‘I hope so, Reg. You see, the way the police mind works, if a witness misleads you once, they’re never really trustworthy again. Now, you and Sir Jack might keep quiet about being alone with Tracey, but what about Betty? Weren’t you worried that she’d tell people?’
‘I made it up to her, took her some flowers, and Tracey had reassured her.’
‘All the same, she was a loose cannon, wasn’t she? She used to call you “the monster next door”.’
‘People didn’t take her seriously.’
‘No, that’s right. That was your salvation, wasn’t it? All right, let’s talk about Stan Dodworth.’
‘I told you, I didn’t shelter him. I didn’t see him.’ There was an edge of panic in his voice now as he realised that Kathy was leading him from one victim to the next.
‘But you were good mates, weren’t you? Drinking buddies.’
‘No! You’re wrong. We had nothing in common. I couldn’t stand the man.’
‘That’s not what I hear, Reg. I hear you used to buy him drinks, have long conversations.’
‘Look, I may have bought him the odd drink. He looked so bloody pathetic sitting there in The Daughters, talking to nobody, muttering to himself. When I’ve had a few I tend to be magnanimous-ask anybody.’
‘So you met Stan regularly in the pub.’
‘Not regularly, no. Frankly, there was no point. We had nothing in common. I hated his work and he had no conversation.’
‘He must have talked about something. Didn’t he tell you about his work, his methods?’
‘Not really. I wasn’t interested. Too grotesque for my taste.’
‘Didn’t he tell you where he got his models from?’
‘Models?’
‘For his sculptures.’
‘No, can’t say he did. Why, where did they come from?’
‘From a mortuary.’
‘Ugh.’ Gilbey made a face of disgust.
‘Rembrandt did that too, didn’t he?’
‘Rembrandt wasn’t obsessed by death.’
‘So Stan talked about death, did he?’
‘A bit.’ Then something struck Gilbey. He stared off into space, thinking.
‘What is it?’
‘I just remembered the last time I saw Stan. It was in The Daughters, a couple of nights after Tracey disappeared. He was particularly gloomy, even by his own low standards. He asked me if I thought children felt death more keenly, being newer to life.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘I told him to bugger off. Look, I don’t think I can take any more of this. I’m not feeling well. I want to stop now.’
‘All right, Reg. If you think of anything else we might want to hear about, you’ll let us know, won’t you? Incidentally, what happened to Tracey’s self-portrait?’
‘Eh?’ He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Betty took it with her when she and Tracey left. She told me later that Tracey gave it to her as a present.’
‘Well, it’s not in Betty’s house now.’
He shrugged.‘I don’t know where it is.’
Afterwards Brock looked pleased. ‘Well done, Kathy. You did well.’
‘Thanks,’she smiled back but felt uneasy.‘What he said about the judge advising him to keep quiet… well, it doesn’t really mean anything, does it? It’s the sort of advice you might give a friend.’
‘Yes, but it had the effect of protecting him as much as Reg, didn’t it?’
When Brock had gone, Kathy said to Bren,‘He seems to have it in for the judge, doesn’t he? I hope he knows what he’s doing.’
‘Judge or not, he’s as accountable as everyone else.’
‘Yes and no. You know this new review of Special Operations that’s under way?’
Bren rolled his eyes.‘Another one?’
‘Yes, and Sir Jack is the chair of the review committee.’
‘Really? Brock never mentioned that to me.’
‘No. We’re not supposed to know. Senior management only.’
‘And Brock knows?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘So… it’s like the judge is investigating us while we’re investigating him.’
‘Mm.’
‘Tricky.’
Kathy was working late that evening when the call came from Nicole Palmer. She listened carefully, taking notes, then thanked her and rang off. She thought for a moment, then tapped out Brock’s home number.
‘You owe someone some theatre tickets,’ she said.
‘Ah. Where are you?’
‘Shoreditch.’
‘Still? Can you talk?’
‘Not really.’
‘Have you eaten? I’ve got a nice steak here, if you’re interested. Or I could come to you.’
‘Steak sounds fine.’
It took her the best part of an hour by the time she’d caught the tube across the river, then waited for a connection on the surface electric rail at Elephant and Castle to continue south. She walked down the high street, almost deserted in the cold night, and turned into the arched entrance to a cobbled courtyard. A big old horse chestnut tree stood in the far corner, brown conker shells scattered on the ground beneath its branches, and beyond it the beginning of a lane, with a hedge on one side and a row of old brick houses on the other. Kathy rang the bell and after a moment Brock opened the door and ushered her in.
‘I’m sorry,’ Brock said when they reached the living room on the next floor, taking her coat, ‘I should have come back up to town, or waited till tomorrow.’
‘No, it’s better done tonight, away from everybody. Unless your house is bugged.’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘Are you sure? He’s got Special Branch protecting him, remember.’
Brock looked to see if she was serious, and saw she was. ‘Well, that is a nasty thought.’
He watched her reach into her shoulder bag and pull out a folded sheet of paper, which she handed to him without a word. It read, ‘Robert John Wylie appeared before Justice John Beaufort in May 1996 in the company of three other defendants on a variety of charges under the Sexual Offences Act 1956, the Obscene Publications Act 1959 and the Indecency with Children Act 1960. The judge dismissed the case against Wylie. The other defendants went on to trial, were found guilty and received sentences of between three and six years. They are known to us as business associates of Wylie.’
Brock looked up with a grim smile.‘Well done, Kathy. Now, let’s do something about that steak, shall we?’
22
Brock watched several rooks burst cawing from the copse on the hilltop as three men appeared over the rise. They made their way steadily down the slope, towing their equipment behind them, untroubled by the fine rain. Coming to a stop, the leading figure, wearing a red tartan peaked cap, drew a weapon from his bag. It flashed through the air and for a moment all three men stared motionless at the sky. Then a white ball landed with a plop on the green in front of where Brock was sheltering, and came rapidly to a stop on the wet grass, barely a yard from the pin with its soggy red flag. A muted cheer went up from the distant group.
