
7
NOBODY HAS WORRIES like me. Mine drift behind like a vapour you're never free of.
In the early hours of the following night I was in a motor car with Olive Makins, parked on the edge of Riverside Park by the boating pond. After making smiles we nodded off.
Olive's a buxom lass on her fifteenth fiance (she never weds), and says this time she'll stick by him until death do them part, or at least until Easter Sunday. More importantly, she's secretary of the local auctioneers' group. She knows her worth, does Olive. Her betrothed Victor is a hard-working antiques valuer. Incidentally, never, never ever, trust valuers. The law won't protect you if they guess wrong about your house or anything else.
My leg had gone gangrenous. Olive was no lightweight. She'd crushed my thigh between her shoulder and the handbrake – don't ask for details. I groaned at the pins and needles. She burst out laughing.
'Honestly, Lovejoy! You're as bad as that Yank.' She snuggled closer, heavier still. The windows were misted. My leg thrombosed.
'What Yank?'
'He almost went comatose on me! You men!'
'What Yank?' I pretended to be offended. Women love jealousy.
'Now, now, Lovejoy.' She fluttered her false eyelashes. I could feel the gale. Like being in a wind tunnel. 'He'll go back to the US when he's done the scam. You've no need to worry.'
'Who is he?' I put on my feeble I'm-all-envy.
'He's very big – I mean powerful.' She tittered. The motor shook but managed to stay upright. 'He's an insurance syndicate.'
'Now, Olive!' I chided, as gangrene crept upwards. My waist, I swear, went numb. 'You know everything about dealers in the Eastern Hundreds!'
'No, honest, Lovejoy. His investors keep themselves to themselves. You get kneecapped just for asking their telephone numbers.'
Mercifully the stress of thinking made her budge. She reached for her handbag, switched on the courtesy light and started trowelling on lipstick, mascara, moisturizer, powder. The air thickened. I wheezed. She munched her lips like they do. It always fascinates me. I keep wondering if makeup hurts. They say it doesn't.
'There was that prior, wasn't there? He was one. You knew him.'
'Look, daaarling. That bitch from Leeds who topped her husband was one. I met that ponce from Norway who inherited half their bleeding country. There's that Belgian royal who always has his hand in the till. And his ex-wife lodging at Saffron Fields. Them's the lot.'
'Shhh, Olive.' This time I was serious. Nobody stirred out in the dark, but you can never tell. 'They say her husband Taylor is decent.'
'Him? Weak as water. Doesn't even have the nerve to make his bitch do her bed work.
You can always tell. He's another who came sniffing round.'
