Chapter 35
‘Dorothy, you’re on mute,’ says Steve.
Steve is relieved to be out of the heat, although now the air conditioning on the plane is a tad too chilly.
Steve longs to be back home, where he can have his thermostat exactly where he likes it at all times.
Or, rather, about three degrees hotter than he actually likes it, because Trouble miaows incessantly unless the temperature is a steady twenty-four degrees.
‘You’re on mute, Dorothy,’ says Rosie, as the elderly woman on the jet’s big screen continues to talk.
It hasn’t been a wasted trip though. Tommy Griffin was a great help, if not a terrific conversationalist.
‘You need to press the microphone button,’ says Amy.
Sara Lindstrat believes that ‘Jakob Eriksson’ must be an alias.
Tommy Griffin is sure that Jakob Eriksson has an English accent.
Well, looking for English criminals is Steve’s speciality, and his first port of call was Dorothy Gunn, currently silently talking ten to the dozen.
Dorothy had been the Met’s Chief Research Officer when Steve was serving.
Dorothy knows everyone and everything. Except, it seems, how a Zoom call works.
On the screen a child walks into the room behind Dorothy. She taps Dorothy on the shoulder and reaches over her. The audio kicks in and the girl says, ‘Sorry, that’s my nana,’ and leaves the room.
‘How much did you get of that?’ Dorothy asks.
‘None of it, Dotty,’ says Steve.
‘Blast,’ says Dorothy. ‘It’s nice to see you, Steven, where are you?’
‘On a private jet,’ says Steve. ‘This is my daughter-in-law, Amy, and this is Rosie.’
‘Ah, the novelist,’ says Dorothy. ‘A novelist who, in Tick-Tock, Death O’Clock, thinks you can dig up a body after forty years and still determine an exact time of death. That novelist?’
‘That’s me,’ says Rosie. ‘How nice to talk to you, Dorothy.’
‘The novelist who,’ continues Dorothy, ‘in The Romulus and Remus Murders, thought that identical twins shared identical DNA. That novelist?’
‘Dorothy,’ says Rosie, ‘could you ask your granddaughter to put you back on mute?’
‘Great-granddaughter,’ says Dorothy. ‘And you say you’re a sleuth?’
‘I like her,’ says Amy.
‘What do you need, Steven?’ Dorothy asks.
‘I know you’re busy, Dotty,’ says Steve.
‘Busy?’ says Dorothy. ‘No, not at all. Why would you think I was busy? Most days I just sit here looking at cows out of the window. Does that sound busy?’
‘I just …’ starts Steve. ‘Sorry, it was just a figure of speech. We’re looking for someone.’
‘Name?’ Dorothy asks.
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ says Steve. ‘The alias is Jakob Eriksson, but we don’t know his real name. That’s sort of what we’re after.’
‘But a man?’ says Dorothy.
‘A man,’ agrees Steve.
‘Then we have already ruled out an enormous number of names, haven’t we?’ says Dorothy. ‘We’ve ruled out “Helen” or “Wendy” for example. Although these days, who knows?’
Rosie mutes their microphone for a second.
‘You’re certain she’s a genius, Steve?’
‘Watch and see,’ says Steve and unmutes.
‘He’s in the illegal medication business,’ says Steve. ‘Vitamins, statins, pills in the post.’
Dorothy nods. ‘And so we narrow it down further. Go on.’
‘Our man, Jakob Eriksson, appears on the scene in 2001,’ says Steve. ‘In Morocco. He’d have been in his forties at the time, so we figure he had some sort of career before that.’
‘Nobody becomes a criminal in their forties,’ says Dorothy. ‘We narrow it down further. We have a gender, a profession and an age.’
‘And he’s English,’ says Amy.
‘Does the lady novelist have anything to add?’ asks Dorothy.
‘Umm …’ says Rosie. ‘No.’
Dorothy nods again. ‘Surprise, surprise. Let me put all of that into the old computer.’
Dorothy gazes up at the ceiling and closes her eyes.
After around half a minute of silence, Rosie and Amy look at Steve. He puts his finger to his lips.
Dorothy opens her eyes and looks down again.
‘Bald at all?’ she asks. ‘Your man?’
‘Very,’ says Amy.
‘And you’re sure about 2001?’ Dorothy asks.
‘Near as dammit,’ says Steve.
‘Language, please, Steven,’ says Dorothy.
‘Sorry, Dotty,’ says Steve. ‘What did you find in your computer?’
‘2001,’ says Dorothy. ‘We were after a man called Connor Brooks. He was in that world, medication and all the rest of it. Shoo! Shooooo! Sorry, cow at the window. They’ll be indoors next.’
‘I don’t remember the name Connor Brooks,’ says Steve.
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ says Dorothy. ‘Nobody ever remembers anything. Mr Brooks was living in Málaga. Now, bear in mind that in 2001 everyone in Málaga was a British criminal, but he has always stuck in my mind.’
‘Why so?’ asks Amy.
‘We were a few days away from arresting him,’ says Dorothy. ‘Had it all ready to go, warrant issued, cooperation from the Spanish, which was no easy thing. They are recalcitrant as a people.’
‘Dotty,’ says Steve, ‘this is why you were sacked, don’t forget.’
Dorothy accepts this with grace and continues. ‘One of our lads was booked on the easyJet to go and get Brooks. You know how much detectives love going to Spain, so I remember there was some excitement.’
‘But?’ says Steve.
‘The Spanish received a call,’ says Dorothy. ‘From a housekeeper? I couldn’t swear to that. Connor Brooks had disappeared. He had left his passport, he had left his clothes, and – here is the important bit for us – he had left a suicide note.’
‘And the body?’ asks Steve.
‘Never found,’ says Dorothy. ‘As far as I remember. Which, as you know, Steven, is very far.’
‘Any trace of him still alive?’ Rosie asks. ‘Ever used his credit cards?’
‘Finally, the great novelist asks a question,’ says Dorothy. ‘Completely disappeared. Swept out to sea, we were expected to believe. But no body at the time or, as far as I’m aware, since.’
‘So,’ says Steve, ‘Connor Brooks disappears without trace, at the same time a man called Jakob Eriksson appears from a puff of smoke? One man disappears, one man appears, and business carries on as usual.’
‘So Connor Brooks is now Jakob Eriksson?’ says Rosie. ‘That’s our theory?’
‘Brooks knows he’s about to be arrested,’ says Steve. ‘Abandons ship, clears the slate and comes back with a shiny new identity?’
Amy holds up a picture of Jakob Eriksson. ‘I don’t suppose you recognize this man?’
Dorothy leans into the screen and takes off her glasses.
‘I couldn’t say for certain,’ says Dorothy.
‘I’m sure in one of Rosie’s books I’d be able to recognize a man I hadn’t seen for twenty-five years, but that’s because she cuts corners.
And not just her, they’re all at it. If I ever write a crime novel, it will be called Here Is Everything that Happened in Order and with No Nonsense. ’
‘Dotty,’ says Steve. ‘Come on now.’
Dorothy waves this away. ‘So, no, I couldn’t say for certain, but they are not unalike. And surely he would have had some work done?’
‘I have a surgeon who could make Steve look like Scarlett Johansson,’ says Rosie. ‘And vice versa.’
‘Is there anything else you need?’ Dorothy asks. ‘I have to go and complain about some bell ringers.’
‘You’ve been enormously helpful, Dotty,’ says Steve. ‘And it’s been lovely to see you.’
‘It’s nice to be asked, Steven,’ says Dorothy. ‘And sorry, Rosie, I really do enjoy your books, I don’t know why I took you to task.’
‘Don’t worry about it for a moment,’ says Rosie. ‘I’ll send you a signed copy of my new one.’
‘No, thank you,’ says Dorothy. ‘Take care, Steven.’
And with that, Dorothy Gunn is gone. Steve, Amy and Rosie sink back into their chairs.
‘So,’ says Steve. ‘Connor Brooks, ex-pat, living in Málaga, cops closing in, fakes his own death, disappears, then reappears as a taciturn Swede? Hell of a way to lose a tail.’
Amy is shaking her head. ‘Surely Vern would know if Jakob Eriksson was an English man called Connor Brooks?’
‘Perhaps he does know?’ says Steve. ‘Perhaps they’re a lot closer than he’s told us? And that’s why he’s so sure Eriksson’s not behind the whole thing?’
‘And Korbin would have known too?’ says Amy. ‘Is that what he was going to tell me?’
‘Either way,’ says Rosie, ‘I feel like we are closing in.’
Rosie is right, Steve can sense it. Although he has something else on his mind.
‘Did you give my number to Georgie Glazier?’ Steve asks.
‘I might have,’ says Rosie. ‘I’m in love with romance. Mine or anyone else’s, I’m not fussy.’
‘I’m not looking for love,’ says Steve. ‘I have my friends, I have my job and I have my cat.’
Rosie takes the olive from her Martini and eats it. ‘Did she text you?’
‘She wants to come to Axley,’ says Steve.
‘To see you?’
‘She said she’s going to be in the area,’ says Steve. ‘She says she has business in Portsmouth.’
‘Who has business in Portsmouth?’ asks Amy. ‘No one.’
‘I don’t like it,’ says Steve. ‘You don’t have to meddle in everything I do. You’ve already got me solving murders and going abroad. I don’t need this on my plate too.’
‘It’ll be nice, Steve,’ says Amy.
‘Would you like Rosie to meddle in your love life?’ Steve asks.
‘Not really,’ says Amy. ‘I’m married to your son.’
‘Barely,’ says Rosie.
‘I might not take your advice on marriage, Rosie,’ says Amy.
‘You should do,’ says Steve, ‘She’s done it often enough.’
Steve and Amy high-five.
‘Anyway,’ says Steve, ‘she’s still a suspect. It’s unprofessional.’
Amy is right though. Georgie probably doesn’t have business down in Portsmouth, although it does have a thriving maritime logistics industry.
Aerospace too. A date though? Steve can’t even begin to imagine it.
There hasn’t been anyone since Debbie, and he hopes there never will be.
How long has he got left on the planet? Twenty-five years?
Steve can see that out easily without sharing his heart again.
It’s bad enough that he’s on a private plane, away from home, after spending two days sweating through every piece of clothing he owns in a house paid for by designing coffee tables. Love too? No, thanks.
Brad, the air steward, pops his head out from the galley. ‘I have sea bass ceviche on a bed of samphire if anyone’s hungry?’
‘Yes, please,’ say Rosie and Amy.
Brad looks at Steve. ‘And some salt-and-vinegar Pringles for sir?’
‘Thanks, Brad,’ says Steve.
Brad disappears again.
‘Whether Jakob Eriksson is Connor Brooks or not,’ says Rosie, ‘we’re still no nearer to finding out whether he killed Esteban and Korbin. We need to think about our other suspects.’
Brad comes out with the ceviche and Pringles and three glasses. ‘I’ve paired the sea bass with a Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, and I’ve paired the Pringles with a can of Theakston Best Bitter.’
They thank Brad and he leaves.
‘The other bodyguard?’ suggests Steve.
‘Lee,’ says Rosie. ‘The handsome one.’
‘Pfft,’ says Amy.
‘Pfft he didn’t do it?’ asks Rosie. ‘Or pfft he’s not handsome?’
‘Both,’ says Amy.
‘But maybe there was a falling-out?’ says Steve. ‘If there are three bodyguards and two of them die, and one of them doesn’t, it does raise a question.’
‘Very well,’ says Rosie. ‘While we wait for Connor Brooks to break cover, Steve, we really do need to look into Georgie Glazier a little more, and you’ve just been given the perfect opportunity. Amy, you can look into the handsome bodyguard.’
‘And we do have to find out why Tommy Griffin is still alive,’ says Amy. ‘And what his plans in Europe are. Can we get anyone to take a closer look at him? Do you know anyone in the States who isn’t a furniture designer?’
‘How about Carlos?’ says Steve.
Carlos Moss. US Customs and Border Protection officer and Van Halen fan. He had helped them on their last jaunt around the world.
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ says Rosie. ‘I’ll see if he can spend a few days in Palm Springs, see if we’ve rattled Tommy Griffin into doing anything suspicious.’
Steve shivers in the chill cabin air. ‘We should all get some sleep. How long till we land at Farnborough?’
‘Oh, we’re not landing at Farnborough,’ says Rosie.
‘Where are we landing?’ Steve asks. ‘I don’t want a long drive.’
‘Málaga,’ says Rosie. ‘Come on, Steve, keep up.’
‘My God, it never ends,’ says Steve.
‘Shut up and eat your Pringles,’ says Amy.