Michael was in a meeting, but I made an appointment with his secretary for three o’clock. I figured I’d be through here by then. Next, I took out my microcassette recorder and dictated a full report on the KerrSter scam. I’d drop it off with Shelley on my way to meet Michael so I could hand the client a copy this evening. I’d also be dropping off a copy with Inspector Jackson, just so Clever Trevor couldn’t go taking the law into his own hands.

There was movement at the warehouse just after noon. I hit the record button on the video and taped Simon Morley and the two lads loading up the van with pallets of schneid KerrSter. Simon went back indoors with one of the lads, and the van took off. I followed at a discreet distance. I needn’t have bothered. If I’d just driven straight to Filbert Brown’s Manchester HQ, I’d have been able to film them arriving just as easily.

I was astonished at their sheer cheek. Two people had died because of their crazy product tampering, yet they were still milking the racket for all it was worth. The more I thought about it, the more disturbing I found that. Simon Morley might well be crazy enough to carry on putting people’s lives at risk in his vendetta against Kerrchem. But Sandra Bates hadn’t struck me as a woman who would go along with random murder. I know people do ridiculous things for love, but I couldn’t get the scenario into a credible shape at all.

But if Sandra Bates and Simon Morley weren’t bumping people off, who was? It went beyond the bounds of credibility to imagine two lots of blackmailing saboteurs. I know coincidences do happen, but this wasn’t one I could buy into. I closed my eyes and groaned. All this time and effort and I had a horrible feeling I wasn’t any nearer the killer than I had been at the start.

Michael looked delighted to see me, greeting me with an unprofessional kiss on the lips. The tingle factor was still firing on all four cylinders, I noted as I moved away and sat demurely on the opposite side of the table from him. “You’ve been keeping a very low profile,” he complained jocularly. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Your secretary keeps telling me you’re unavailable. I was beginning to think you’d gone off me.”

“She wasn’t bullshitting,” I said. “I genuinely have been unavailable. I’ve been out of the country. The good news is that you’re not going to have any more trouble from this particular gang of art thieves.”

He leaned forward, his eyes surprised and interested. “Really? They’ve been arrested?”

“Let’s just say the market’s collapsed,” I replied. “Take it from me, the racket’s over and done with. So you can safely reinsure Henry Naismith’s property. They won’t be back for a second bite of the cherry.”

Michael ran a hand through his dark hair and shook his head. “This is incredible. What on earth have you been up to? It all sounds very unorthodox.”

“That’s a word,” I said.

“You’re going to have to tell me more than that,” Michael said, his face and voice equally determined. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. But I have to explain myself to higher powers, and they’re not going to be overly impressed if I tell them I’ve taken a particular course of action on the say-so of a private eye who isn’t even our employee.”

I was growing bored with this story already, and I was still going to have to repeat it more times than the sole survivor of an air crash. “Look, I can’t go into great detail. I’ve still got a lot of talking to do to the police, and there are going to be arrests to come. The bare bones go like this. I got a tip-off from a good source as to who was fencing the goods. I tracked him back to an international criminal consortium who have been using artworks as payment in kind for drugs. The fence is out of the game for good, and the police will be closing in on the rest of the syndicate. Without a guaranteed market, the thieves won’t be doing any more robberies. I promise you, Michael, it’s all over.”

He looked up from the pad where he’d been taking notes. “You’re sure? You don’t think the fence is going to start up again once everything quiets down?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Not unless you believe in communications from beyond the grave,” I said.

Michael’s mouth opened as he stared at me with new eyes. “He’s dead?” His voice was incredulous.

“Very.”

“You didn’t…? It wasn’t…?” A flicker of fear showed in his eyes.

I snorted with ironic laughter. “Please,” I said. “I didn’t kill him, Michael, I only set him up. And my payoff was getting to discover the body.”

He looked faintly queasy. I can’t say I blamed him. “Is there any chance of recovering any of the stolen paintings?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so. I’m afraid you’re going to have to bite the bullet and cough up. But like I said, you won’t be having any repeat business from this team.”

“What can I say?” He spread his hands. “I’m impressed. Look, I can’t make any promises at this stage, but I’d be interested in working with you in future. On a more official basis.”

“Fine by me. Anything you need sorting, give us a call and we’ll talk.” Normally, I’d have been punching the air in jubilation at landing a client as major as Fortissimus. Today, all I could muster was a moment’s satisfaction. Fortissimus had been too expensive an acquisition.

I got to my feet. “And on a personal note,” Michael added, his eyes crinkling in a smile, “when can I see you again?”

“Tomorrow night?” I suggested. “Meet me in the bar at the Cornerhouse at half past seven?”

“Fine. See you then.”

I sketched a wave and moved toward the door. He bounded to his feet and caught up with me on the threshold. He tried to put his arms round me in hug, but I backed off. “Not in business hours,” I said defensively. “If we’re going to work together, we need some ground rules. Rule one, no messing about on the company’s time.”

His mouth turned down ruefully. “Sorry. You’re absolutely right. See you tomorrow. Stay lucky.”

I stopped off at the Cigar Store Cafe for a bite to eat and a cappuccino, then went back to the office to pick up the Kerrchem reports from Shelley. “Nice work,” she remarked as she handed me two neatly bound copies.

“Yeah,” I said, my lack of conviction obvious.

“So what’s the problem?”

I told her my reservations about Sandra Bates and her boyfriend. At the end of my tale, Shelley nodded sympathetically. “I see what you mean,” she said. “Are you going to front them up and see what they’ve got to say for themselves?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said. “I was just going to hand over the reports to Trevor Kerr and the cops and let them get on with it. I can’t pretend murder isn’t police business, can I?”

“No, but if they’re not the killers, maybe you should go and talk to them. They might have some useful ideas as to who actually is doing the killing.”

She was right, of course. Before I blew their lives out of the water, I should at least talk to Sandra Bates and Simon Morley. “What if they leg it?” I protested weakly.

“If you drop off the reports with Kerr and Jackson and go straight round there, they won’t have time to leg it, will they? This isn’t a lead that Jackson’s going to sit on till morning, is it?”

Half an hour later, I was walking up the path of 37 Alder Way. I’d sent Kerr’s copy of the report round by motorbike courier, and I’d left Jackson’s copy with his sergeant. I estimated I probably had a maximum of half an hour before the police came knocking.

Sandra Bates opened the door. Her first reaction was bemused bewilderment; then, clearly remembering what I’d been asking about, she tried to close the door. I stepped forward, shoving my shoulder between the door and the jamb. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Too slow, Sandra,” I said. “An innocent woman would have spoken sooner. We need to talk.”