out the golf club to the DI she’d peered at it speculatively before saying to no one in particular, ‘What’s that? A putter?’
‘“We arrived at the premises at ten twenty-two,”’ Ronnie read back from her iPad, ‘“and found a Mr Leo Parker waiting for us on the premises.” What was the other guy called? The one in the van. I didn’t write it down.’
Reggie consulted her notebook. ‘Owen. Owen Watts.’
When they had arrived Ronnie had puzzled over the name of the bungalow, on a sign affixed to the gate. She raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Just say it out loud,’ Reggie said.
‘Thisldo,’ Ronnie pronounced carefully. Enlightenment dawned. ‘Ah. That’s a bit crap, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. It is,’ Reggie agreed. Her stomach was rumbling like a train.
‘We can grab lunch after the next one on the list,’ Ronnie said.
Reggie consulted her notebook again. ‘I’ve got a little list,’ she said.
‘Eh?’
‘Gilbert and Sullivan. Never mind. Next is a Mr Vincent Ives, lives in Friargate.’
‘As in chip fryer?’
‘As in monk.’
The Final Straw
‘Mr Ives? Mr Vincent Ives? I’m DC Ronnie Dibicki and this is my colleague, DC Reggie Chase. Can we come in?’
Vince let them in, offered them tea. ‘Or coffee, but it’s only instant, I’m afraid,’ he apologized. Wendy had retained custody of the Krups bean-to-cup machine.
‘That’s very kind,’ the one with the Scottish accent said, ‘but we’re fine, thank you.’
Had he done something that merited a visit from the police? Offhand Vince couldn’t think of anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised. The general malaise he had been experiencing recently meant that he felt vaguely guilty all the time. He looked around, tried to see the flat through the detectives’ eyes. It was a mean, scruffy place, something that wasn’t reflected in the rent.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of a mess.’
‘Shall we sit?’ the one who wasn’t Scottish said.
‘Sorry. Of course.’ He moved some papers from the sofa, brushed the crumbs off and gestured towards it in a way that he realized made him seem like Walter Raleigh laying a cloak over a puddle. He felt foolish, but they didn’t seem to notice. They sat down, crossing their ankles neatly, notebooks ready. They looked like keen sixth-formers doing a school project.
‘Have I done something?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no. It’s okay, nothing to worry about,’ the one who wasn’t Scottish said. Vince had already forgotten both their names. ‘You’re not suspected of anything. We’re conducting an investigation into a historic case and this is just a routine interview. We’re looking into several individuals and would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? We’re trying to build a picture, fill in some background details. A bit like doing a jigsaw. Your name was mentioned by someone …’
‘Who? Who mentioned my name?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. We’re not at liberty to disclose that. Are you all right? To answer some questions?’
‘Yes,’ Vince said cautiously.
‘First of all, I’m going to ask you if you have heard the name Antonio or Tony Bassani?’ the Scottish one said.
‘Yes. Everyone has, haven’t they?’ Was this what Tommy and Andy had been talking about? That Carmody had been ‘naming names’? But surely not my name, Vince thought.
‘Did you ever meet Mr Bassani?’
‘He was a member of my golf club, but that was long before I joined.’
‘Which golf club is that?’
‘The Belvedere.’
The Scottish one was writing down everything he said in her notebook. It made him feel even more guilty somehow. Anything you say can be used in evidence against you, he thought. She was working her way through a checklist, writing his answers neatly next to each question. The other one, the not-Scottish one, was making freehand notes to supplement this. He imagined her notes were more on the descriptive side (‘He said “yes” warily,’ or ‘He said he didn’t know, but looked shifty’). Vince felt like he was taking an oral exam.
‘And have you heard the name Michael – or Mick – Carmody?’
‘Yes. Again, everybody has.’
‘Everybody?’
‘Well …’
‘And have you ever met Michael Carmody?’
‘No.’
‘Not at the Belvedere Golf Club?’
‘No. He’s in jail.’
‘Yes, he is. What about Andrew Bragg? Have you heard that name?’
‘Andy?’ How could Andy be mentioned in the same breath as Carmody and Bassani? ‘I golf with him. At the Belvedere.’
‘The Belvedere Golf Club?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he a friend of yours?’ the Scottish one coaxed.
‘Well, not a friend friend.’
‘What kind of friend, then?’ the not-Scottish one puzzled.
‘A golfing friend.’
‘So you don’t see him outside of the Belvedere?’
‘Well, I do,’ he admitted.
‘So not just a golfing friend. How about the name Thomas –