49 LOUISE
Meg (Tyrion’s Mum)
For two dogs of such different sizes and temperaments, Luther and Klaus walked surprisingly well together. Mostly moving in the same direction and courteously waiting when one needed to stop to bark at ducks (Luther), chase pigeons (Klaus) or wee on litter (also Klaus).
I was reminded of the statue of Boudicca by Westminster Bridge – with the horses pulling in different directions – and breathed a sigh of relief. Klaus stopped again, pulling us towards a pair of discarded jeans and delicately raising a leg.
On the plus side, there was no sign of the jeans’ former occupant, en déshabille, returning to claim his now-stained trousers. ‘Come on, Klaus. I don’t want to be late.’
He didn’t seem to care, but with a now empty tank, was happy enough to continue along the towpath.
Grace was waiting for me at the pub near the Three Mills Park, a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and her face shaded from the sun by a broad-brimmed hat. Daphne, sitting on the floor beside her, dropped her chew to bark at the new intruders in her space.
‘Chill, Daph,’ I said, passing Klaus’s lead to my other hand. ‘You know Klaus and me. And this is Luther.’
‘Cue the dance.’ Grace smiled as the dogs circled each other to get in some good butt sniffs. The dance was more complicated with three dogs than with two, especially when two were male, but Daphne didn’t seem fazed, easily dancing around the two boys on their leads.
‘How are you doing, Louise? Whose is this beautiful boy?’ She bent to stroke Luther’s head as he passed by. ‘Yours?’
‘A friend’s. What’s with all the hush-hush? Don’t tell me, Mike’s decided he’s not a dog person and you need to rehome Daphne?’ I leaned down and ruffled the cockapoo’s fur. ‘No problem. I’ll take her.’
‘No chance.’ Grace laughed. ‘Mike would rehome me before even thinking about sending Daphne away. She’s definitely a daddy’s girl. Get yourself something to eat and drink. I’m not one for the Sunday lunch here, but the pizza is very good. Then I’ll show you what I found.’
I did as she asked, taking the boys inside with me, but allowing the bartender to carry my Diet Coke outside. I thanked her and sat down opposite Grace. ‘So?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Phil was cutting edge in so many ways. His ideas turned into companies. Those companies were then bought out by bigger companies, giving him the resources to come up with new ideas… rinse and repeat.’ There was a catch in her voice as she spoke; even though she might be very happy with Macho Mike, she wasn’t trying to hide the fact that she was still in mourning for Phil.
‘Do you think that was it? A disagreement with one of his business partners?’
‘I honestly don’t know. He seemed to get on with all of them. With everyone. You know Phil, he could have a conversation with a lamp post and make it feel special.’ Grace paused, pursing her lips. A few moments later she shook off the memories. ‘I wouldn’t have thought anyone would want to harm him, but obviously someone did. I don’t know why, I can’t imagine any possible reason for it. But maybe there’s something in here that can help.’
She reached into her backpack and pulled out a black leather book. She held it in her hands briefly before pushing it across the table to me.
‘Ahead of his time in so many ways,’ she said, nodding at it. ‘And yet, so behind it in others. Phil was old-school when it came to managing his personal diary.’
‘Ah.’ My fingers traced the gold lettering on the cover; Phil’s initials and the year. ‘How did you get it?’
‘Your questions got me thinking. I still have a key to the flat. I was pretty sure the police would have taken his laptop – and they had. But for some reason – maybe they overlooked it – they left his diary.’
‘Aha.’
‘Yeah. Aha,’ she echoed.
‘And you found something in it?’
She took hold of the diary and began to leaf through the pages. I caught glimpses of Phil’s neat writing, in pencil so that it could be erased if something changed. Saw doctors’ appointments. Meetings. Birthdays.
What had Grace found? Had Phil been seeing someone? Was that who had killed him?
She wouldn’t be rushed, pausing on one page and then another until she found what she was looking for. She turned the book round and pointed to the entry in question with a manicured red nail. ‘Here.’
I looked at it and blinked.
‘Why would someone have an appointment with a vet when they didn’t have a pet?’
‘Grace,’ I sighed, disappointed. ‘I don’t know. You said he was doing work with dog charities. Maybe he was working with them on something. They’re big in the neighbourhood.’
She shook her head. ‘Not them. He’d have worked with Satan before working with Village Vets.’ She pointed to the name in the book. ‘Especially that one.’