Free A Cast of Vultures by Judith Flanders Page B

are weeks when you need extra, you’ll let me know.’
    ‘That sounds perfect,’ I said. And it did.
    ‘I can definitely use whatever you don’t want. Mo’s boss has been after her to supply more – they always run out before the rush hour ends. And I have a friend who has a stall at a farmer’s market. She’ll take anything I can produce.’
    It sounded workable to me. ‘I’d like to keep the big bush at the back. It gives some cover so the window is less overlooked. Otherwise there’s nothing I mind losing. You can keep or rip out whatever you like.’ He nodded. ‘So. Formalities.’ I felt my cheeks flush. I wasn’t quitesure how to ask him for the information Jake wanted.
    Happily, I didn’t have to. Steve reached into his pocket. ‘I thought you’d like references. This is from the council, a contract for planting a couple of the squares as a freelance contractor, plus a letter of completion, approving the work. This is a reference from people in Hampstead I’ve worked for regularly for a few years now. And I’ve also put down my personal information – name, phone number and so on. I don’t have a permanent address, obviously, at the moment, so I’ve given you a copy of my driver’s licence, and listed my National Insurance number. That way if you come home one day and find some lunatic has bulldozed your front garden and scarpered, you can still track me down.’
    I peeked over at Jake, who held out the pot to Steve. ‘More coffee?’ he said, and I breathed comfortably for the first time since dinner the night before.
    Steve shook his head and pushed himself back from the table. ‘I need to get over to my first job.’
    I walked him to the door, running through the usual well-meaning phrases – I hoped he and Mike were settling in their new place, how were Mo and Dan’s kids coping? As we stood on the doorstep, Steve turned back to face me. ‘I – we – really appreciate the help we’ve had from the neighbours.’ He stopped my words of protest. ‘No, I mean it. I’ve done the odd job for you, but you don’t really know us. And now that we’ve found out that Dennis wasn’t just running his boys’ club—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I appreciate the sign of good faith.’
    ‘Dennis?’ It couldn’t be, surely.
    He frowned. ‘You know, Dennis, who used our shed forhis boys’ club. I really can’t believe it. He seemed like a terrific bloke.’
    ‘Dennis.’ I said again. ‘Did he work full-time with the boys’ club?’ I knew the answer, even as I told myself that I was being ridiculous.
    Steve was quizzical – when you discover you’ve been harbouring a drug-dealing arsonist in your shed, his employment history is probably not most people’s first question – but he answered readily enough. ‘No, the boys’ club was just volunteer work in his spare time. He worked for the council.’
    But he didn’t have to tell me that. I already knew. I didn’t bother to ask whether he made his bed, or what brand of toothpaste he used, because I knew those things as well.
    I don’t know what I said to Steve, or the arrangements we made, because I was gearing up to make Jake unhappy again. A regular occurrence.
    Jake was putting his files away when I went back inside. I leant against the kitchen door, watching him and trying to work out what to say. Finally, ‘Viv’s missing neighbour.’
    Jake straightened up and waited.
    I closed my eyes and tried again. ‘I think – no, I know. Viv’s missing neighbour is the arsonist.’
    Nothing. I peeked. Jake was standing staring at me, arms crossed. ‘Why?’
    ‘The arsonist’s name was Dennis, says Steve. He worked for the council. Viv’s neighbour Dennis, who works for the council, vanished unexpectedly. What’re the odds of two council workers named Dennis, one disappearing and one showing up dead? In the same week, in the same neighbourhood?’
    Jake’s mouth quirked. ‘The Office for National Statistics have yet