Free Gregory's Game by Jane A. Adams Page B

senior enough to have been assigned the victim to photograph, but not senior enough that he had automatic access to all of the crime-scene images. Interesting, Nathan thought.
    He added into the mix the photograph he had been sent, the one forwarded from Ian Marsh’s cottage to his new address. He laid the envelope it had arrived in beside the image.
    He had just made coffee when Gregory arrived. The older man had a brown paper bag in his hand, emblazoned with a logo Nathan vaguely recognized. Gregory set the bag down on the table. ‘Cookies,’ he said. ‘You should try them. I’ve brought plenty.’
    â€˜Since when do you eat cookies, for Christ’s sake?’
    â€˜Since Friday,’ Gregory said. He didn’t elaborate, but was already studying the pictures laid out on the table.
    â€˜Recognize anyone?’ Nathan asked after a few moments.
    Gregory jabbed a finger at the posted photograph. ‘The man in the background looks like Michael Caine,’ he said.
    Nathan peered at the image and laughed. ‘He does a bit. It seems a shame, but I think we can discount that as coincidence. Anyway, he’s Sir Michael now, isn’t he?’
    â€˜Probably. Typical, isn’t it? He gets to be a knight for pretending to be someone else; you and me, we’d probably get arrested for it.’
    â€˜So far as I know, he’s never pretended to be someone else just so he can kill someone.’
    â€˜Fair point,’ Gregory conceded. ‘Where did you get this?’ He retrieved his coffee, standing back as though surveying the whole landscape of images.
    â€˜It had been forwarded to Ian Marsh’s place, from the Church Lane address. I used his old house as a letter drop for a while.’
    â€˜Presumably before he met Kat.’
    â€˜A while before, a while after. Then I thought I’d better stop.’
    â€˜Seeing as the pair of you hate the sight of one another.’
    â€˜A fact we both conceal from Ian,’ Nathan agreed. ‘Ian wants both of us in his life, so we called a truce.’
    â€˜So you have fun spoiling the kid.’
    â€˜Little Daisy. Oh yes, I do.’ He smiled, briefly, but Gregory could see that he was worried.
    â€˜You know who sent it?’
    Nathan nodded slowly. ‘I can narrow it down,’ he said. ‘I only gave the Church Lane address to four people. None of them were operatives; they just did odd bits of research for me, picked up some local gossip, that sort of thing. One of them never sent anything there. Two of them used the address three times between them. One of those is now dead. Nothing sinister, old age got him a year or so ago. The fourth was Annie Raven; she used Ian’s address sometimes when she was on assignment and didn’t have a place of her own and I’ve checked with her; she didn’t send me these.’
    â€˜So that leaves two. Have you been in contact?’
    Nathan shook his head. ‘I want to know what I’m dealing with before I risk breaking cover; mine or theirs. Anyone you recognize – apart from Michael Caine?’
    Gregory nodded. ‘The woman in the red dress,’ he said. ‘And I can make a guess about the location.’ He pointed to one of the buildings in the background. A hotel, Nathan had thought. ‘I think that’s in Marrakesh, but I could be wrong, of course.’
    Nathan doubted it. He too had recognized the woman in red, once he’d had time for a proper look. Fifties, white-blonde hair, expensive. ‘Last time we met she was calling herself Nancy Todd,’ he said.
    â€˜I knew her as Michelle Williamson,’ Gregory said. ‘You think this is a recent picture?’
    Nathan shrugged. ‘I’m guessing so. The letter was postmarked Marseilles, but North Africa is only a hop from there. I’ll work on it. And the crime-scene images?’
    Gregory took another swallow of his coffee and then picked up one