The fishermen were up bright and early, ready to catch the train to Derbyshire. Andy had spent his entire life on Cape Cod; he knew his way around ocean fishing, but rivers were different and he was excited about learning new skills. As a professional chef, he was also looking forward to trying the flavors of fish different from those he normally cooked. The hotel they would be staying at offered to prepare the catch for their guests each night. Ryan had never been all that keen on fishing, but he fished often with his own dad, and he considered the activity to be a male bonding experience.
Not long after my arrival in America, Ryan attempted to propose marriage to me, and I’d made such a hash of it, he fled West London to spend the next several years in Boston. Since getting back together, we’d not talked about making a long-term commitment to each other. But I smiled to myself now, pleased that Ryan wanted to get better acquainted with my dad. To bond, as it were, over something other than policing.
I’d gone fishing once with my own father. That day is a strong contender for the title of the most boring day of my life.
Mum, Jayne, and I waved the hearty sportsmen out the door. Dad was laden with his own equipment, but Ryan and Andy would rent from the hotel.
Mum shut the door as the cab peeled away and said with a happy sigh, “I thought they’d never leave. Breakfast at the boulangerie?”
“Don’t you have to be in court?” I asked.
“Not until this afternoon. We’ve been so busy since you finally arrived, we haven’t had a chance to talk, and I do want to hear all about Jayne’s wedding plans.”
Jayne and Andy’s wedding was scheduled for January.
I still hadn’t heard from the airline about my bags.
“Breakfast out would be nice,” I said, and the three of us went our separate ways to get dressed.
Over lattes and almond croissants in the upper level of the PAUL Bakery on Thurloe Street, while Mum and Jayne chatted happily about weddings good and bad they’d been to over the years, I thought about Paul Erikson. It was highly unlikely I could accomplish anything the police could not, as had been pointed out to me more than once. But, as I myself had pointed out more than once, I could at least have a nose around.
It wasn’t only that the police were busy, which they were, but I’ve found over the years that I can find out things the police cannot. People talk freely to me precisely because I have no authority and they know it. They’re not on their guard. Sometimes they tell me things they don’t want to “bother” the police with. Things that later turn out to be highly significant. I can blunder “innocently” into places the police cannot because of a pesky thing called the law, which I never mind breaking in a good cause. I’ve been involved in situations in West London, much to the dismay of Ryan and his partner, Detective Louise Estrada, but at home I’m limited in the time I can devote to it because I have my business to run.
This time, like Sherlock Holmes, I was not encumbered by the triviality of trying to make a living selling books and Sherlockania.
We finished breakfast and went our separate ways. Mum had her briefcase and laptop with her, so she hailed a cab to take her directly to her chambers.
“It’ll be just as quick for us to use the tube,” I said to Jayne. “At this time of day on a Monday, the traffic above ground can be a horror.” We headed to South Kensington underground station where Jayne and I bought Oyster cards.
“What are your plans, Gemma?” Jayne asked as we waited on the platform far underground, while tourists and commuters swirled around us.
“I fear I’m going to have to go clothes shopping.”
“I wasn’t expecting that. I thought we were investigating.”
“That too. We’ll go to the bookshop first and check it out. Almost certainly, it will still be sealed off. Unlikely it will ever reopen. That might be an idea. Ashleigh’s always telling me I should open a new branch of the Emporium.”
“Are you serious?”
“No. One store is about all I can manage these days. I could always hire someone to run it, but hands off isn’t my style, and I don’t fancy popping back and forth across the pond regularly. Back to the matter at hand. If DI Patel’s there, I’ll attempt to ask her if she’s making any progress. I’d like to have another look at the alley if they haven’t sealed it off. They might have missed something.”
Jayne smiled at me.
“What?” I said.
“You. You think a team of professional, highly trained forensic investigators will overlook something you can see at a glance.”
I didn’t understand what was so amusing. “It’s happened before.”
The announcement to mind the gap echoed around us as the train pulled into the station. The crowd surged forward, sweeping us along with it.
“I hope Andy enjoys the fishing trip,” Jayne said after we found seats. “He was excited to be in London, but he’s not exactly a big city guy. I got the feeling he was getting a bit uncomfortable yesterday when we went to the Tower of London. The crowds, I mean.”
“Did he enjoy it?”
“Oh, yes. Once we were inside, he exclaimed over absolutely everything.” She chuckled. “I was at the exit, checking up on the news on my phone, while he was still reading every word on every plaque and marker.”
A woman inadvertently shoved the wheel of a baby buggy against my shin. “Sorry,” she mumbled. The toddler holding on to the handles of the buggy began to cry. “Sorry,” the mother said again. She gave me a tired grimace, and I smiled in reply.
We got off at Embankment station and walked the short distance to the bookshop. The area wasn’t quite as busy as it can get in the summer, but it was still packed with tourists taking selfies, browsing the shops, wandering the narrow streets heading for Trafalgar Square and the galleries. “I’d like to have lunch at St. Martin-in-the-Fields again one day,” Jayne said. “The crypt is so cool.”
“Let’s keep that in mind,” I said. “If time permits.”
“We’ll have to go while Andy’s away. He’ll want to read every word on every gravestone, and we’ll never get out of there.”
Foot traffic was moving at its normal pace outside Trafalgar Fine Books. Police tape was stretched across the door, but that section of Villers Street was no longer blocked off. A single uniformed cop stood outside the shop, guarding the entrance, looking almost as bored as I would have if I’d gone on the men’s fishing expedition. Jayne and I stood on the other side of the street, watching. A few people glanced at the tape and the officer and tried to peer in the windows, but most paid no attention. Londoners can be a single-minded lot.
I could see some movement inside but not well enough to make out who it was or what they were doing.
“In for a penny,” I said to Jayne, “in for a pound. Let’s see what we can see.” We crossed the street.
“Good afternoon,” I said to the constable at the front door. “Is DI Patel around?”
He eyed me warily. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Gemma Doyle, and this is my friend and colleague Jayne Wilson.”
“Hi,” Jayne wiggled her fingers at him.
Some of the caution shifted as his eyes settled on her lovely face, smooth skin, pink cheeks, shining blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes. He smiled. “Hi,” he said, trying not to check out her slim figure in tight jeans and a cowl-necked red jumper beneath a puffy, sleeveless black jacket.
What was I, chopped liver? I was the one who’d asked the question.
I cleared my throat. “DI Patel?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s not here.”
“You won’t mind if we have a quick look inside? I was here yesterday, and I might have left something behind.”
“You were here yesterday?” At last, a spark of professional interest in his eyes. “Did the detectives interview you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can ask them if they found your whatever.” He gave Jayne one last glance, then returned his attention to the activity on the street.
“Thanks,” I said, “Thank you so much. I’ll do that.”
“You didn’t expect them to open the door and bow you in, did you?” Jayne asked me when we were out of earshot.
“No, but I hoped to have a quick peek inside. No luck. Those windows are so dirty, if they had a white elephant in the center of the shop, I wouldn’t have seen it. Let’s try around the back. Resources are slim in the Met these days so they might not have stretched to watching two doors all the time.”
Before we got more than a couple of steps, I caught sight of a familiar figure standing at the end of the street next to a closed wine bar. “Change of plan,” I said. “Follow me.”
Faye noticed us as we approached. She’d gathered her hair into a sloppy knot at the back of her head and hadn’t paid much attention when applying her makeup. Her eyes were still tinged red. She wore a pair of poorly fitting trousers with ragged hems, a white and black woolen coat pilling badly, and trainers tired from too much use. She clutched a tattered tissue in her hand.
“Good morning,” I said. “Faye, right? We met yesterday in the …” I allowed my voice to crack, “bookshop. When Paul …”
“Yes, I remember. What are you doing here?”
“We wanted to pay our respects. My friend Jayne knew Paul and she’s finding it difficult to come to grips with what happened.”
“Such a shock,” Jayne said.
“For us too,” Faye said. “I didn’t have to come this morning. I know the shop’s closed, probably permanently. I was scheduled to work today, so I didn’t have anything else to do, and I guess I wanted to make sure I hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.”
“Do you have time for a cuppa?” I asked. “A coffee, maybe?” I should have suggested a pub, but it was too early for them to be open.
“Sure, that would be nice.”
“It’s been a few years since I worked around here, so why don’t you suggest someplace nice. My treat.”
Faye led the way to a popular chain. Like any coffee shop anywhere in the world, the place was full of chatter, the clatter of mugs and dishes, baristas calling out orders, the hiss of the espresso machine. Friends and coworkers talked over their coffee, and several tables were taken by single individuals peering at the screen of their phones with furrowed brows or typing intently on their laptops. Writing the next Great British Novel, most likely. The café was busy, but I spotted a table for four in a back corner. I gave Jayne a nod as we followed Faye through the doors, and she said, “Why don’t I get in line while you find seats? What can I get you, Faye?”
“A cappuccino would be nice, thank you. I didn’t get breakfast; one of those lovely muffins would be a treat. Any flavor.”
“Tea for me,” I said.
We settled ourselves at our table. I smiled at Faye. She sniffled, dabbed her eyes with her tissue, and gave me a tight smile in return.
“Sorry, but I didn’t get your surname,” I said. “Mine’s Doyle. Gemma Doyle.”
“Forgate.”
“Were you fond of Paul?” I asked her.
Her eyes welled up again. “I don’t know if you could say fond. I did have a bit of a soft spot for him, though. The poor dear. I did feel sorry for him.”
“How so?”
“He couldn’t make a go of that shop to save his life.” She sucked in a breath. “Bad choice of words. I only mean the business was failing, and he was struggling to turn it around and not having much luck. I thought he should move to another location. The rent can’t have been cheap, can it?”
“No, that it isn’t.”
“But it wasn’t my place to say.”
“How long did you work there?”
“About a year. I have to say, love, it was an easy gig. We didn’t get a lot of customers. Sometimes we were more of a tourist agency, what with the number of Japanese or Americans who came in looking for Buckingham Palace or the National Gallery.” She chuckled. “I suggested we charge for giving directions. Paul said it was a good idea, and I had to tell him I was only joking. Sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you. You have a lot of American friends.” She glanced at Jayne, watching her step as she carefully carried plates and mugs across the room.
“I do, but no problem. We live in a tourist town also, and we know all about hapless tourists. What about Tamara? How long has she worked in the shop?”
“She was there when I came. Maybe about six months before that? She’s at uni and all she wants is a non-demanding job and a bit of money coming in.”
Jayne put the drinks and Faye’s muffin on the table and sat down. Faye picked up her cup and took a sip.
“Any other employees?” I asked.
“I’m full time. Tamara puts in three days a week. There’s another couple of girls, but they come and go so often I can hardly keep them straight.”
That, I knew, meant a lot of keys would be floating around. When employees leave, they are obviously expected to turn in their key. But sometimes that doesn’t happen. They forget, keys get lost. Keys are copied, in case the owner needs a spare. And that spare is never turned in.
“The police found the employee records in Paul’s office. I couldn’t help but overhear one of them say to the other that the records were a mess. Can’t say I was surprised.” Faye peeled the paper off her muffin and took a big bite. “When I first started working there, I thought Paul might make a good match for my daughter, Olive, being an independent businessman and all. She’s about your age, love, and I’m afraid she’s going to be left on the shelf if much more time passes.” Faye glanced at Jayne’s left hand, proudly displaying her engagement ring. “Congratulations, dear.”
“Thank you,” Jayne said.
I refrained from asking Faye if, in her opinion, I was about to be left on the shelf.
“I realized soon enough,” she continued, “that would be a mistake. For all Paul was a nice-looking man, well educated, good manners, he was trouble.”
“In what way, trouble?” I asked. “Do you mean with the police or … other people?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Not at first anyway. I just mean trouble as in unable to support a wife and a family. My own son, Greg, now. He’s several years younger than Olive and he’s doing so well.” She beamed proudly. “I never had much money when the kids were young, but my Greg was such a good student, he earned a scholarship for an exclusive school, and then he went on to graduate from Oxford. He’s still young but already he’s an up-and-coming solicitor with an important City firm. Lovely wife and a new baby. Would you like to see a picture?”
No, I didn’t say.
Pictures were produced. Nondescript man in his late twenties, woman about the same age. Fat-cheeked baby. More pictures of the baby, getting steadily fatter as the months progressed. “I don’t see them nearly as much as I’d like to, for all they live in London. He’s so busy, you know. It’s not easy for a young man these days. The hours he puts in at that office. His wife, she’s some sort of a bank executive, could bring the baby for a visit now and again if she wanted to.” Faye sniffed in disapproval.
Finally, she put her phone away, and I said, “You mentioned Paul might have been in some trouble. Can you tell me more?”
She leaned closer. “He never talked about himself. I’m not one for gossip, you understand.”
“I totally understand.” And I did. Everyone who reassures me they are not a gossip turns out to be eager to dish the dirt.
“I suspect he was living in that office of his because he didn’t have any place else. The last couple of weeks, anyway. He didn’t have a lot of clothes and things, but he was sleeping on the cot in there. It’s not like he was so busy with the business of the shop, he needed to work long into the night.”
“What do you mean, not at first?”
“What?”
“You said he was not in trouble, ‘not at first.’ ”
“Oh, that. Far be it from me to say anything bad about him. I mean, the poor man is dead.” She dabbed her eyes with the café-provided paper napkin.
“The police will be trying to trace his movements and his contacts. Unfortunately, there are no secrets in a police investigation.”
Her face crunched in thought. She popped the last bit of muffin into her mouth. She’d eaten it in record time and only the dregs of foam remained from her cappuccino.
I sipped at my tea and waited. Jayne sat quietly, watching us both.
“Over the last few weeks,” Faye said, “some men came into the store who didn’t look like the usual publishing salespeople. If you get my meaning. More than once, too.”
I did get her meaning, but I said, “I don’t. Sorry.”
“They asked for Paul and went into the office. They never stayed long. Big men with East End or northern accents, tough faces.”
“Did you hear anything of what they talked about?”
She shook her head. “Not a peep. The walls are thick. Not that I’d try to listen in any event. Not my place, is it?”
“Of course not.” I had a mental image of Faye holding a glass to the wall.
“They never raised their voices, though, I can tell you that. Sorry, I can’t be of more help, but I only worked there. I didn’t usually socialize with Paul.” She sniffed in disapproval. “He never so much as took the staff for drinks at Christmas. I don’t get the paper and I don’t watch the news on the telly, nothing but trouble, but I put the local news on the radio this morning to see if they said anything about Paul.”
“Did they?”
“Just a line or two that the coppers are asking anyone who might have seen anything to come forward. No one’s going to, are they? No one who might know what’s going on.”
“Did you ever meet Sophie Long?” I asked casually.
“Can’t say as I have. Who’s she?”
“Do you know where Tamara lives? What’s her last name?”
“O’Riordan, for all her accent’s as London as mine. I don’t know anything about her. She goes to uni. UCL, I think. She’s after a degree in literature or some such useless thing. Don’t know any more about her.”
“You didn’t chat when the store was empty or when you were opening or closing?” Jayne asked.
Faye looked at her. “Why would I do that? I keep myself to myself, and I expect others to do the same.” She stood up. “I have to be off. Thanks for the coffee. I hope you enjoy your visit to London.”
“Thank you,” Jayne said.
Faye left the coffee shop. She turned right on the sidewalk and walked in the opposite direction from Trafalgar Fine Books.
“Did she seem a mite odd to you?” Jayne asked.
“Not odd. But I can’t say I liked her very much. Maybe because her son is clearly the apple of her eye, and her daughter is about to be past her best-before date. Never mind that. Faye was definitely interested in what Paul was up to, and I suspect he shut out a lot of her questions. Unlikely for any nefarious purposes, though; she’s just nosy and bored at her job. As for her relationship with her fellow employees, if she told Tamara directly to her face that an English degree is a waste of time, I’m not surprised they didn’t get along.” I chuckled. “I suspect she wasn’t so blasé about Paul not entering into a relationship with her spinster daughter as she tried to make out. I use the word spinster deliberately because it’s obviously what Faye thinks. Since leaving me for Sophie, Paul might have learned a lesson about mixing business with pleasure. Either that or the idea of having Faye as a mother-in-law sent him running.”
“Do you think there’s anything significant about these strange men she said have been calling on Paul?”
“I most certainly do. Although I have to say that just because a man is large and has an East End accent doesn’t mean he’s not a representative of a publishing company or even the equivalent of the street’s business association. Might even be an author looking for a book signing opportunity. Plenty of ex-coppers out there writing crime novels these days, as I well know. I will, however, keep these ‘strange men’ in mind. That Paul was in financial trouble is not in question, and more than a few people have dug themselves very deep holes in an attempt to save themselves.”
“You mean the mob? Is there a mob in London?”
“Don’t you read British police procedurals, Jayne? The Rebus books by Ian Rankin would be a good place for you to start. I hope Faye described these men to DI Patel.”
“You think she might not have?”
“No, I’m sure she did. After plenty of caveats as to how she isn’t a gossip and she knows her place, et cetera et cetera.”
“What’s next?”
“Next? What’s the weather forecast for the rest of the week?”
Jayne pulled out her phone and checked quickly. “Rain. Followed by rain, and more rain. Getting colder too.”
“I fear what’s next is a shopping expedition. I can’t keep wearing this outfit, day after day. I’d like to pay a call on Paul’s mother. She was my mother-in-law at one time, and I should express my condolences, but today’s too early. She’ll have been notified about his death and will be in some considerable degree of shock. Paul was her only son, but as I recall, she does have a daughter. I hope the daughter is able to give her some support. Tower Hamlets.”
“That’s where Mrs. Erikson lives?”
“No. It just popped into my head. It’s where Sophie Long lived. Last I heard of her, at any rate, when I had her address on file. That was seven years ago. But it’s a place to start.”
“The woman Paul left you for? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Gemma. Won’t it be distressing for you?”
“Distressing? Not in the least. I owe Sophie a huge debt of gratitude. Better I found out Paul was a philanderer sooner rather than later. It couldn’t have worked out better for me. Uncle Arthur opened the Emporium and then he found out that, like Paul, he had no idea of how to run a business. But, unlike Paul, he didn’t want to try. I happened to be free to go to West London to help out. And, ta-da, here we are today.” I thought of Paul and then I thought of Ryan. Yes, Sophie had done me a considerable favor. “Speaking of Uncle Arthur, I don’t suppose you know how to get rid of the smell of a skunk, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Skunks are not native to England. I fear poor Arthur is out of his depth. One thing Arthur does know, however, is how to ask the people who do know such things for help.”
“Acting on the assumption that if a skunk had been in my bakery, you’d tell me, I’ll worry later why you’re asking about skunks. Back to Sophie. You might not have any residual animosity toward her, but if she and Paul are no longer together, do you think she can help?”
“Probably not, but it is an angle to pursue. Otherwise, I have nothing else, other than his mother, and I want to give her some time to process his death before bothering her. I know nothing about Paul’s life over the last seven years. From what Faye told us, it’s unlikely any of his staff were anything approaching friends with him. Even when we were together, we didn’t have friends in common. Come to think of it, Paul didn’t have friends. He had drinking buddies and that’s about it. We can shop later. I don’t know that area of the city very well. Maybe they have nice shops.”