The trainer’s house had seen better days. I guessed every pound went into the stables. Indie let me in through a veranda masquerading as a conservatory and into a quarry-tiled kitchen with an ancient Rayburn that whacked out more heat than looked feasible. She sat down opposite me at a large kitchen table.
Her eyes fastened on mine. ‘You said you could help.’
It would be easy to dish out a string of lies, easy to exploit her vulnerability and manipulate her. I decided to play it straight because I sensed she’d had a rough time and deserved better than that. ‘I am not here to frighten or cause you grief. It’s important you know this,’ I began.
‘’kay,’ she said slowly, one finger tracing a line around a gouge in the tabletop.
‘I knew your father. I knew what he did and how he made his money.’
‘Then you knew him better than me.’ Hurt then fear flashed across her features. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am not a police officer or private detective or one of your father’s cronies,’ I assured her.
‘That doesn’t leave too many pleasant alternatives.’
I smiled. ‘I’m someone who believes you’ve had a raw deal and I want to put it right.’
‘Who do you think you are, Superman?’ The accompanying laugh was hard-edged for a girl so young.
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you lied to me, but did your mum know?’ I’d always believed that Justine, a pleasant, family-minded woman, was in the dark about Billy’s dealings.
‘About what? My father’s criminality? Of course, we didn’t know. We found out when he died. It’s so, so unfair. Like, we had this really nice life and now it’s all disappeared.’
‘That’s tough.’
Her eyes were shot through with anger. ‘We’ve had to pay tons of money back to all sorts of people. My mother is practically destitute. You know what, I’m glad he fell under a train. I hope it fucking well hurt and ripped him to pieces.’
She tipped back in the seat, crossed her arms in front of her small breasts, defying me to disagree. Rage came off her in waves.
I paused, hoped she’d calm down a little, knowing I’d yet to deliver the hammer blow. ‘When I asked the question, I wasn’t referring to what your dad did for a living. I meant your father’s lover.’
She practically leapt across the table. ‘Holy shit.’
‘I’m sorry. You really didn’t know?’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘But it explains a lot.’ A light went on in Indie’s eyes. ‘So that’s why my father split his time, although,’ she laughed with black humour, ‘I guess running a drugs empire eats into the average day. Who is this fucking woman?’
‘A French national.’ I didn’t know for certain. Simone dealt in half-truths. She had lost her mother like me but I doubted her mother was British. Had she been, she’d have been easy to trace.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Simone Fabron.’
Indie sat back, her clever mind processing the information. I could practically see the electrical connections her brain was making. ‘You know he left the house to a charity?’
China had mentioned it, I remembered. ‘I’d heard a rumour but how does that work?’ I said. ‘Surely, the police would have sequestered it?’
Indie shook her head. ‘The deeds of the house were transferred seven years earlier.’
‘Seven years?’ I said, taken aback.
‘Yeah,’ she said, with a grim expression. ‘Imagine how my mum felt.’
Pissed off beyond belief, I thought. Premeditated, and a brilliant move on Billy’s part to protect his asset, it displayed a degree of cunning that was entirely in character.
‘Simon Faber, by any chance?’
Her jaw went slack. She looked at me in astonishment. ‘How did you know?’