The Family Remains(61)

But finally, an hour ago, the financial report came through and although I am alone at my desk behind a closed door when it arrives, I cannot help but shout out and punch the air and spin in a circle on the toes of my left foot while making strange sounds because there it is, in monochrome on the screen of my computer. On the same day that Libby Jones had the princely sum of ￡7.45 million paid into her current account, she transferred two separate payments into two other bank accounts of ￡2.48 million each.

The name on the first account is Miss Marie Valerie Caron. The name on the second account is Mr Phineas Thomson. The name Phineas rings bells. I feel I have heard it before recently and I flick through my notebook, urgently, trying to dislodge the memory. And there it is, written in capitals and underlined: ‘I AM PHIN’. These are the words that Donal had found scrawled on a skirting board at Cheyne Walk, the words I photographed. ‘I AM PHIN’. At the time the words meant nothing. But now they mean everything.

I stride from my office and into the investigation room towards my colleague, Maura. I bring the banking report up on to her screen and I show her the names.

‘Maura,’ I say. ‘I need you to find out everything there is to know about these people. Absolutely everything. Including on social media.’

Then Donal and I get back into a car and head out to St Albans once again.

Libby is not at her flat. But I remember her mentioning that her friend Dido is the head designer/owner of the kitchen showroom in the centre of the town, so we drive over there and park outside. After we enter the showroom, Dido comes out to us from her office at the back and looks at me with that same wary gaze she had two days before.

‘Oh. Hello?’

‘Good afternoon, Miss Rhodes. I’m sorry to disturb you at your place of work, but we are looking for Miss Jones and she is not at her apartment and she is not answering her phone and we really do need to talk to her as a matter of some urgency. Do you happen to know where she might be?’

The kitchens displayed in Northbone Kitchens’ showroom are very beautiful. I find that I am running my hand unthinkingly along a creamy marble countertop and quickly remove it. I think of my own kitchen counters which are made from a plastic material designed to resemble small blocks of wood and feel suddenly that they are looking dated and that maybe it is time for an upgrade. I pick up a card from a small box on the creamy marble counter and hold it between my thumb and the tip of my middle finger.

Dido shrugs. In fact, she does not just shrug but she heaves her entire upper body up towards her ears, turns up her hands, palm first and protrudes her lower lip. ‘No idea.’

‘You don’t know where she is?’

‘Not a clue. Maybe she’s shopping?’

‘Yes. Maybe she is. Where does she shop?’

‘I have absolutely no clue. Waitrose, probably.’

I narrow my eyes at Dido Rhodes, wondering why she seems to dislike me so. I wonder if maybe she is a racist. But I think it is more likely that she dislikes me because she is scared that I am going to hurt Libby in some way. Which is, of course, entirely possible.

‘Well, please, Miss Rhodes—’

‘Ms.’

‘My apologies. Ms Rhodes. If you hear from her, please will you let her know that DI Owusu and DS Muir would like very much to talk to her at her earliest possible convenience?’

‘What about, exactly? Didn’t she already tell you everything she knows? Which is, of course, precisely nothing.’

I inhale and arrange my face into a pleasant smile. ‘Yes. It appeared on Tuesday that she knew nothing, but further investigations have proved that she may know more than she thought and, in fact, Ms Rhodes – you are a very close friend of Miss Jones, are you not?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘In which case, if she had somehow made a connection with her long-lost siblings, she would have told you?’

‘I suppose so,’ she replies, her tone more guarded now.

‘Has she ever mentioned to you a person by the name of Phineas? Phineas Thomson?’

I spin the business card on its axis between my thumb and finger while I watch Dido’s response and as I watch I realise quickly that she is about to lie. For such a cool customer she has some very pronounced tics. Here they show up in the way her gaze finally detaches itself from me and reaches for the ceiling, one shoulder rolls slightly forward to the right, her hips to the left. I see a tiny indent in her cheek as she clenches her teeth before she speaks.

‘No. Never heard of him.’

‘OK. Well, then, thank you anyway.’

I look once more around the dazzling showroom, an unexpected need for shiny new things opening up in me that is stupid and yet quite thrilling. Then I nod my head at Dido Rhodes and we leave.

‘Where to, boss?’

‘To Dido’s house,’ I say.

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. Of course. Where else would she be?’

‘Do we have an address?’

I flash Donal a smile. ‘We do. It is right here on this business card.’

I give Donal the postcode and we leave.





45





Lucy is in a fast-food restaurant called Quik E Burger picking at a carton of fries. Marco had insisted that they come here for breakfast. They have no branches in the UK and it’s all over TikTok all the time and they have a ‘secret menu’ just to up the cult aspect and he is mauling a burger that is described as ‘The Beast’, which seems an apt description as it falls apart in Marco’s hands and drips down his chin.