“My God, you like to sail close to the wind, don’t you?”
“My yachting friends tell me that’s where you have to be if you want to travel fast,” I said. What was it about this man that brought out the portentous asshole in me?
“So is this a social or professional call?” he asked.
“Purely social. I wanted to offer you dinner tomorrow as a penance for canceling yesterday.”
“You cook, as well as everything else?”
“I do, but that’s not what I had in mind. How does the Market sound?”
“Fabulous. My favorite restaurant in town. What time?”
“I’ll see you there about half past seven,” I promised. To hell with Barclay.
The feeling of well-being that I got from talking to Michael didn’t last long. There’s nothing more boring than sitting round in a featureless motel room waiting for something to happen. Patience and I aren’t normally on speaking terms, so I always get really edgy on jobs like this. It’s not so bad doing a stakeout in the car; at least I can listen to the radio and watch the world go by. But here, there was nothing to do but stare at the walls.
The monotony broke around twenty past two. My earpiece told me that the door to the next room had closed. At once, I was on the alert, my free ear pressed to the wall. I heard the toilet flush; then, a few minutes later, the door closed again. There was a mumble of what sounded like greetings and endearments, irritatingly incomprehensible. At a guess, they were still in the passage by the bathroom, rather than in the room proper.
More mumblings, then gradually, I could make out what they were saying.
“… taking a risk,” a man’s voice said.
“You said what I told you to, didn’t you?” Gail’s voice. Unmistakably.
“Yeah, I told my mother I needed some time on my own, that I was going for a drive and would she look after the kids.”
“And did she act like she thought you were behaving oddly?”
“No,” the man admitted.
“Well, then,” Gail said. There was the instantly recognizable sound of kissing, the groans of desire. “I needed to see you,” Gail went on when she next surfaced. “I wanted you so bad, Dessy.”
“Me too,” he said. More of the kind of noises you get in Tom Cruise movies. I half expected to hear “You take my breath away” swelling in the background.
“We did it, you know,” Gail said exultantly in the next break. “We’re going to get away with this. Nobody suspects a thing.”
“What about that private eye? You sure she doesn’t know anything?”
“Positive. She was just on a fishing expedition, that was obvious. If she’d had anything solid to go on, she’d have let me know. Cocky bitch.”
I wasn’t the only one who was cocky. Only I had better reason to be. I checked that the tape was still running.
“Have you seen the news?” Gail asked.
“What news?” Desmond said, sounding nervous.
“About the chemical company,” she said. “It was all over the Evening Chronicle and the local TV news.”
“We haven’t had the TV on much. We’re supposed to be in mourning,” Desmond said cynically. “What’s been going on? Are they admitting liability?”
“Better than that,” Gail said. “Apparently, somebody’s been trying to blackmail Kerrchem. Product tampering, they said it was. The police have arrested a man and a woman. Hang on, I’ve got the paper in my bag.” There was the sound of rustling, then silence.
Then Desmond let out a low whistle. “Fantastic!” he exclaimed. “The icing on the cake. Nobody’s going to look twice at us now, are they?”
Famous last words, I thought to myself.
“Exactly. It’s turned out even better than we planned. The police might think I had a motive for wanting rid of Joey, but they’re not going to bother digging round in my life when they’ve got a perfect pair of scapegoats.”
And even though his access to photographic chemicals meant Desmond Halloran could probably get his hands on cyanide without too much trouble, I reckoned the police weren’t even going to think about suspecting him while they had Simon and Sandra behind bars. Besides, according to Alexis, the Hallorans were supposed to have had an idyllic marriage. No one had an inkling that Desmond Halloran’s Wednesday afternoons were spent in a motel room near War-rington.
The smooching noises had begun again. Then Gail said, “In a year or so, when we’ve got to know each other because of the court cases we’ll be filing against Kerrchem, no one will be surprised when we decide to get married. After all, we’ll have had so much in common.”
Desmond giggled, an irritating, high-pitched whinny. Never mind his murderous instincts, that giggle alone should have put any reasonable woman off him for life. “Talk about coincidence,” he cackled. “I bet those two blackmailers are sweating.”
After that, things got a lot less interesting for me, though Gail and Desmond obviously thought different. There was a lot of kissing and groaning and embarrassing lines like, “Give it to me, big boy.” Then they were grunting like a pair of Wimbledon champions. I pulled out the earpiece in disgust. It’s not that I’m a prude, but it felt like this pair were shagging in an open grave. I sat patiently on the bed, watching the winking red light on the tape machine that told me it was recording. After an hour, I reckoned I’d got more than enough to nail the scumbags.
It was time to go and play at good citizens.
25
I DUMPED ANOTHER ONER ON JANICE’S DESK. “YOU’VE GOT AN office through the back?“ I asked.
She nodded, never taking her eyes off the money. “I’d like to use the phone there for a couple of minutes. I know you’re not suppose to allow customers access to your phone, never mind your office, but if anyone kicks off, tell them I said it was an emergency.” I winked again. Strange how I develop that tic whenever I’m sharing my wealth with the less fortunate.
Janice lifted the access flap at the side of the reception desk and I went through to the tiny office, closing the door behind me. I rang the familiar number of Greater Manchester police and asked for the Stockport incident room. The detective who answered didn’t seem very keen to put me through to Inspector Jackson. He told me firmly that anything I had to say to the boss could equally be said to him. Clearly a man desperate for Brownie points. “I know he wants to talk to me,” I insisted. “He wants to talk to me so badly that he’s had two of his lads sitting outside my house for the last two days.”
“Hold on,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll see if he’s free.”
Jackson came on the line immediately. “At last,” he said grimly. “Why have you been avoiding me, Miss Brannigan? I thought you were very hot on civic duty the last time we spoke.”
“I’m sorry, Inspector, I’ve been a bit busy. And I knew you wouldn’t be very keen to take me seriously since the last criminals I handed over to you weren’t exactly what you were looking for.”
He sighed. “Cut the smartass remarks and get to the beef,” he said. “When are you coming in to talk to me?”
“I rather thought you might want to come to me,” I said sweetly. “I have something I’d like you to hear. I’ll happily play it over the phone, though I don’t know how well you’ll be able to hear it.”
“If you’ve been interfering with my case again…” he said heavily, letting some unspoken threat hang in the air. I wasn’t scared; I’ve been threatened by experts.
“Just listen, please.” I pressed play and held the speaker of the cassette player up to the mouthpiece of the phone. I’d rewound to the crucial exchange where Gail had conveniently outlined the murder plan. I let the tape run for a few minutes, then clicked it off. “The voices you just heard are Grail Morton and Desmond Halloran. I’ve only just made this recording. The pair of them are still in Room 103 at the Warrington Motorway Motel. If you hurry, you might just catch them at it.”
