A Suitable Vengeance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,122

she gave me, Simon. The recipe for her drink. And on the back of Mick's picture ..."

Lynley joined them, taking the card and the photograph from St. James. "God almighty,"

he murmured.

"What on earth is it?" Lady Helen asked.

"The reason Harry Cambrey's been building Mick's reputation as a real man's man, I should guess," St. James said.

Deborah poured boiling water into the teapot and carried it to the small oak table which they had moved into the sitting area of her flat. They took places round it, Deborah and Lyn ley sitting on the day bed, Lady Helen and St. James on ladder-back chairs. St. James picked up the savings book which lay among the other items attached to Mick Cambrey's life and his death: the manila folder entitled prospects, the card upon which he'd written the phone number of IslingtonLondon, the Talisman sandwich wrapper, his photograph, the recipe for the drink which he'd given to Deborah on the day that he'd appeared - as Tina Cogin - at her door.

"These ten withdrawals from the account," Lady Helen said, pointing to them. "They match what Tina - what Mick Cambrey paid in rent. And the time works right with the facts, Simon. September through June."

"Long before he and Mark began dealing in cocaine,"

Lynley said.

"So that's not how he got the money for the flat?" Deborah asked.

"Not according to Mark."

Lady Helen ran her finger down the page which listed the deposits. She said, "But he's put money in every two weeks for a year. Where on earth did it come from?"

St. James flipped to the front of the book, scanning the entries. "Obviously, he had another source of income."

The amount of money comprising each deposit, St. James saw, was not consistent.

Sometimes it was significant, other times barely so. Thus, he discounted the second possibility that had risen in his mind upon noting the regularity of the payments into Mick's account. They couldn't be the result of blackmail. Blackmailers generally increase the cost of suppressing a damaging piece of information. Greed feeds on itself; easy money begs for more.

"Beyond that," Lynley said, "Mark told us that they'd reinvested their profits in a second, larger buy. His taking the Daze on Sunday confirms that story."

Deborah poured the tea. St. James scooped up his customary four spoonfuls of sugar before Lady Helen shuddered and handed the bowl to Deborah. She picked up the manila folder.

"Mick must have been selling his share of the cocaine in London. Surely if he'd been doing so in Nanrunnel, someone would have discovered it eventually. Mrs. Swann, for instance. I can hardly think she would have let something like that go unnoticed."

"That makes sense," Lynley agreed. "He had a reputation as a journalist in Cornwall.

He'd hardly have jeopardized it by selling cocaine there when he could just as easily have done so here."

"But I've goj the impression he had a reputation here in London as well," St. James said.

"He'd worked here, hadn't he, before returning to Cornwall?"

"But not as Tina Cogin," Deborah pointed out. "Surely he must have sold the drugs as a woman."

"He became Tina in September," Lady Helen said. "He took this flat in September. He began selling the following March. Plenty of time tq amass a list of buyers." She tapped her fingers against the folder. "We were wondering what was meant by prospects, weren't we? Perhaps now we know. Shall we see what sort of prospects these really are?"

"If they're prospective cocaine buyers," Lynley said,

"they're hardly going to admit the fact."

Lady Helen smiled serenely. "Not to the police, Tommy darling. Of course."

St. James knew what that angelic smile meant. If anyone could wrangle information from a total stranger, it would be Lady Helen. Light-hearted chitchat leading down the primrose path to disclosure and cooperation was her special talent. She had already proved that with the caretaker of Shrewsbury Court Apartments. Obtaining the key to Mick's flat had been child's play for her. This list of prospects was merely one step advanced, a moderate challenge. She would become Sister Helen from the Salvation Army, or Helen the Saved from a drug rehabilitation programme, or Helen the Desperate looking for a score. But ultimately, in some way, she would ferret out I the truth.

"If Mick was selling in London, a buyer may have followed him to Cornwall," St. James said.

"But if he was selling as Tina, how would someone know who he really was?" Deborah asked.

"Perhaps he was recognised. Perhaps a buyer, who knew him as Mick, saw