time.’ Sam had walked into the interview room knowing only Jackie’s name, and that she claimed to have seen what Connie Bowskill had seen. As a result, he was experiencing her first-hand, undistorted by whatever conclusions Grint had drawn based on his prior meetings with her.
Grint was right: it was a better way to do it. Sam wasn’t fooled by the outward flippancy; Grint cared about 11 Bentley Grove’s disappearing dead woman. When you were in the presence of someone who really cared about something – above and beyond professional conscientiousness – you could feel it in everything they said and did. In Grint’s company, Sam had that feeling – as if there was adrenaline in the air, in the walls, in the furniture – and he knew he wasn’t the one generating it. Grint’s like Simon Waterhouse, he thought. He’d have put money on the two detectives hating one another.
‘Do you normally go on the internet late at night?’ he asked Jackie.
‘Lord, no. I’m a nine-o’-clock-to-bed person, me. I was jet-lagged. I got back from holiday last Thursday, and I’m never right for a few days afterwards, if it’s long-distance.’
‘Where did you go on holiday?’
‘Matakana in New Zealand. You’ve never heard of it, have you?’
Sam had, but he pretended he hadn’t, guessing that Jackie would enjoy enlightening him.
‘My sister lives there. It’s a pretty little place. She runs a café. Well, it’s an art gallery, really – but they do cake and coffee and stuff. It doesn’t know what it is – it’d make more money if it did. I always say, it’s great for a holiday, Matakana, but you wouldn’t want to live there.’
Same wondered how often Jackie had said this in the presence of her sister, while enjoying her hospitality.
‘Do you mind my asking what you do for a living?’
Jackie jerked her head in Grint’s direction. ‘Hasn’t he told you anything?’
‘It’s helpful for me to hear it from you,’ Sam told her.
‘I’m an estate agent. I work for Lancing Damisz. We’re the ones selling the house where the body was, 11 Bentley Grove. Why do you think I was looking on Roundthehouses?’ She frowned. ‘Are you one of those people who hates estate agents?’
‘No, I . . .’ Sam heard a scraping sound, and turned; Grint had chosen this moment to adjust the position of his chair. An estate agent. That was the last thing Sam had expected, as Grint well knew; it explained the hint of a smile on his face.
‘When I couldn’t sleep Friday night, I thought I’d have a look at what had come on the market while I was away,’ said Jackie. ‘I knew 11 Bentley Grove’d be there – I knew she was selling it, the doctor that owns it, Dr Gane. I’d have dealt with the sale myself, only I was due to go to New Zealand, so I handed it over to Lorraine – my colleague, Lorraine Turner?’
‘So . . .’ Sam felt as if he was lagging behind. ‘Sorry, you might have to clarify something for me: you said you were looking at Roundthehouses to see what had come up for sale while you were out of the country . . .’
‘That’s right. To see what had sold, too, and what was under offer. Keep an eye on our competition, check they weren’t selling more than us. The property market’s strong in Cambridge. The downturn didn’t hit us as badly as it did some places, and things are really picking up now. Any house or flat in the city centre that comes on for less than about six hundred grand gets snapped up within days, unless it’s a huge refurb job or on a busy road. It’s a supply and—’
‘Sorry, if I can just stop you there.’ Sam smiled to compensate for the intrusion. ‘So essentially you were trying to get up to speed before you went back to work.’
‘Yeah. See, the thing about me is, I love my work – it’s a vocation more than a career for me. I even miss it when I go away. There’s no job I’d rather do, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’
‘I think that might answer the question I was about to ask.’ The question I’d have asked some time ago, if you weren’t quite so keen on the sound of your own voice. ‘Why did you play the virtual tour of 11 Bentley Grove? I suppose you need to see a house’s interior to know whether it’s fairly priced,’ Sam