Face-to-face, Gordon could see much more than he wanted to see-large pores, blackheads, a patch of whiskers missed in that morning’s shave-and he could smell the sweat of anticipation. He wondered what it felt like to have such supremacy over another, but he knew not to ask that of the man. Things would go worse for him if he played this badly and the point that he’d learned long ago was just to get through things so that he could go on.
“So we’ve been found out.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Oh, I think you know. You’ve had a visit from the coppers, haven’t you. They’re on your tail. What d’you make of that?”
“The cops know nothing that you don’t tell them,” Gordon said.
“Think that, do you? Hmmm. Yesssss. But they’re on to Winchester Technical, dear heart. Where d’you think they’ll go now they know that’s fiction? Someone somewhere should have sorted that one.”
“Well, no one did. And I can’t see that it matters. I didn’t need the bloody letters in the first place.”
“That’s what you think?” He took a step closer. They were chest to chest now and Gordon wanted to step away, so invaded did he feel. But he knew how that step would be interpreted. The other wanted fear to overwhelm him.
“I learned the trade. I’ve worked the trade. I’ve got a business. What more do you want?”
“Me?” His voice was all innocence and surprise. “What do I want? Darling boy, this isn’t about me.”
Gordon made no reply. He swallowed a sour flavour in his mouth. He heard a dog yelp excitedly somewhere. He heard its master call out in response.
The other man raised his hand then and Gordon felt its heat cradling the back of his neck. And then the fingers tightened just behind his ears, thumb and forefinger slowly increasing their pressure until the grip was agony. He refused to react, to blink, to groan. He swallowed again. He tasted bile.
“But we both know who wants something, don’t we? And we both know what that something is. You know what I think should be done, don’t you?”
Gordon gave no answer. The pressure increased.
“Don’t you, darling? Answer me now. You know what I think should be done, don’t you?”
“I suspect it,” Gordon said.
“A few little words from me. Five or six words. That can’t be what you want, eh?” He gave a little shake to Gordon’s head, a movement wearing the guise of fondness, except for the pain of the pressure behind his ears. Gordon’s throat ached; his head felt light.
“You’re bound,” he said.
For a moment, nothing. And then the other whispered, “I. Am. What?”
“Bound. You know it. This game of yours-”
“I’ll bloody well show you a game…” And the smile, that baring of teeth like an animal, except to think of the other man as an animal was to dishonour animals.
“Down,” he said and he spoke through his teeth. “Down you go. That’s right. On your knees.” He forced the issue with the pressure of his hand. There was nothing for it but to obey.
He was only inches from the other’s groin, and he saw the hairy fingers go deftly for the trousers’ zip. They lowered it smoothly, as if it had been oiled in anticipation of this moment and the purpose behind it. The hand slid inside.
The dog ended things. An Irish setter bounded onto the path, coming from the intersection of trails up ahead. It trotted along and gave a bark. Someone called out, “Jackson! Come boy. Come.”
Gordon found himself jerked to his feet. The setter reached him and snuffled round him.
“Jackson! Jackson! Where are you? Come!”
“He’s here,” Gordon shouted. “He’s over here.”
The other smiled, no teeth this time, but an expression that said things had been merely postponed, not canceled. He whispered, “One word from me and you know who shows up. One word from me and poof…everything’s gone. You’ll keep that in mind, won’t you?”
“You rot in hell,” Gordon said.
“Ah, but not without you, my dear. That’s the real beauty of your position.”
MEREDITH POWELL FOUND the office she was looking for without much trouble. It was in Christchurch Road near the fire station, and she walked there from Gerber & Hudson Graphic Design on her morning break.
She didn’t know what to expect from a private investigator. She’d seen depictions of private eyes on the telly, and the emphasis always seemed to be on their quirkiness. She didn’t want quirky, however. She wanted efficient. She had little enough money to spend on this venture although she knew it had to be spent.
That phone call to Gina’s mobile had convinced her, as had the fact that the mobile wasn’t in Gina’s possession in the first place. While Meredith knew that Gina could merely have forgotten to take it with her prior to setting off on that particular day, it looked as if she was, more or less, a permanent fixture on Gordon’s holding and, that being the case, why would she not have returned for her mobile phone once she realised it was missing from her belongings? It seemed to Meredith that there was only one possible answer to that question: She hadn’t returned for it because she hadn’t wanted it with her, ringing, vibrating, messaging, texting, or anything elseing while Gordon Jossie was about. All of this made Gina a suspicious character once again. All of this made Meredith turn to Daugherty Enquiries, Inc.
The Daugherty in question turned out to be an elderly woman, much to Meredith’s surprise. No rumpled trench coat was involved in her attire and no dusty office plant or pockmarked steel desk sat in her office. Rather she wore a green summer suit and sensible shoes, and her office furniture was polished to a glow. There was no plant at all, dusty or otherwise. Just prints on the walls, these of the New Forest wildlife.
She had pictures on her desk, comforting shots of children and grandchildren. She had a laptop computer opened on her desk as well and a neat stack of papers next to it, but she closed the lid of the laptop and gave her full attention to Meredith in the few minutes that they spoke.
Meredith called her Mrs. Daugherty. She said it was Ms. but that Michele would do. She pronounced it Me-shell, with the accent on me. She said, “Unusual name for someone my age, but my parents were forward thinkers.”
Meredith was unsure what this meant. She stumbled once with the placement of emphasis on the woman’s name, but she got the hang of it after a single correction, which seemed to please Michele Daugherty because she beamed and winked.
Meredith wasted no time in telling the investigator what she wanted: any information to be uncovered about one Gina Dickens. Anything at all, she said. She didn’t know what the investigator would be able to find but she was looking for as much as possible.
“The competition?” The investigator’s tone suggested this wasn’t the first time a woman had come seeking information about another woman.
“You might say that,” Meredith said. “But this is for a friend.”
“It always is.”
They spent a few moments on the fee and Meredith brought out her chequebook because on the telly there was always a retainer given. But Michele Daugherty waved this away: Meredith would pay once services were rendered.
That was that. It hadn’t taken long. Meredith walked back to Gerber & Hudson, feeling as if she’d taken an appropriate step.
She began to doubt this almost at once, however. Gina Dickens was waiting for her. She was perched on a chair in the square of space that went for reception, feet flat on the floor and shoulder bag in her lap. When Meredith entered, she rose and approached.
“I didn’t know where else to turn.” She spoke in an anxious whisper. “You’re the only person I actually know in the New Forest. They said you were gone for a bit but that I could wait.”
Meredith wondered if somehow Gina had made a few unwelcome discoveries: that she’d been in her digs above the Mad Hatter Tea Rooms, that she’d answered the ringing of the mobile phone there, that she’d removed what had been hidden beneath the basin, that she’d only just now hired a private eye to look into the whats and wherefores of Gina’s entire existence. She felt an immediate surge of guilt, but then she quelled it. Despite the look on Gina’s face, which seemed to blend importuning and fear, this was not the moment to let one’s conscience get the better of one. Besides, what was done was done. Jemima was dead and there were too many questions that needed to be answered.