She went to the window and looked down at the car park.
Tom’s Subaru was parked at an odd angle in the corner. She watched him get in, reverse and head for the street, and as he accelerated away she noticed a dark green car take off after him. She reached for the phone and dialled his number.
‘Yes?’
‘Tom . . .’ She looked down at the handkerchief in her hand, then tossed it aside.‘Is there a green Mondeo on your tail?’
‘What? Hang on . . . No, Kathy, don’t think so.’
‘All right. See you later.’
NINETEEN
The following day Kathy was caught up in one of her other cases, her court appearance scheduled and rescheduled in a frustrating series of delays.While she waited she thought about Brown Bread. Her Rainbow success, identifying the Mondeo, had been a small victory, but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. The whole business of Rainbow surveillance had previously seemed rather dumb and unsavoury policing, but now she could appreciate its possibilities. Before long the net would be so extensive that they would probably be able to say where any given vehicle was at any particular time and, with the new facial recognition technology, any given person, too. She smiled grimly to herself at the thought of giving the coordinator Tom’s car number and asking where it was at one o’clock the previous night.What was he playing at? Come to that, what was Brock up to? The whole investigation felt directionless and remote.
When the Crown solicitor finally told her in the afternoon that she wouldn’t be called until the following day, she decided to take the long way back to the office.She made her way down to the Old Kent Road, across Blackheath and onto the Dover road, noticing several cameras along the busy route,but not at the point where she turned off to Shooters Hill. When she reached the golf club she turned into the car park and switched off the engine. There had been a spate of car thefts in recent months as well as two burglaries of the clubhouse bar, and Kathy was interested to see cameras covering the building, the car park and, of greatest interest, the entrance gates.
She got out of the car and walked around the clubhouse, seeing no one. The paraphernalia of golf carts and little flags and greens and fairways brought back the memory of an illicit weekend in Norfolk with Martin Connell, long ago. She’d forgotten about the game of golf they’d played, his instructions and guiding hand. The recollection was intense and bittersweet.
The course was deserted, the open ground enfolded by dark woods. She walked up the first fairway and then cut through a belt of dripping trees to emerge on the edge of the returning eighteenth. On its far side she could see the roofs and windows of The Glebe above its encircling wall. Some of the upper rooms had large picture windows, glinting in the reflected light of the low red sun, and balconies, so that their occupants could enjoy views out over the parkland and woods and the stream that had been turned into a picturesque water hazard across the final fairway.
Her phone trembled in her pocket and she turned back into the trees to answer it. It was Tom.
‘Hi, where are you?’
‘Playing golf.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic, Kathy, it’s not you. Look, I owe you a huge apology for last night.’
‘It’s all right.You can crash at my place whenever you want.’
‘I’d like to make it up to you. Can I buy you dinner tonight?’
‘Fine. How’s it going with Andrea?’
‘Oh great, we’ve had a good day. She’s given me one or two interesting things to think about.’
‘I’ll bet. Smart is she?’
‘Very. They all are, working over here, but she particularly. Oxford degree, you know. I’ll have to get her to show you around.’
‘Good idea. Damn.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Sorry, I trod in something. My feet are soaking wet.’
‘Where are you, really?’
‘I’ll tell you tonight. And you can tell me about Andrea.’
He took her to L’Odeon in Regent Street, which Kathy had to admit made it a handsome apology.When he gave her a hug she found herself sniffing his collar like a jealous lover. No trace of J’Adore. Maybe she’d been mistaken, what with the curry and the cigarette smoke. But then she remembered the handkerchief.What had she done with it? On balance she decided not to bring it up.
She told him about her day and he laughed.
‘You really were on that golf course? Alone? In the dark?’
‘It wasn’t quite dark. But I felt I needed to get to grips somehow with the reality of the Roaches.’
‘I know what you mean. And did it help?’
‘Not really. I couldn’t see much. I didn’t even want to ask the professional if they played there, in case he got suspicious.’
‘They do play there, the three sons and their wives, and some of their children. They’re all members.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Article and picture in the
‘Andrea had their picture from the
‘That’s a good question. She’s got passport records of every overseas trip they’ve ever made-how did she get those? She just laughed when I asked her. And she’s got graphs tracking the share prices of their companies against the FT Index. Michael Grant sounds rational enough, but I think he’s obsessed. He’s convinced the Roaches are behind half the drugs trade south of the river, and he’s got Andrea dredging for anything that might fit into an incriminating pattern.’
‘How does she feel about it?’
‘She believes him. He’s very convincing, very impassioned. She thinks he’s wonderful.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘You can meet her. Grant’s daughter is giving a concert on Saturday evening to raise money for one of her father’s good causes.We’re invited, Brock too.Will you come? Apparently she’s very good.’
‘Oh, well . . . Nicole and Lloyd suggested we go out with them on Saturday.’
‘They could come along, then we could get a meal together afterwards.’
‘All right, I’ll ask her.’
‘You’re right, you know, about the case,’ Tom said. ‘We’re doing it all wrong, not being aggressive enough. What’s Brock doing, do you know?’
‘He seems to be immersed in old police files.’
Tom shook his head. ‘More paper. It’s like he’s becoming bogged down in the past. Either we should have a go at the Roaches or we should forget about them and get on with something useful.’
‘What could we be doing?’
‘I’ve got one or two ideas.’
‘Like what?’
‘Not now.’ He looked at her.‘There are more important things to think about, like what we’re going to eat. The steamed sea bass is supposed to be a speciality of the house, so I’m told.’
Later she caught him looking at her with an oddly sad expression.‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve been neglecting you,’ he said.
‘We’ve both been a bit preoccupied with work.’
‘I’ll make it up to you, soon. Maybe we could go away somewhere, take a trip, get out of London.’
