Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(34)

“And you say he was living here?”

“No, he’d moved out a few weeks before,” repeated Kate, frustrated that he wasn’t paying attention.

“Ah, well there you go, then. If he’d been a resident, I’d have known about it. When people were under my roof, I was able to look out for them.”

“Would you know anyone who can help us? Are you in contact with any other people who lived here around that time?”

Max took off his glasses.

“No, my de-ah. When I stepped over to the dark side and discovered the joys of capitalism, all my socialist, free-loving friends evaporated. I only claimed squatter’s rights initially so I could insure the place and get things fixed.”

“How did you find it?” asked Tristan.

“How did I find what? Be specific,” said Max. The way he looked at Tristan, thought Kate, was a strange mixture of lust and loathing.

“How did you find the commune?”

“Back in the late seventies, I was homeless, and this place was derelict. You could just walk into the building through the courtyard out the back,” he said, indicating with his glasses. “I joined a few others who dossed down inside to shelter. I was the only one smart enough to register myself as the bill payer. I also put in new doors and made it safer.”

“And it had been a boardinghouse?” asked Kate.

“Yes, very dated. Some of the rooms still had chamber pots under the bed, gathering dust. I might have been a squatter, but I could never contemplate shitting in a pot.”

Bishop laughed, a little too hard.

“It wasn’t that funny,” said Max. “Piss off and wipe some tables.” Bishop blushed and went off to the bar. Max turned back to them. “I’m very sorry that lad, David, went missing, but back then was a different time. We had hundreds of young people come through the commune.”

“Shelley said that it was mostly young men who lived at the commune,” said Kate.

“Well, of course. You look old enough to remember the old days,” he said pointedly. “It wasn’t all fucking rainbow takeaway coffee cups back then. This was a safe house for many people, including young gay men who’d been thrown out by their parents . . . Anyway, I have work to do. Do you have a card, in case I remember something?”

Kate took out one of her business cards and handed it to him.

“The Kate Marshall Detective Agency,” he said, peering at it. “Do you have a card?” he asked, looking up at Tristan.

“Yes,” said Tristan, handing him one of his cards.

“I’ll be sure to give you a ring, Tristan, if I remember anything. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He smiled and bowed his head and left before they could ask him anything else. He made Kate shudder a little, with his cold eyes and indifference.





18


It was still raining when they came out of Jesper’s. They hurried back to the car and got inside. Tristan had paid for the coffee, and he got the receipt out and passed it to Kate. She noticed something written on the back.

“The waiter wrote his phone number, with a smiley face,” she said, holding it up.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“I doubt he wrote it for me,” said Kate.

“He dots the i of Bishop with a circle,” said Tristan, raising an eyebrow.

“I worked with a handwriting analyst once. It can mean someone has childish and playful qualities,” said Kate.

“Not my type.”

Kate fleetingly wondered what his type was, as she’d never heard him mention a boyfriend.

“It could be interesting, for the case, to meet him for coffee. He said he’s been working at Jesper’s for three years. Would you be comfortable doing that?” she asked.

“Okay. I would just be going for a cup of coffee.”

Kate looked at the receipt again.

“Is that what a smiley face means? Do you want to go for coffee?”

“I presume so. What would you think if a waiter wrote that on your receipt?”

Kate laughed at Tristan’s naivety.

“I’d think he’s got my order mixed up. I’m past the age where a waiter’s going to write his phone number on my receipt,” she said. “If you’re comfortable to contact him and go for coffee, then, it could give us more info.”

Kate took over driving, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking spot. The smart shops and the cinema slid past, and they reached the end of the road and started toward the industrial estate. Tristan took out his mobile and typed a short message to Bishop and pressed “Send.”

“What did you make of Max Jesper?” he asked, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“I thought he was cold and sleazy, and it wasn’t even me he was interested in.”

“I think he was lying. He knew David Lamb,” said Tristan. “Shelley said very few women lived at the commune, so even if David, on his own, didn’t stick out, the fact he arrived with Shelley and they were friends, that must have meant something. And Shelley said she went to the commune when David went missing. I don’t buy the whole wacky baccy stuff. Max seems very sharp and on the ball. Like a sharp, inquisitive crow.”

“It also troubles me how Max Jesper went from homeless dosser to the owner of a lucrative boutique hotel.”