He sees her. She smiles at him, an expression as sickly sweet as the glowing doughnuts. ‘Join me,’ she says, voice superficially friendly.
He does what he is told, belly vibrating jelly-like as he squirms onto a seat opposite her.
There are no pleasantries, not with the Turtle. Mandy starts in on him, not giving him time to gather his thoughts. ‘You know I could have ended your career. Finished it.’
He sneers. ‘So you say.’
‘We found the cameras. We found the evidence.’
He leans forward, voice a whisper. ‘You recording this?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t have to.’
‘Well, I’m not saying anything, anyway. I’m not stupid.’ But he can’t help himself; his eyes flicker momentarily downwards, drawn to her breasts.
‘You haven’t changed, have you?’ she says, seething. She counts to three, calming herself. She so badly wants to abuse him, to vent her anger, but she knows that will get her nowhere. She considers the doughnuts; they stare at her, impassive.
She looks back at him, his eyes jerking up to meet her gaze a moment too late, guilt written on his face.
‘What did Tarquin say? When he confronted you over the cameras?’
The Turtle licks his lips. No doubt it’s an unconscious gesture, but it makes her flesh creep all the same. For a moment she thinks he won’t speak, that he will call her bluff. But something—maybe it’s her withering contempt, maybe not—elicits a response. ‘He beat the shit out of me. The jerk. Said if I ever spied on you, followed you, bothered you, he would destroy me. He would kill me. Kill me. That’s what he said. He was horrid.’ The Turtle’s voice is low and full of self-pity, as if he’s the victim, the one who has been wronged, the one deserving of sympathy. ‘I never did you any harm. I only ever looked.’
The anger surges once again, almost impossible to control, but again she keeps it contained. ‘That’s not all, though, was it?’ Now there is panic in his eyes. She’s hit a nerve. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He knew you had cameras everywhere. Could spy everywhere. He recruited you.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘He was a policeman.’
‘So they say.’
‘Did you know?’
‘Back then? No.’
‘Do you have any idea how relentless they are, the police, when someone has killed one of their own?’ She notes, with pleasure, that the Turtle has begun to sweat, his face glistening with perspiration. She lowers her voice, fills it with menace. ‘They’re coming for you, Kenneth.’
‘Are you police?’
‘No. But I’m helping them.’
‘What do you want?’
‘To know what happened to him. That’s all. Tell me and I will leave you alone.’
The Turtle looks around, furtive as a back-alley stray. ‘You swear you’re not recording?’
‘If you help me, I won’t tell the police. If you don’t, they’re my next call.’
He starts shaking his head. ‘No. If they killed him, they’ll kill me.’
‘Who? Who killed him?’
‘I don’t know. How could I know?’
Mandy stares at him, trying to keep the pressure on. ‘Let me buy you a doughnut,’ she says. ‘Today, I think you would like one with coffee icing.’
The Turtle’s eyes grow wide, his mouth goldfishes. She leaves him gaping while she goes to the counter and orders his delicacy. She can feel him leering at her, but she also feels the power she has over him.
‘What do you want?’ he manages as she sits down, sliding the doughnut across to him.
‘I told you: tell me what happened with Tarquin.’ Now it’s a command, not a question. She keeps her eyes locked on his, not averting her gaze for a second. She can see the indecision in his face as he tests first one possibility, then another and another, before abandoning them all. He glances around, looking for something to help, as if the doughnuts might still ride to his rescue, a sugarcoated cavalry. Still she glares at him—surely he can see the hatred in her eyes—and so she sees the moment he concedes.
‘He beat me up, he threatened to kill me, that’s all true.’ He swallows; she can see his long neck flex. ‘But he demanded more.’
‘What?’
‘Passwords.’
‘You gave them to him?’
‘Not straight away. I had to adjust the cameras, record people as they logged on.’
‘But then?’
The Turtle nods, apparently forgetting his fear of surveillance. ‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When he went to use them, you were spying on him. You alerted Clarity Sparkes.’
‘No. No, it wasn’t like that.’
‘Tell me, or I tell the police.’
‘You said you wouldn’t.’
‘I say many things.’ She stares him in the eye, finding that intimidation comes easily. ‘You violated my privacy, you abhorrent shit. You help me or I tell the police. I have no other reason to protect you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You’re the one who gave him the passwords, gave him access, enabled him to steal the money. If I tell the police, you’re fucked.’ She gets to her feet. ‘I’ll be back here tomorrow at two. I want passwords too. I want the access you gave Tarquin. Or I’ll tell the police what you’ve done and explain that you had a motive to murder a police officer.’
She leaves him there, shaking visibly, amid the florid display cabinets, the doughnuts in retreat. Outside, the bracing wind is no longer irritating but cleansing. She’s desperate to get back to the hotel and shower. Every pore of her body feels tainted.
chapter sixteen
‘You want some gum?’ The computer geek offers him a squashed packet of Juicy Fruit, its top ripped off to reveal cracked pieces of gum. Today he’s wearing a military-style jacket and a second-hand policeman’s hat. With his long blond hair, it gives him the look of a faded rock star, despite his youth.
‘Not right now, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself. Wait here. I’ll get your laptop.’
He returns from the back of the store with a computer that looks remarkably similar to Martin’s old one, except for the marijuana-shaped sticker adorning its lid, proclaiming Legalise it! He props it on the counter, opens the lid. It
