“Then you probably know the Whitstable family?”

There was a brief flicker behind the hooded eyes. “I believe we have met on occasion.”

“I imagine you’ve heard about the deaths of William, Peter, and Bella Whitstable?”

“Only what I’ve read in the papers, Mr May.” He turned, tapping at one of the display cases. “This contains some of our finest fob watches. Although two were traditionally worn, one either side of the waistcoat, one of them was usually false.”

“That one would make a nice wristwatch,” observed May. “When did you last see any of the Whitstables?”

“Wristwatches were not invented until the First World War, Mr May. There was a gala mayoral dinner in June. Members of the Whitstable family would have been in attendance. Perhaps you’d like to see the Court Rooms now.”

“So you haven’t spoken with any of them,” pressed May. “What about their business dealings with the Company? Do they play an active role in your daily financial affairs?”

“That sort of information is restricted to the Company’s managers and accountants. I should hardly think it’s of any interest to outsiders. It certainly has no bearing on their unfortunate deaths.”

May had the distinct impression that he was being misdirected. Any further pressuring on the subject of the Whitstables would doubtless cause a closure of the ranks. Their Masonic ties had taught them the value of secrecy. He would have to tackle the problem from another angle.

“What I’m trying to establish here, Mr Tomlins, is who profits and who loses by their deaths.”

Tomlins came to a halt and turned to the detective. “If you’re trying to infer that a member of the Watchmakers is somehow responsible – ”

“I didn’t say that. I need to understand every aspect of the Whitstables’ lives, and I’m afraid that doing so means going beyond the usual boundaries of privacy.”

“But they were the victims of violence, not the culprits. Surely they deserve to be treated with decency. If you’re going to go prying into their affairs – ”

“Mr Tomlins, I have to know where their money went, who they were involved with romantically and financially, what their hopes and fears were for themselves and for each other. You can make this an easier process for me by asking the other guild members to cooperate. Our inquiries are treated in the strictest confidence. We know that William and Peter had recently argued, and that Bella had virtually severed her ties with the family. Someone here must know why the Whitstables weren’t on speaking terms with one another. I need you to set up a meeting for me. There must be guild members who knew the brothers well. You wish to protect your members’ interests. Surely the Whitstables deserve to have your help.”

“Very well,” said Tomlins finally, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As May saw himself out, he turned to see Tomlins moving away from him at speed. Something seemed to have urgently summoned him back to his office.

¦

The cellar door was sealed fast. Bryant’s eyes were trying to adapt to the dark, and he was finding it hard to draw his breath. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to hyperventilate. He was below ground level in a darkened, sealed house. Normally the darkness did not disturb him; his only psychological weakness was a tendency to suffer from vertigo, but the violence of his earlier encounter had left him feeling suffocated.

Forcing the unease from his mind, he felt his way back to the top of the steps. He swung an experimental kick at the door, but it was made of heavy oak and fitted tightly into its jamb. He tried hard to remember where he had set down May’s walkie talkie. He recalled taking it out of his pocket. It was somewhere in the cellar, but the room was completely filled with junk, and he had no more matches left.

He was considering the problem when the distant sound of an opening door reached his ears. Muffled conversation. Someone else was in the house. Bryant began to shout out. He kicked the base of the door until his foot was bruised. He no longer cared whether he would be confronted by friend or foe.

“Is that you, Mr Bryant?” The voice was vaguely familiar.

“Of course it’s me!”

“Stand well back from the door.”

An axe head appeared through the splitting wood and the centre panel of the door collapsed. One of their patrol officers stuck his head through the open space.

“Blimey, Sir, this is no time for you to be creeping off for a nap,” said the constable, offering his hand.

Bryant was so pleased to see a friendly face that his customary rudeness deserted him. Remembering his discovery, he returned for the painting and began to haul it up.

“We have to take this,” he explained. “It’s evidence.” As if determined to remain hidden in the shadows, the painting pulled from his grip and fell back down the steps.

¦

The last thing she wanted to do was talk in front of Nicholas, but here was Joseph Herrick striding across the hotel lobby to the desk, his mane bobbing beneath his cowboy hat. Jerry laid down her ballpoint, ready for a fight.

“I should apologize about last night,” said Joseph. “You have to admit, it was a pretty weird evening.”

Jerry was left defenseless. No man had ever apologized to her before. She was used to arguing with people.

“Want to get something to eat? Goodwill gesture?” He handed his room key to Nicholas with a smile.

“You can’t leave yet,” said Nicholas. “You’re on late duty tonight, and there’s still half an hour to go.”

Without saying a word, Jerry swung her bag on to her shoulder.

“If you walk out now,” hissed Nicholas, a vein throbbing furiously at his temple, “I’ll see that this is reported. You’ll be out of a job when you get back. I won’t stand for it any more.”

His words were wasted. Moments later she had passed through the revolving door with Joseph and was out on the street.

The Arizona Bar and Grill had steel-topped tables covered with crescent-shaped dents from a thousand slammed tequilas. A harassed waitress led them to a table in the corner of the room.

“Are you hungry?” Joseph asked.

“I’m always hungry. I maintain a level of hypertension that can burn off a four-course meal in twenty minutes.” Glancing at the menu, they ordered enough food for three.

“Is there any chance that you’re going to tell me something about yourself this time?” he asked.

“What do you want to know about me for?” She brought her chair in closer. “You already have a girlfriend.”

“Things aren’t that black and white, Jerry. We can be interested in each other without having to jump into bed.”

“How caring and seventies. Doesn’t sound like a good arrangement to me.” She thought for a moment. “You want family history or what?”

“That’ll do for a start.”

“Okay, personal CV: my parents aren’t older than their money. We don’t have a great home life. Gwen goes to so many committee meetings I’ve been wondering if she’s having an affair. She lives in the hope of rare animals becoming threatened with extinction so that she can chair committees to save them. Jack still thinks it’s 1944. Maybe he was happy then. My mother prefers to throw parties rather than cook and I grew up thinking that a meal with the family meant finger food for fifty. We get along fine so long as we don’t talk about my future, which is all they ever want to talk about.”

“How come?”

“I wanted to go to art school and they wanted me to enter the family business. But war had been declared between us long before then.”

Joseph dug into a plate of nachos, licking melted cheese from the tips of his fingers. “What kind of business are they in?”

“Import-export, gold and silver. Shuffling paper, arranging shipments. I don’t know the details and I’m really not interested.”

“Why not? Sounds like there’s a lot of money to be made.”

“I’ve seen the kind of people Gwen and Jack mix with. I never wanted to be part of the old-school

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