Giles Oliver opened the door. He'd managed to get the mastiff into a sitting position behind him, but on seeing Kincaid the dog charged forward, tail wagging like a metronome gone berserk.
Kincaid gave Cullen points for having held his ground. 'Hullo, Mo,' he said as the dog sniffed him thoroughly and drooled on his trouser leg. 'We'd like a word, Giles.'
'Again?' Giles Oliver sounded aggrieved. He'd changed from work clothes into jeans and a T-shirt that revealed the bulge of his belly and did nothing to improve his appearance. 'I don't know what else I can tell you, and I was busy-'
'What happened to all your concern about Kristin?' Kincaid said, moving the dog forward so that Cullen could get in the door. The flat was hot, even with the windows open, and Oliver's limp hair was plastered to his forehead. 'I thought you wanted to help.'
'I didn't mean-Of course, I want to help. I was just-' A tub of ice cream sat on the coffee table, and having thoroughly examined Kincaid and a rigid Cullen, the dog wandered over and plunged his nose in. 'Mo, damn it.' Oliver grabbed the dog by his collar and dragged him off.
'I expect you can scrape off the top layer,' Kincaid said sympathetically. 'No harm done. But I'd get it back in the freezer if I were you.'
Oliver gave him a dirty look but retrieved the tub and took it into the kitchen, sliding it lidless into the small freezer. The tub had left a wet ring on the polished wood finish of the table.
Kincaid took a seat, uninvited, and Mo came to him and laid his massive head across his lap, this time leaving a trail of slobbery ice cream. A trip to the dry cleaners was definitely in the offing.
Cullen had stayed by the door, looking like he might bolt any second. Oliver came back into the sitting room, wiping his hands on his jeans. Scratching the dog behind his ears, Kincaid smiled at him. 'Now that we're off to a good start, Giles, why don't you tell us about the phantom bidding?'
Oliver's eyes widened and he swayed, as if he couldn't quite manage his body without the dog as a prop. 'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he managed to croak.
'Oh, yes, you do,' Kincaid said. 'That's where you make an agreement with the auctioneer to invent bids before a sale starts. It keeps the bids going up, creates a bit of excitement, and both the seller and the house make more money. The only person who loses out is the buyer, but then they should know what they're getting into, shouldn't they?'
'I don't know what-'
'I imagine it works particularly well when you're handling a phone line, as those bidders on the floor have no way of knowing whether the phone-in bid is genuine. Clever, isn't it? And not even illegal,' Kincaid added cheerfully.
Oliver had flushed an unbecoming red that made his spots stand out. 'If Khan told you that, it's a lie. He'd say anything to make me look bad.'
'What if Khan didn't tell us that? Is it still a lie? And why should Khan have some sort of personal vendetta against you, Giles? Have you been spreading rumors about him?'
'I-You're deliberately trying to confuse me. And I don't see what any of this has to do with Kristin.' He shot a distracted glance at Cullen, who had relaxed enough to come all the way into the room and was examining Oliver's audio equipment with interest.
'Well,' Kincaid said, stroking the top of the dog's head. Mo groaned and rested more of his weight against Kincaid's knee. 'It's not just about Kristin anymore,' Kincaid continued, ignoring the damp patch spreading towards his crotch. 'The man who gave Kristin the Goldshtein brooch to sell was killed last night. Did she tell you his name? A sort of quid pro quo for your bragging to her about your profits on your bidding scheme? And if she told you about
'You are totally fucking mad.' Giles Oliver licked his lips as if they had suddenly gone dry.
Kincaid knew he was spinning it, but if it was getting Oliver rattled he wasn't going to stop. 'Or maybe you thought she'd told Harry Pevensey that you were harassing her, spying on her, and that put you square in the frame for her murder-'
'Holy shit.' Cullen was peering at one of the two speakers flanking Oliver's audio setup. He jabbed a finger at the speaker. 'Do you know how much one of these things costs? These are B and W's. Five thousand pounds apiece. Five thousand pounds for just one of these, and you've got two. You could buy a bloody car for what these things are worth.'
Kincaid wasn't sure if he sounded more outraged or envious. 'B and W's?' he asked.
'Bowers and Wilkins. Based in Worthing. They make the best high-end loudspeakers this side of the Atlantic.'
Oliver backed up a step, as if looking for a bolt-hole. 'No, man, you don't understand.' He shook his head. 'I got them secondhand. I never paid that much for them.'
'Yeah, right.' Cullen rolled his eyes. 'I get the catalogs. These are new.'
Cullen, a secret audiophile? Kincaid logged the fact for future reference, then said, 'My, my, Doug. You have big aspirations on a policeman's salary.' He turned to Oliver. 'And, Giles, when you add in the rest of this equipment, I suspect you seem to have even bigger ones for someone making a salesclerk's wages. That must be some fiddle you've got going, if you can afford equipment like that. Maybe there's a bit more to it than the odd percentage on a phantom bid. Did Kristin find out you had your finger in more than one pie?'
'You have no business questioning how I spend my money.' Oliver drew himself up, but Kincaid could see that he was shaking. 'I have an allowance from my parents, if you must know. And none of this has anything to do with Kristin. She never came here. She never saw any of this.'
Thoughtfully, Kincaid said, 'That brings us very nicely back to where we started, doesn't it, Giles? Rejection. Jealousy. Kristin turned you down flat that night, and not very nicely, either, according to her mum.'
'Just because you don't have a driving license doesn't mean you can't drive,' chimed in Cullen. 'And with all this equipment, I'd be willing to bet that hot-wiring a car is not beyond your skills. One was stolen just a few streets from here the night Kristin Cahill was killed. It was found abandoned the next day-the police assumed it was joyriders. But maybe you took it, Giles, and left it after you ran Kristin down.'
'I never hurt Kristin,' protested Giles, sounding near tears. 'I loved her.'
'That's obsession, Giles. Not love,' Kincaid said. 'She didn't even like you.' The dog lifted his head at the change in his voice, then settled back down with a grunt. 'Did you get Harry Pevensey's name from the files?' Kincaid went on. 'Did you think he was Kristin's secret lover? The one who sent her the roses?'
'I'd never heard of him until you said his name a few minutes ago.' Oliver looked round wildly, as if help might appear out of thin air, but even his dog had abandoned him. 'I'm not talking to you anymore. I don't care what you say.'
Kincaid sighed and, slipping the dog's head from his knee, stood. 'Then I think we'd better take you into the Yard. We'll see if your prints match any of those found on the stolen car.'
'But-You can't.' Oliver sounded more shocked than belligerent. 'What about Mo?'
'Surely you have a friend or a neighbor who could look after your dog.'
'No. There's no one. There's this daft woman with cats downstairs, but she can't stand him. I don't know anyone else.'
'Your parents?'
'They're in Hampshire.'
Kincaid glanced at his watch. 'Too late for the RSPCA. I suppose we'll have to have him impounded.'
'No!'
'They won't put him down for twenty-four hours,' Kincaid said, disliking himself for the deliberate cruelty, but willing to use it. 'Doug, ring the animal warden-'
'No, wait.' Oliver looked as though he might imitate Dominic Scott and faint on them. 'I'll tell you everything.'
