‘Do you ever wonder why people take an instant dislike to you, Danny? . . . Because it saves time.’ This is what I said to my biological father when I found him loitering outside Portia’s school the following afternoon. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Apparently, your ex-wanker-banker mate Nathaniel’s not all he seems.’ Danny said this gravely, as though he were disclosing that he had a brain tumour and two weeks to live.
‘Oh, like you, you mean?’ An awkward membrane had grown between us. He looked at his feet and clenched his jaw.
Much to Portia’s fury, I’d decided to collect her from school every day, to make sure she came straight home and didn’t end up on an unscheduled Danny detour. Portia called this arrangement ‘house arrest’. She’d threatened to contact Human Rights Watch to complain of inhumane treatment. Needless to say, since Danny had come on the scene, mother–daughter relations were rivalling the hostilities of two Balkan republics.
‘I’ve been checking up on this Nathaniel of yours. He got the sack from his bank over suspicions of insider trading. Did he tell you that?’
‘Wait. You’re spying on my boyfriend?!’ I asked, aghast. ‘Tell me, with a lobotomy, is there pain afterwards?’ Sarcasm seemed the only appropriate response – or perhaps beating him senseless with a tome entitled ‘Privacy Law for Dummies’.
‘There’s more . . . I fed his licence-plate information to a cop mate. He ran a country-wide computer check and found one – and only one – sea-green Ducati Desmosedici motorbike.’
‘How do you know what kind of bike Nathaniel rides? Oh my God! You’ve been stalking him as well? . . . I’ve got a good idea. Why don’t you go and test the resilience of his motorbike wheel with your head! Roxy was so right about you.’
‘The bike belongs to some jerk who’s doing time for drug dealing.’
‘His name’s Chris Grayling. Nathaniel’s told me all about him,’ I replied coldly. ‘He’s an ex-colleague. Nate’s minding his house while he’s inside. Not that it’s any of your business. A lot of his banking friends went to the dark side. That’s what triggered Nathaniel’s epiphany.’
‘An unexplained lavish lifestyle is the key to identifying criminality, kiddo. Yachts, Porsches, holiday houses . . . coupled with no legitimate source of income. Where does your lover boy’s money come from, do you reckon? How does he have enough dosh to set up this charity of his? I’ve done a bit of snooping and—’
‘Snooping?! You have no right to snoop on me or any of my friends! Um, I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’re not an undercover agent any more, remember? What you are is a senile delinquent!’
‘We’re talking exotic holidays, a home in the Caribbean, expensive artworks, a luxury car . . . How does he afford all that, this do-gooder of yours?’ Danny produced an iPad and tried to show me the pictures and photos he’d sourced and filed.
‘Listen, Sherlock, you can put away your Holmes hat. Nathaniel worked in the city, for a decade. Have you heard of banker bonuses? Not just that, but his family’s wealthy.’
‘Yeah, well, his accent does make him a cut above your average criminal. At least he’ll say “excuse me” before he mugs you. And “thank you” when he steals all your bling.’
‘Okay, I’ve had enough of your innuendos. I’ve got to pick up my daughter now. And stop harassing us. Or I’ll call the police. The real police.’
‘. . . Oh, yeah. Which reminds me. I checked with my mates down at Scotland Yard. Lover boy didn’t hand in any drug money.’
I remembered what Nathaniel had told me about police corruption and felt a swift shudder of revulsion. ‘Really? Is that so? Nate warned me that his honesty has made him a lot of enemies. Enemies who are trying to set him up.’
Danny looked at me coyly. ‘I – um – I also took the liberty of “borrowing” his house keys.’ He dangled them in front of my face. ‘He’s getting a security alarm installed. The security engineer happens to be an ex-cop mate of mine.’
‘Jesus! Is there anyone who isn’t?’
‘. . . So, I – ah – got the keys copied. I thought I’d go in today and take a look around . . . Just to be sure.’
I gawped at him in disgust. No wonder Nate didn’t trust the police. ‘I’m beginning to think it’s time to have you sectioned under the Insane Fathers Act.’
‘I know how you feel about taking the law into your own hands, Matilda. But there’s something about that guy I just don’t trust.’
‘Funny, he said exactly the same thing about you. Can’t you hear yourself, Danny?’ I snatched Nathaniel’s keys from his hand and stomped off to find my daughter.
‘I just felt like I had to speak my mind . . .’ Danny called out after me.
‘Why not?’ I called back. ‘It’s not as though you’ve got anything to lose!’