Rowe frowned; an expression accompanied by an almost imperceptible shake of the head. "Just to talk, I think. Mull over old times, maybe."
Tamara wasn't convinced and her expression must have shown it. Rowe smiled. There didn't appear to be deception in the look.
"I know you will find it hard to understand, Detective Inspector, but I hold no malice towards Mr Gage. He wrote to me once, long after the trial was complete."
"What for?"
Rowe shrugged. "I'm not sure. He had no need to. I got the impression he took no pleasure in ruining my life or bringing down the company, which it inevitably did. A lot of people lost their jobs which, at the time, with the economy being what it was, meant it was a tough time for our former employees. He regretted that, I think. Not that it was his fault. It was mine." He took another deep inhale through his mask. "He just did his job. It was such a shame for me that he was so good at it. We would be very unlikely friends, there's no doubt about that but I really wouldn't wish harm on him or anyone else. I paid my debt, served my time. Now, I just want to live in peace for whatever time I have left."
"Please feel free not to answer this question if you'd prefer, but what is the nature of your condition?"
"Chronic obstructive…" He stopped to reach for the mask again, this time taking a half dozen inhalations before trying to speak again. His words, and his breaths, came in agonisingly short bursts. "…pulmonary disease…" His eyes glazed over. "And old age, of course. My doctor puts me in the severe category. I'd hate to be there when they add the word very before that."
Tamara tried to remember the details in his file. She recalled he would be in his sixties now. Hardly an old man but to look at him you might be forgiven for thinking he was thirty years older.
"Do you see much of your brother these days?"
Rowe lifted his mask, closing his eyes as he breathed. The mask clouded over with each exhalation. On this occasion his breathing hadn't been as ragged and she wondered whether the action was to delay answering the question, to buy him thinking time.
"What do you want from Les?" he asked eventually.
"Well, he lost out too, didn't he?"
The legs of a chair scraping across a wooden floor carried from the unit above. Rowe cast his eyes to the ceiling, grumbling.
"To think I have to see out my days listening to him."
Tamara looked up as well. "Friend of yours?"
Rowe ignored the question. "I don't see much of my brother anymore. He and I… he sees me as the family albatross around his neck."
"Blood is thicker than water. Isn't that what they say?"
"Harrumph," Rowe said, shaking his head. Tamara wondered if Les had been telling the truth all along about being kept in the dark as to what his brother was up to with the company finances. Then again, there was still enough to convict him. "He's running boat trips out of Blakeney."
"What type of trips?" Tamara asked, making a note.
"Seal watching, I think. Apparently it's popular with the tourists. There are a number of people doing them now."
"Which one is his?"
Rowe chuckled before it turned into a deep, throaty laugh and ended in another hacking cough.
"The boat with the hole in it, I should think."
Tamara smiled politely at the joke, flicking her eyes to Cassie who rolled hers.
Thanking him for his time, they let themselves out. Michael Rowe was pleased not to have to see them to the door, instead he asked Tamara to pass him the television remote so that he could catch his favourite daytime quiz show. Cassie pulled the front door closed and they set off back to the car. Passing the patio doors, Tamara glanced in but Rowe showed no interest in them as they left. The same couldn't be said for the other residents. Word of their presence must have spread because there seemed to be twice as many eyes on them as they walked out than when they arrived.
"What do you think?" Cassie asked as they walked.
"Not sure. I mean, he's plausible enough with what he says."
"Most convicted fraudsters I've ever nicked usually are."
Tamara smiled. "That's true. But do you see him stabbing Adrian Gage to death. Perhaps landing one blow but two or three without retaliation? I'm not so sure."
"He'd be the last person you'd think capable, for sure. Maybe Gage didn't see him as a threat. I didn't read anything about his medical condition in his file."
Tamara considered that. "Do you think he's laying it on? You could fake the need for oxygen to a degree but did you see the state of his fingers? And his skin colour? You can't fake that. Besides, he doesn't exactly move like a gazelle, does he? And how would he even get there? Someone will have seen him trying to leave Gage's place, and did you see how he reacted when speaking to us. Any increase in stress and his breathing became difficult. Imagine how stressful killing a man would be, even if you've spent four or five years thinking about how much you want to do it."
"So, not our guy then."
"I wouldn't rule him out yet."
"Doubts?" Cassie asked just as they reached the car. Tamara looked across to her, placing her hands together on the roof of the car.
"Do you see Adrian Gage dropping by for a cosy follow-up chat, having been the reason he got the man sent down for a stretch?" She drummed her fingers on the metal. Cassie inclined her head.
"No. Not really."
"Me neither," Tamara said, unlocking the doors. Her phone rang and she turned away from the car to answer the call as Cassie got in. "DCI Greave."
"Tamara, it's Tim Paxton, I'm sending my report over to you on the Gage murder but thought you'd like the highlights."
"Thank you, Dr Paxton. I
