Falcon with its engine ticking as it cooled down and considered my options. There was really only one. I crossed the street, opened the low gate and walked up to the front porch. The house was brick and fairly newly occupied to judge by the state of the garden, struggling to get established in poor soil under the water regulations. The screen door was a semi-security job but not much use since it was unlocked. I swung it open and pressed the buzzer.
Chimes sounded inside and a woman came to the door. She opened it, probably expecting the screen to be between her and anyone calling, but she didn't seem too worried about it.
'Mrs McGuinness?'
'Yes.'
'Is your husband at home? I'd like a word with him.'
She was attractive in a well-worn and slightly brittle way, and, at a guess, ten years younger than McGuinness, who I took to be about forty. She wore beige cargo pants and a black shirt with three strands of gold chain around her neck. My bruises and wounds had pretty much healed up and I was looking respectable enough in drill pants and a blue business shirt. I gave her one of my most reassuring smiles.
'The security door was unlocked,' I said. 'Tch, tch.'
She returned the smile, but only just. 'My fault. Don't tell Clive. He's out by the pool having a drink. Would you like to come through?'
I followed her down the passage, walking on a thick carpet runner over polished boards, past a living room and a couple of bedrooms. We went through the well-appointed kitchen to a door leading to a deck. I could see the evening light glinting on bright blue water. She paused at the door. 'Can I get you a drink?'
'Thank you. I'll have whatever Clive's having.'
There were lights on in the big yard and by the pool. McGuinness was on a chaise beside the pool, talking on his mobile. He was wearing a T-shirt, swimming trunks and was barefooted. The gate was open. I went through without him hearing me, put two hands under the side of the recliner and flipped him into the water. He shouted and came up spluttering, standing in the shallow end. He recognised me and opened his mouth to shout something but I put my finger to my lips and pointed to where his wife was coming from the house. He began feeling in the water for his phone.
'Clive! What on earth are you doing?'
'It's all right, Dottie. I just overbalanced. Dropped my phone.'
'It'll be ruined. Oh, here's your drink, Mr…?'
'Cliff,' I said. 'Thanks. Why don't you get Clive a robe or something, Mrs Mac. I'm afraid we have to talk in private.'
She was suspicious. My manner and tone told her that I wasn't the innocent caller she'd taken me for. She glanced at McGuinness, who nodded, and she went back to the house. McGuinness located the phone, put it on the side of the pool and used the ladder to climb out. Wringing wet, with his hair in his eyes, he'd lost all his poise and smooth competence. He was well built, or had been, but there was a soft look about him-too much sitting down, too many working breakfasts and lunches-and he didn't fancy his chances against me.
Dottie came down the path and tossed a towelling robe to McGuinness, who only just managed to stop it falling into the pool. She turned on her heel and went back to the house. McGuinness took off his T-shirt and pulled on the robe, righted the chaise and sat down. His drink was on the tiles and he picked it up, fighting for composure.
I took a pull on the glass I'd been given. Gin and tonic, a bit weak but very acceptable. 'That's better now, Clive, isn't it?' I said. 'Let's cut to the chase. Where's Billie Marchant?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Either you tell me or I toss you in again and hold you under until you do. I might even hold you there a bit too ^long.'
'You wouldn't.'
I kicked the phone back into the pool. 'I've seen it done by a master. If you judge it right you promote just that little bit of brain damage. Can lead to a stroke later on.'
'Jesus, Hardy.'
'Your choice. That woman was sort of under my protection and I feel bad about her going missing. So do a few other people.'
He finished his drink and maybe thought briefly about throwing the glass at me, but it wasn't really glass, just some kind of heavy plastic, appropriate to poolside drinking.
I sipped my drink, smiled and shook my head. That gesture seemed to take a toll of him and I realised that he was very frightened, more frightened than he should have been by my actions and threats.
'I had nothing to do with it,' he said.
It was almost as if he was taking a polygraph test and confident of giving a right answer, but there was still that fear.
I knew the reason. 'What about Louise Kramer's suicide?' 'Oh, God.'
He ran his hands over his head and the water dripped into his eyes. He scrubbed at them, making himself a picture of misery. This was a man with things on his mind. He lifted his head. 'I saved you from being bashed by that big-'
'That was then, this is now. Since then you've been an accessory to murder and abduction. Things've changed a bit. Of course Greaves could get you a lawyer and he could get you bail and all, but d'you want to take that chance?'
He shook his head.
'Didn't think so. Don't worry, Clive. I'm sure we can do a deal here.'
16
Does your wife know about the sorts of things you do for Greaves?'
'Leave her out of it.'
'I just want to be sure she doesn't run off and phone up your little mate.'
'She won't.'
'Trouble in Paradise?'
'We're not as close as we were.'
'Too bad. I'm pretty sure I can convince the police Louise Kramer didn't suicide. I can get them to investigate things-phone calls, sightings of cars, purchase of vodka…'
He started to speak but I stopped him.
'I don't want to know what you did or didn't do personally. I know you were involved,' I said. 'She lied to me and used me and I don't owe her anything. What I'm interested in is the whereabouts of Billie Marchant.'
'Why?'
'I'm working for her sister now.'
'You're a leech.'
'Poetic. Listen, you'll like this-she's fixing to pay me with the money you gave her to go away.'
'It wasn't like that.'
'She thinks it was and she's not happy about it.'
In the not-so-far distance I heard a car door slam and a metal gate slide open, grinding a little. I looked at McGuin-ness, who shrugged.
'Dottie's taken herself off somewhere.'
'Like?'
'Don't know, don't care.'
'That's not a good attitude.'
'I knew you were trouble the minute I set eyes on you and I told Barclay so. Get on with it, Hardy. I'm cold and I need another drink.'
'Best to keep you that way. What has Greaves got against Jonas Clement?'
