Free Last Reminder by Stuart Pawson

Bye.’
    ‘Goodbye, Donald.’
    ‘S’long, Donald. Nice to meet you.’
    As the door closed behind him the smile slipped from Annabelle’s face. ‘He’ll go straight to the pub,’ she said.
    I shrugged my shoulders. ‘If it makes him happy…’
    She came to me and we hugged each other. ‘This is nice,’ I told her. ‘I think I could get used to it. Trouble is, I won’t want to go back to work.’
    She leant back from my embrace. ‘I was ringing Marie and Toby to thank them for the meal on Sunday. They are coming to stay for a couple of days at half-term. They haven’t got a car, so I’ll have to run them around, show them the sights. You don’t mind, do you?’
    Toby and Marie were the manufacturers of the sloe gin that had laid me low. ‘Of course not. They’re good company. Tell them to bring some home-brew with them.’
    ‘I doubt if they have any left,’ she reproached, breaking from my grasp.
    ‘Oh. So when is half-term?’
    ‘Three weeks. Right. Food. How does trout in almonds, with vegetables, sound?’
    ‘Dee-licious. With Annabelle surprise for pudding?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I thought you only had an hour for lunch.’ She removed something from the refrigerator and busied herself with the cooking. ‘It was good of you to offer to run Donald home,’ she said, over her shoulder.
    No it wasn’t. There was nothing good at all about it. I wanted a talk with him, ask him if he’d killed the swans in the park. But you are beautiful and naive, I thought. A summer’s breeze blowing through my corrupt and jaundiced life, and I don’t deserve you.
    * * *
    Sparky was replacing the phone as I walked in. ‘Appointment go well?’ he casually asked.
    ‘Yeah, not bad,’ I told him, sitting in the chair opposite.
    He leant across and brushed my lapel. ‘Bit of seafood sauce on your collar,’ he said.
    I looked down and pretended to wipe some more off. ‘It’s probably crime brulee,’ I replied. ‘It gets everywhere.’
    ‘I bet it does. There are no WAM Bee-Emms in Heckley, but two in Halifax. Unfortunately the owners don’t fit our description.’
    ‘Like, they’re white.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    I thought about it for a few seconds. ‘They’ve got a point, you know,’ I said.
    ‘Who has?’
    ‘We’re only tracing this car because it was driven by a black person.’
    Sparky turned on me. ‘No we’re not. We’re trying to trace it because it’s the only bloody lead we have.’
    ‘Yeah, maybe. But it looks bad.’
    ‘I don’t give a toss how it looks.’
    ‘That’s my boy. Anything on the diamond merchants, IGI?’
    He turned over a sheet on his pad and read off it. ‘Head office, Park Square, Leeds. Three directors. One is the Right Honourable Lord Onchan, wholives on the Isle of Man. He was a professional figurehead, but he lives in a nursing home now. He won’t tell us anything because apparently he’s gaga. A man called Rockliffe was the money behind the venture. He went for a long drive without opening his garage doors, shortly after the whole thing went pear-shaped. Carbon-monoxide poisoning. Don’t let anybody tell you it doesn’t work when you’ve a catalyser fitted.’
    ‘And the third?’
    ‘A man named…’ He ran the pencil down his list of notes. ‘Here we are – K. Tom Davis.’
    ‘K. Tom Davis? What sort of a name’s that?’
    ‘A fine name. At least, I bet he thinks so.’
    ‘And he lives in the Outer Hebrides, no doubt.’
    ‘No, Wakefield.’
    ‘Wakefield…New Zealand?’
    ‘Uh-uh. Wakefield, capital of the old West Riding.’
    ‘Right then. Grab your coat and the A to Z . Let’s see what K. Tom Davis can tell us.’

CHAPTER FOUR
    One would have been desirable, but K. Tom had a terrace of three, knocked through to make a single big house. It was a stone building with a stone-flagged roof, black with age and surrounded by farmland. At one time they had probably been tied cottages, inhabited by the estate’s various managers.