Fakes and Lies Page 8

  ‘Him.’ The boss man was pointing at the CCTV screens, two of which were trained on an empty stable. Empty, apart from a man lying on a heap of straw. The other screens, which Binnie had noted were switched on as they entered, were now all blank.

  ‘Who is he?’ Binnie asked.

  ‘Someone who was meant to get something for me. He failed. Someone who swears our old friend Freddie Jones must have concealed the thing I wanted or that the daughter must know where it is, but so far he’s failed to find it. I’m not pleased.’

  Maybe you should have held off killing Freddie, Binnie thought. Then you might have been able to ask him straight up. Freddie had been disposed of in what Binnie considered was a fit of pique – something he’d found interesting. It meant this man who liked to see himself as the big ‘I am’ was not as in control as he liked to think he was.

  ‘So?’ Binnie asked again.

  ‘So, I want him to know that I don’t like failure. Change your clothes, Binnie, have some fun.’

  Binnie raised an eyebrow. Maybe the day was going to be interesting after all. ‘You want me to find out what he knows?’

  ‘I don’t think he knows anything worth telling. I don’t care what happens, Binnie. Do what you like and do it how you like. The mess will be cleaned up after you’ve gone. I’ll just settle myself here and watch. I take it you don’t mind an audience?’

  Binnie looked long and hard at his boss and then long and hard at the man. He was small and fragile looking. Sinewy rather than muscular. ‘He won’t last five minutes,’ Binnie said.

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Not to me.’ Binnie began to shed his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair. It looked as if this was a surveillance room built for two. He stripped down to his underwear and then donned the overalls.

  He was directed back through the door they’d entered by and given a key to the stable block below. The stall in which the man lay was bolted. Binnie slid the bolt and stepped inside.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Got a message from our boss. Seems he doesn’t like people letting him down.’ Binnie glanced up where he guessed the camera would be, conscious that he’d have to put on a good show.

  The other man cowered away from him, excuses and pleas rising to his lips. Binnie could hear him jabber but, after the first expression of sorrow and fear, was no longer listening to the words. A slow smile spread across his face. His boss had made no offer of weaponry but Binnie had fists and feet and that would be enough.

  ‘Come here,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s see just how sorry you really are.’

  Afterwards, Binnie washed his hands and face in the cloakroom next to the surveillance suite and stripped off the overalls, tossing them aside. He dressed and then waited, wondering what to do next. His employer hadn’t been in the control room when he’d come back. Once or twice Binnie had glanced at the screen, at the bloodied mess he had left behind, but he had detached from the incident and was simply waiting for whatever came next.

  After a while the door opened again and the woman he had met earlier came in. She held a plain brown envelope in her hand and she laid it down on the console in front of the cameras.

  ‘You can go now,’ she said. ‘If you go through the yard and follow the wall round, you’ll get back to the front of the house.’

  Binnie’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the summary dismissal but the woman seemed unperturbed. She opened the door and left. Binnie followed her down and watched as she crossed back into the house. She turned to glance at him before opening the door and going back inside.

  Binnie paused, envelope clutched in his hand, thinking, then he returned to the CCTV room, or tried to. He’d been certain that the boss man had opened the door but now he could see that there was no handle on the outside and he recalled that when he’d come back from the stable the door had already been opened wide.

  There must be some other way of getting inside. A remote control or gate fob or something.

  Binnie pushed against the door and then slammed against it, hard. It didn’t budge. It might be wood on the outside, he realized, but it was reinforced behind that.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. It had dawned on him that when he’d followed the woman down the stairs, momentarily distracted both by her and by the brown envelope, he hadn’t thought things through. The overalls. They were covered in the victim’s blood and in Binnie’s DNA.

  Furious with himself, he went back down into the yard. No sign of a living soul, and a quick investigation revealed the doors to the kitchen and hall to be locked and similarly reinforced.

  Binnie stomped his way back to his car and got inside. Then he opened the brown envelope and flicked through the notes. More money than he had guessed, simply from the thickness of the wad. And a typed note.

  The world being what it is, we all have to have our insurance policies. I’m sure you understand.

  Understand, Binnie thought, glaring up at the house and knowing he hadn’t got a hope in hell of making it back inside, not until he was summoned at any rate. He couldn’t do a thing.

  At least, not yet.

  FOURTEEN

  The afternoon was overcast and heavily grey – she didn’t need to be able to see to know that; the dampness in the air and the mild depression that seemed to pervade everyone’s mood was enough. She stayed at the advice centre for the extra hour, seeing a couple of people who had just walked in off the street needing assistance in addition to the appointments. George Mallard came to collect her just before two. The restaurant was only fifteen minutes away and Alfie had said he’d booked for two fifteen.

  Naomi was hungry. And curious. She hoped to satisfy both appetites.

  ‘Shall I walk you inside?’ George asked when they arrived.

  ‘If you don’t mind, that would be great.’

  George was an old friend and Naomi had become very reliant on his taxi service. He and his sons all knew what she needed and how to help.

  George made sure she exited the taxi safely and then placed Napoleon’s harness in her hand. He took her arm. ‘Two shallow steps up, then double doors,’ he said.

  ‘And you must be Naomi,’ a voice said. ‘Alfie Kounis. Pleased to meet you.’

  She felt him shake hands with George and released her hand from George’s arm so she could do the same. His grip was firm but not excessively so and there were calluses at the top of his palm that spoke of a hobby or activity more physical than she imagined private investigation to be.

  ‘You’ll be all right, will you?’ George checked. ‘Give me a call when you’re ready to go and we’ll come and get you, me or one of the lads.’

  ‘I think that’s me put on notice,’ Alfie said, amusement in his voice.

  ‘George is a good friend,’ she said. ‘He makes a point of looking out for me.’

  ‘Well, I hope I passed muster.’

  There was no sarcasm in the comment, Naomi noted. ‘If you didn’t, I’ll be told,’ she said.

  Alfie laughed. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘I hope you are. What do we do about your dog? Does he need anything?’

  ‘He was sorted before I left work,’ she said. ‘He’ll have his food when we get home. Don’t worry, Napoleon is happy and he knows not to beg when he’s on duty.’

  Alfie took her arm, a little tentatively, and led her into the body of the restaurant. They must have entered through a reception area, Naomi thought, remembering that this was also a hotel. Alfie gave his name and they were led to a table. ‘I’d like a jug of tap water, please,’ Alfie said. ‘And a beer, I think. What do you have? Naomi, what would you like to drink? Shall I read the drinks menu to you?’

  ‘What beers do they have? That sounds nice.’

  ‘Great.’ He sounded happy about that. Naomi settled back in her chair, Napoleon at her feet. She felt disposed to like this man. She felt even more so when, having ordered drinks, he read the menu to her and told her what dishes he’d enjoyed here before. He was a man who evide
ntly took his food choices seriously and hoped his guest would do the same.

  ‘So,’ he said, as they waited for their food to arrive, ‘what can I tell you? Annie said I should be completely open with you, so maybe we should start with what you know already and go from there?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. You’ve known Bob and Annie for a long time?’

  ‘Annie, yes. Since she was a scraggy teenager.’ He sounded fond, Naomi thought. ‘All long limbs and awkwardness. She’s grown into an exceptional woman. But I’m sure you know that.’

  Naomi smiled. Alfie’s tone was friendly but there was an unmistakable warning there. He was here to tell her all about his investigation into Freddie Jones. Annie was off limits in anything but the broadest terms. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘And Patrick is really fond of both of them. They’ve been good to him.’

  ‘Bob and Annie think he’s got real talent,’ Alfie said. ‘And he’s been through a lot in his short life, Annie understands.’

  Naomi nodded throughtfully.

  ‘So, Freddie Jones,’ Alfie reminded her. ‘Another very talented man. What do you know so far?’

  Naomi was aware that she was probably going over what was old ground for Alfie but she started at what for her was the beginning, Patrick’s encounter with Freddie’s daughter. She kept as much detail in the telling as she could and then talked about her own research, such as it was, into Freddie and the Scott murder. She finished by telling him that she knew the SIO leading the investigation into Antonia Scott’s death.

  Food arrived and they were silent for a few minutes, giving it and their hunger full attention.

  Alfie picked up the conversation again. ‘DI Karen Morgan, I’ve read about her. She’s got a good rep.’

  ‘Deservedly so,’ Naomi told him, feeling suddenly defensive about her old friend.

  ‘But she’s getting nowhere at the moment,’ Alfie added. ‘Not so much a matter of the trail going cold as there being no trail to begin with, from what I understand.’

  ‘What do you look like?’ Naomi interrupted him. ‘Sorry, I’m still a bit stuck in pre-blind mode, I like to have an idea, you know?’

  Alfie chuckled. ‘I think I’d be the same,’ he said. ‘Well, I suppose I’m a bit of a mix-up. Dad was Portuguese and Mum was mixed race, so if you imagine a white British, Latin, African hybrid, you’d be near the mark. I’ve got my mum’s brown eyes and my father’s skin, olive rather than really dark, and his nose, unfortunately. Not the prettiest nose around. I’m getting a little thin on top – courtesy of granddad Fred – so I keep it cropped, but left to its own devices my hair is very dark and would curl. I grow a beard in winter but I’ve just shaved it off. I’m hoping to encourage spring to arrive; nothing else seems to be working.’ He paused. ‘Does that give you a picture?’

  ‘That will do nicely, thank you.’

  ‘I could be lying, of course. But no doubt you’ll ask your taxi driving friend.’

  ‘No doubt I will. So, what do you know that I don’t?’

  Silence fell again as Alfie considered this and they both enjoyed more of their meal. Finally he said, ‘Well, I’ve prepared a dossier for you. Annie says you can use a hand scanner and then read back? Anyway, she said you’ve got the technology to deal with written documents, but I have also put things on a stick so you can use read back on your computer.’

  Naomi thanked him, surprised.

  ‘The long and the short of it is, in the early days Freddie was heavily involved not only in forging art objects and paintings but in faking the provenance for them. You probably know some of that but what I’ve pinned down is absolute proof for at least a half dozen objects. He was arrested, charged and eventually imprisoned and he entertained himself in jail with drawing cartoons and caricatures of the other prisoners. No doubt that earned him an easier ride than he might have had. Once he got out he seems to have focused on his legitimate work and made his living doing restorations, copies and original work. Things changed about three years ago and I’m still not quite sure why.’

  ‘Not money or any of the usual reasons, then?’

  ‘No. Look, Freddie’s never been brilliantly well off but he’s always been comfortable. He’s been assiduous in putting money aside for his daughter and he’s lived very simply, almost frugally. At the time of his death he had about five thousand pounds in the bank and he had no mortgage on his house. The house itself is tiny, two up two down plus a bathroom in what was the coal shed. It’s got a long yard, mostly paved, with a small brick building at the end that he sometimes used as a studio. Other than that he mostly rented studio space somewhere and he went for the cheap options. He wasn’t one for working in artist communities. He wasn’t one for working anywhere where people could take too much notice of what he was doing. Two years ago he set up in his present studio when he started to rent space in a warehouse. You know about that?’

  ‘Yes, Bee told me all about it. She’s not looking forward to clearing it out.’

  ‘I don’t imagine she is. From what I’ve seen of the house, the home studio and the studio at the warehouse, there’s an awful lot of stuff to deal with. Bob and Annie will help her, I’m sure, and it sounds as though your Patrick’s going to get involved. I hope Harry has room for some more art materials at their place.’

  Naomi raised an eyebrow. ‘You do your research, then.’ But she wasn’t really surprised.

  ‘Annie likes Harry a lot. She says he’s one of the most honest and straightforward men she’s ever met, and that’s high praise.’

  ‘And she’s dead right about that. So what caused Freddie to go back to his old ways? You must have some theories.’

  ‘Well, at first I thought it might have something to do with the daughter. He’s always been financially responsible but that’s not the same as having a young woman arrive on the scene, who needs her father to do things with her and for her. Teenagers are expensive.’

  ‘You sound like a man who knows.’

  Alfie just laughed. ‘But I don’t think that’s the case. As I said, Freddie was not rich but he was comfortable enough and I looked back into his financial records and there is no sudden blip in what he was earning or certainly in what he was putting in the bank. Now it’s entirely possible he had a cash stash somewhere, or reinvested it, and I haven’t found the paper trail yet.’ He paused and then said, ‘You should know that my work has always been, shall we say, in the less active realms. I’m no Nathan or Annie. The work I did with their guardian was always forensic. I chase paper, not criminals. I look into shell companies, I examine people’s financials. If Freddie was investing I will find out what he was investing in. If Freddie was being blackmailed, I’ll find a trace of that too. I’m good at what I do, but there are gaps in what I’m able to discover. I’m sort of hoping that your friend Karen will be able to fill in those gaps. What I’m asking is, do you think she’d be open to a meeting?’

  Naomi stared at him, or would have done if she could actually see him, but the action was the same. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a bit of a cheeky question.’

  ‘I don’t mind you saying, and yes, it is. But I’d rather be straight. I’m getting insights that lead me to think that Freddie was in up to his neck or even over his head. That Freddie had some reason to be scared. He’d taken out additional life insurance, updated his will, added a new alarm system to the house, and Mark Brookes, the man he sublet his studio space from, said that he was jumpy, always checking the doors were locked all of a sudden, and that he asked him, a couple of weeks before he died, to keep an eye on the studio, should anything untoward happen. He wouldn’t be drawn on what.

  ‘Now, I can chase the paper so far, I can examine the figures and I can draw conclusions and I can even put names to transactions but what I can’t do is investigate the criminality in a way that a police officer could. Or rather, I could, but Annie has instructed me that this investigation is to be totally legitimate and above board. I’m to do nothing that could not be us
ed in court. I’m sure you can understand how that ties my hands, but she is right.’

  Naomi considered. The waiter had come back with a dessert list and she listened as Alfie read it out to her. She laughed. ‘Black Forest gâteau – does anybody do that any more? I’m amazed.’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s become fashionable again, alongside deconstructed prawn cocktail.’

  ‘I think I’ll have to have some then, won’t I?’

  Alfie ordered a crème brûlée and the waiter went away.

  ‘I’d like a coffee after, would you like one too?’

  Naomi nodded. ‘Yes, I think that might be a good idea.’

  ‘The restaurant area will be closing, but we can go through to the lounge. It’s nice in there, big bay windows and comfy chairs.’

  ‘I’ll ask Karen to meet you,’ Naomi told him. ‘But you’ve got to understand, she’ll probably consider you are duty bound to hand over any evidence regardless and also, I’ve not seen her in years. She’d be totally within her rights to tell me to get lost for trying to use her.’

  ‘And as I said, I prepared a dossier that you can share with her and I’m very willing to talk through anything she doesn’t understand. Naomi, I get the feeling this is more serious than any of us suspected. I get the feeling there is big – and I mean very big – money at stake here. Freddie obviously crossed someone, made somebody so angry that his usefulness was overridden, and they had him killed. His daughter is right, there does need to be a second post-mortem. The first just confirmed heart failure and as everybody was expecting him to die of heart disease some time or other that was no surprise. The only reason there was a post-mortem in the first place was that he’d failed to see his doctor as frequently as a man in his condition ought to have done.’