The Bullet That Missed (Thursday Murder Club, #3)(70)

It can be difficult to get an appointment with a chief constable. They are busy people, their diaries are carefully controlled. Try ringing 999 and asking to speak to a chief constable. See where that gets you.

Elizabeth had rung Andrew Everton’s office that morning, saying she was a literary agent, who had read and loved all the Mackenzie McStewart novels, and would he have a moment to spare for her?

The call came back within a minute, saying that a window had magically opened up in his diary that very afternoon. Whatever it was that Andrew Everton had planned on doing then, catching a serial killer perhaps, could be put on the back burner.

Elizabeth had seen the disappointment in his eyes when she walked in. He recognized her from the reading. There was a brief moment of regrouping hope, as he considered that, yes, this was the old woman from the reading the other day, but she might also actually be an agent, some grande dame of the literary world. But, as soon as she had said, ‘I haven’t actually read your books, though I know Joyce is enjoying one,’ she saw the wind depart his sails. By this point she had sat down, however, and she knew that common politeness would allow her a couple of questions.

‘Bethany Waites,’ says Elizabeth. ‘You remember the case?’

‘I remember the case,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘I don’t remember asking you to come in and talk to me about it?’

Elizabeth waves this away. ‘We’re all taxpayers, aren’t we? Anything you can tell me? Any suspects at the time?’

‘Mmm,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘Are you familiar with police procedure?’

‘Very,’ says Elizabeth.

Andrew Everton starts to tap a pen on his desk. ‘And does this conversation feel like it tallies with police procedure? Given what you know?’

‘Here’s what I think,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I think you’re the Chief Constable of Kent. I think you could probably tell me all sorts of things if you chose to. I also think you failed to close the Bethany Waites case –’

‘Not me personally,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘To be fair. I was a smaller cog in those days.’

‘Quite so,’ agrees Elizabeth. ‘But a high-profile case, still unsolved. I’m offering you some help, and it feels only fair that you offer me help in return.’

‘What help are you offering me?’

‘We’ll get to that in good time,’ says Elizabeth. ‘You’ll know that Heather Garbutt is dead. Was she your prime suspect?’

‘She was a suspect,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘Again, what help can you give me? What do you know that I might not?’

‘And Jack Mason?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘Another suspect?’

‘We spoke to him,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘He had an alibi, but he’s not the type of man to do the deed himself, so it was fairly meaningless. I don’t quite understand why we are having this conversation?’

‘Anyone else?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘Anyone we’re missing?’

‘Who is we?’

‘My friends and I,’ says Elizabeth. ‘People you would like. I believe you’ve met Ibrahim, for instance.’

‘Ah, yes,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘Ibrahim Arif. A friend of Connie Johnson?’

‘A professional acquaintance of hers,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We have fingers in pies, Chief Constable. I am sure you would find us useful.’

Andrew Everton is weighing her up. Elizabeth has seen it countless times before. People trying to get the measure of her. It’s a fruitless endeavour.

‘OK,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘I’ll bite. Does Connie Johnson have anything to say about Heather Garbutt’s death? Is that information that you have?’

‘She thinks Heather Garbutt was frightened of someone,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Well, with respect we could gather that much from the note; that’s not new information,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘I’ll need better than that. Did she say who?’

‘I’m afraid that is information I don’t have. But you’ll be delighted to hear I can help you with the note,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It wasn’t real.’

‘Wasn’t real?’ Elizabeth sees Andrew Everton think this through, working the angles. Experience tells her he is no fool. He might actually be useful to them.

‘She didn’t write it?’ Andrew Everton still looks confused. ‘Then who did?’

‘We’re working on that,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But until then I have a different question for you. Where do you think the money is? If we can’t find Bethany Waites’s body, can we at least find the money?’

‘You’re aware we did try,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘We’re not bumpkins. We had forensic accountants go through every page of every file. They covered their tracks.’

Elizabeth laughs. ‘Honestly, we’ve found out more about the money in two weeks than you did in your whole investigation.’

‘I doubt that,’ says Andrew Everton.

‘Doubt away, dear,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It won’t change the facts. You didn’t find the forty thousand pounds paid to Carron Whitehead. You didn’t find the five thousand pounds paid to Robert Brown Msc. You didn’t find the connection to Jack Mason’s construction companies. You didn’t really find anything.’