someone else…' His voice trailed off as I heard him turning the page.
'Mr Murray, didn't you say your name was?' said Bowen, his voice a note lower, a note graver.
'Yes,' I said. I swallowed.
'Ah, I'm sorry, I am afraid we don't have anything more on file. Goodbye, Mr Murray.'
'But shouldn't we meet as you suggested?' I asked.
'I don't think that will be necessary,' Bowen said firmly. 'Goodbye.' He rang off.
I slumped back in my chair to think. I didn't like the sound of this investigation.
Vague thoughts of trials and prison floated round my head. Then I pulled myself together. I hadn't done anything wrong. Debbie had said so, and she did know the law. I had no inside information. It was only natural that people would check me out, given my purchase, but I had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Still, best to make sure. I rang Bloomfield Weiss again. Cathy answered the phone.
'Is Cash there?' I asked.
'No, he has just popped out to fetch a cup of coffee,' Cathy's clear voice replied. 'He'll be back in a minute.'
'Perhaps you can help,' I said.
'If you think I can,' said Cathy, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
She was probably offended I had asked for Cash instead of her, I thought. Perhaps she thought I doubted her capabilities. I was about to apologise when I stopped myself. Sod it. Some people are just too touchy.
'I was curious about all those Gypsum bonds you were buying last week,' I said. 'Were they for your own books?'
'No, they were for a client.'
'He must have done very nicely,' I said.
'He certainly did,' said Cathy. 'In fact…'
She was interrupted by Cash growling at her. 'Hold on,' she said, and clicked her phone on to hold. A moment later she was back. 'I'm sorry, I've got to jump. I'll tell Cash you were after him,' and she hung up.
Rob walked past my desk and saw me staring gloomily into the receiver. 'What's up? Seen a ghost?' His smile only lasted a second. 'Sorry. Stupid thing to say.'
'Life goes on,' I said. 'But I will miss her.'
'So will I,' said Rob.
'She had a lot of boyfriends, didn't she?'
'Some, I suppose.' Rob caught my glance. His cheeks reddened. 'Some,' he said again, and turned away.
I shrugged my shoulders and got back to work. I looked at the small box of Debbie's possessions at my feet. I should take them back to her flat, I thought. I pulled out the phone book and rang Denny Clark. I asked to speak to Felicity. There was only one woman of that name who worked at Denny Clark, and she was in.
'Hallo, it's Paul Murray,' I said. 'We met at Debbie's funeral.'
'Oh yes,' she said. 'You are the guy she used to work with.'
'That's right. I've got some things of hers. Not much and none of it's very important. Can I bring them round?'
'Sure, when would you like to come?' she said.
'This evening OK?'
'Fine. Come round at seven. The address is twenty-five Cavendish Road. Clapham South is the nearest tube. See you then.'
CHAPTER 6
Cavendish Road turned out to be part of the South Circular, one of the most clogged of London's tired old arteries. Cars and lorries crept forward, and then as a light changed hurtled along the street for fifty yards or so, before slowing to a crawl again. The July evening air was full of dust and carbon-monoxide fumes and throbbed with the sound of revving engines.
Number twenty-five was a small terraced house similar to all the others on the street. There were two bells by the door. I pressed the one with 'Chater' and 'Wilson' written in smudged blue biro. The door buzzed to let me in.
Debbie and Felicity had the upstairs flat. It was cheaply but attractively furnished, untidy but not a mess. Felicity came to the door in tight blue jeans and a sloppy black T-shirt, her red hair falling in a tangle on to her shoulders. She showed me through to the living room. There was one sofa and a series of large cushions on the floor. Felicity motioned for me to sit on the sofa, whilst she curled up on a cushion.
'Sorry this place is a bit of a tip,' she said.
I handed her the box I had brought. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Debbie's parents will be down this weekend to collect things. Can I get you a glass of wine?'
She disappeared to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Muscadet and two glasses.
'So, you have lived here with Debbie since you both came to London?' I asked.
'Oh no,' answered Felicity. 'When we first moved down here, we rented a flat in Earls Court. Well, it really wasn't much more than one bedroom. But a couple of years ago, we bought this place jointly. It's a bit noisy, but you get used to it.'
'You and Debbie must have been very close,' I said.
'I suppose we were,' said Felicity. 'She was a very easy person to live with and we had some good laughs together. But in a way she was a very private person. So am I, come to think of it. I think that's why we got on together. We liked living with each other, but respected each other's privacy.'
'I hope you don't mind me asking this,' I said, 'but I think I met someone the other day who might have been a boyfriend of Debbie's. He was thin, mid-thirties, blue eyes, dark hair?'
Felicity thought for a moment. 'Yes, there was one who fits that description. She had an affair with him last year some time. It didn't last long. I really didn't like him at all. I remember the way he used to look at me.' She shuddered.
That must have been the man on the boat. 'What was his name?' I asked.
Felicity screwed up her face in an effort to remember. 'No. Sorry. I know she met him through work somehow or other. He was a nasty piece of work. Charming at first. But very soon he was ordering Debbie about. At breakfast it was embarrassing to watch. And Debbie did everything he asked! It was very odd. You know Debbie, she was hardly your average meek house slave. This man did exude a sort of violent power. Debbie found it fascinating. It scared me.
'Then one evening I came home at about ten o'clock to find Debbie in a terrible state. She had a big bruise on her forehead and her eye was puffed up. She was sobbing quietly, as though she had been crying for a while.
'I asked her what had happened. She said that – oh, I wish I could remember his name. Anyway-whoever the bastard was had beaten her up. She had found out he was married and had confronted him with it. He had hit her and walked out.
'Over the next few days this man would telephone or come round in person. Debbie never talked to him or let him in. She nearly gave in once or twice, but in the end she had too much common sense. We were both scared. I certainly didn't want to have anything to do with him and we were both frightened in case he was waiting outside our flat to follow us when we went out. I think he did once follow Debbie, but she screamed and he slunk off. After a week or so, he gave up calling and we didn't see any more of him.'
Until the other night on the boat, I thought. It seemed to me more likely than ever that this was the man who had pushed Debbie into the river. I wondered how I could find out who he was. 'You can't remember anything more about him. Where he lived, what he did, who he worked for?'
'I'm sorry. That was one of the main areas in which we respected each other's privacy. I would occasionally bump into Debbie's boyfriends, but she rarely talked about them. And I did my best to avoid him.'
'It wasn't the same man you mentioned at the funeral? The one who was bothering her lately.'
'No, no. It wasn't him. He wasn't quite so scary. Although he was a bit weird perhaps. Oh, I've remembered his name, by the way. It was Rob.'
