The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,57

to learn about building sites from you. You don’t have to make it sound so…”

“Oh, just admit it: you need me. You can’t survive without me. I’m your greatest – no, your only – chance for success and true happiness.”

She snorted. “If that’s what you choose to tell yourself.”

His grin was brilliant, annoying, endearing. “You’ll admit it soon enough.”

“So we’re agreed?” she demanded, suddenly impatient.

“Of course,” he said calmly. “I knew it would come to this, all along. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“But you – you still made me – the apology—” She groaned with frustration. “Sometimes I think I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he assured her.

She said nothing. He was correct, once again.

“So … you said Keenan threatened?”

“Very clearly. And Harkness didn’t respond.”

“That may have been the wisest course of action; the man’s deeply unsavoury.”

“Like his former associate Wick?”

“It’s true that nobody seems to regret him much.”

“When you add together Mrs Wick’s banged-up face, and the late hours Wick kept outside the home, and the fact that he was good mates with Keenan…”

“You get quite a scoundrel, with no short list of suspects; just the sort of man almost anyone would like to push off a tower.”

“What about Reid?”

“What about him?”

“I forgot – he was gone by the time you turned up.” She explained about Reid’s presence at Jane Wick’s house, the night they’d both called on her. “And his face was bruised on Monday last, as though he’d been in a fight.”

“He’s completely banged up now. Perhaps he’s always getting into fights.”

She shook her head. “I think not. He’s a careful man, a responsible one. I think fighting two men in one week – the second was Keenan, yesterday evening – is significant, in his case.”

“So you think his first fight was with Wick, over his wife? In the belfry?”

“Quite possibly. Either that, or the fight led directly to Wick’s fall.”

James was silent for a moment. “It’s certainly the likeliest theory. I’ll ask the coroner about bruises on Wick’s body. Anything else you’ve observed?”

“It’s of less import, but there’s a great deal of muttering on site.”

“Yes. The joiners and the masons are concerned with petty theft. It seemed quite small-scale at first – a handful of nails here, a fraction of a load of Anston stone there – but their complaints are adding up. It’s a serious drain on resources.”

“Is widespread pilfering unusual?”

“It varies according to the site and the calibre of the labourers. It has to do with management, too: a well-managed site led by a respected engineer will suffer fewer losses.”

“When talking among themselves, the men have scant respect for Harkness. I’ve not heard anybody say anything positive about him.”

James frowned, as though pained. “I know. They’ve told me much the same thing.” There was a pause, and he said slowly, “Widespread theft could affect site safety…”

“How so?”

“Well, theft on the scale the foremen suggest would seriously affect the materials budget. Perhaps Harkness is economizing on other fronts…”

Mary could practically see him jotting the note in his head: Check site budget. “Are they clever thefts?”

He considered that. “Well, they’re fairly small ones. The sort that could be attributed to a larger number of people all taking things independently.”

“But you think otherwise…”

“They’re also quite similar. Not opportunistic; it’s more as though…” He considered for a moment. “It’s as though someone’s carefully skimming a small percentage of all the materials, like a levy of some sort.”

“The word ‘levy’ suggests a sense of entitlement…”

“And it’s much too early to attribute motive, of course. But yes. It’s as if someone’s carefully taxing each of the materials in kind.”

“Each foreman is in charge of supervising the unloading of his trade’s materials.”

“Yes. That’s what makes it difficult to understand. It can’t be happening at that level.”

Mary leaned forward. “Keenan and Wick have a reputation for being ‘always on the take’. Suppose they’re behind all the thefts, and are skilled at making them appear petty to a casual observer?”

James paused, frowned again, shook his head. “Possible. Have you any proof?”

“No. But if it’s the case, proof must exist.”

He nodded, filing that away for future reference. “But all this is a long way from site safety practices. Or life as a working-class errand boy. How are you finding things?”

Excited as she was – by James’s news, by their new partnership, by his very presence – Mary found it difficult to suppress a yawn. Through watery eyes, she saw James grinning at her. “Exhausting,” she admitted. He nodded. “I can well imagine. Especially since it’s