'Why go to her house at all?'
'To see if Cill was there?'
*23*
SANDBANKS PENINSULA, BOURNEMOUTH
THURSDAY, MAY 15, 2003, 2:45 P.M.
Sasha Spencer drew up outside the Fletchers' house in full view of a CCTV camera on a lamppost and reached into the backseat for her briefcase. Whether she was being monitored or not, she could see no point in pretending to be anything other than she was. She stepped out of the car, smoothed her skirt and took stock of the adobe facade before opening the gate. She had taken the trouble to consult an estate agent before she drove onto the peninsula and had discovered not only that Palencia was a rented property but also that the present tenant had announced his intention not to renew the lease. Was Ms. Spencer interested in taking it on?
There were no cars in the driveway and no answer to her persistent ringing of the doorbell, A garage to the left of the house was also empty. She looked for cameras but, if they existed, they were well hidden. Ostentatiously consulting her watch, she followed a path down the right-hand side, looking in windows as she went, before knocking loudly on the kitchen door. There was no response. Indeed, the only sign that the house was inhabited was a sun lounger on the lawn with a towel over it.
According to Billy Burton, Louise had said her husband was in his study the day Billy called, but Sasha had seen only a sitting room and a small dining room. With another quick scan for cameras, she moved past the kitchen and peered through the next set of windows, shading her eyes to cut out the glare of the sun. This room, too, was unoccupied but she could see the back of a computer console on the desk and a large flat-screen television on the wall behind it. Light flickered across its surface and she wondered if it was active until she realized it was a reflection from the computer monitor. She narrowed her eyes to see if she could make out the image but, even as she watched, the reflection vanished.
It was a moment or two before she questioned why. Then she straightened abruptly and stepped back. The monitor had shut down automatically because the computer hadn't been used for a preset number of minutes, usually fifteen. Someone was in the house, and a reactive prickling between her shoulders told Sasha she was being watched. With a look of annoyance, she consulted her watch again, then retraced her steps to the front. She took a business card from her pocket, scribbled, 'FAO Louise Burton. Please call me. Need to speak to you urgently re: Cill Trevelyan' on the back and pushed it through the door. As she left, she had a strong suspicion that, even though she hadn't seen any cameras, all her movements had been recorded.
25 MULLIN STREET, HIGHDOWN, BOURNEMOUTH
THURSDAY, MAY 15, 2003, 3:30 P.M.
George opened the door and smiled inquiringly at the visitor on her doorstep. 'How can I help?' she asked, assuming the young woman was a constituent.
Sasha took in the bizarre hat and red face without inching. 'Are you Councillor Georgina Gardener?'
'Yes.'
Sasha produced her operating license. 'I'm Sasha Spencer. I work for WCH Investigations. You visited our offices a month ago asking for information on Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan. My colleague took your details but was unable to assist you for confidentiality reasons. I was wondering if you'd be willing to give me a few minutes of your time now.'
George was too surprised to say anything for several seconds. 'Well, well, well!' she then declared. 'And Jonathan doesn't believe in coincidences!' She chuckled at Sasha's expression. 'You'd better come in. We're in the garden.'
Sasha felt at a distinct disadvantage as she was shepherded outside, introduced to Dr. Hughes, whose head attire was even more peculiar, and given a kitchen chair to sit on. She had no idea who he was, didn't take greatly to his amused smile and wasn't given a chance to run through her spiel before Councillor Gardener piled in with her own comments. She was better informed than Billy Burton realized and canny enough to recognize that Sasha wouldn't be there unless the Trevelyans had authorized it. She asked the young woman bluntly what had made them decide to do it. 'It can't have been my approach to your colleague, because I didn't explain why I was there. And you wouldn't have driven all this way just to find out why I asked for their address.'
'I'm afraid the issues of confidentiality remain the same, Councillor Gardener. I'm not at liberty to say.'
'Has someone else contacted you?' She took the woman's silence for assent and looked at Jonathan. 'It must have been William Burton. Interesting, eh? Why does he want his sister investigated?' She turned back to Sasha. 'Have you spoken to her?'
'Who?'
'Priscilla Fletcher.'
There was a pronounced pause before Jonathan took pity on Sasha. In a funny sort of way, she reminded him of George. A little on the chubby side, inappropriately dressed for a warm day in Bournemouth and certainly no beauty. Her mouth kept reaching nervously for a smile, as if she'd been trained to defuse difficult situations by offering a symbol of good will, but it wasn't something that came naturally to her. As usual, he failed to take into account the effect his intense gaze had on people and decided she hadn't been long in her job.
'Why don't you let Ms. Spencer tell us why she's here?' he suggested to George. 'At the moment she's looking a trifle shell-shocked ... which was rather my experience the first time I met you.'
George promptly pulled an apologetic face. 'I'm so sorry, dear. I thought it would be simpler if we just got on with it ... but Jonathan's right. Please-' she made an inviting gesture-'go ahead.'
Sasha wondered what to say. She had been taught to go through certain formalities, but she was more used to the nervous responses she'd had from the Burtons than to this amused impatience. She played for time by opening her briefcase and taking out her notebook. 'If I may, I'll begin by explaining my company's policy with regard to your rights and the rights of my clients. You are under no obligation to answer my questions, however-' She broke off as Jonathan cleared his throat. 'Who
