‘To work together.’ Susie widened her eyes to make them appear innocent. ‘Pool resources. Share information.’
‘Okay,’ he said, but he didn’t look happy about it. She guessed the last thing he needed was an MI5 officer poking about, exposing every dirty secret.
‘For instance, I’d like your father’s take on what happened the night Tony Abbott was killed.’
‘So would I.’
She was startled at the sudden anger in his voice.
‘He’s…’ Barry Gilder ground his teeth for a moment. ‘Gone fishing.’
‘I hope he’s on the Test,’ she said, ‘and that he hasn’t gone anywhere like Norway.’ And where there’ll be no phone signal.
His cheeks flushed. It wasn’t embarrassment, she realised, but fury.
‘He’s gone to Norway?’ Her voice held disbelief.
‘Finland. It’s a place called Kotka.’
Susie grabbed her phone and looked it up on the web to see it was slap bang between Helsinki and St Petersburg. Barry’s father could be on the moon as far as she was concerned. Was that the intention? To be utterly out of touch, out of reach, while the Saint tried to find Robert Ashdown? Was David Gilder being sensible, removing himself from danger, or had he simply run away? Turned into a coward?
‘He’s got his mobile with him.’ Barry’s words were clipped. ‘But I haven’t been able to reach him.’
‘How do you feel about that?’ Susi asked. ‘His leaving you in the shit?’
The rage in his face gave her no doubt he would have happily hit his father if he were standing with them right now. Which cheered her immensely because it appeared that where David Gilder was a crooked shyster in bed with the Saint, his son was cut from a different cloth.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must be really frustrated with him.’ Her voice was gentle, letting him know she understood his anger and shame over his father. She’d learned over the years that occasionally this kind of empathy worked wonders when you wanted to bond with someone.
Barry ducked his head, in a gesture of embarrassment perhaps, she wasn’t sure, but at that moment, with the light on one side of his face, she remembered where she’d seen him. It hadn’t been at work, as she’d originally thought, and her pulse quickened as she processed the new information.
‘Since we’re sharing,’ she said, putting her head on one side. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
He pulled a sorry-that’s-all-I’ve-got face.
‘I thought you might least have shared the fact you were staking out Clara’s house last Tuesday.’ She shook her head in a parody of disappointment. ‘You were staking it out, weren’t you?’
He licked his lips. ‘Sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your idea, was it?’
‘No.’
‘And nobody else knows about it, am I right?’
He swallowed, looking sick.
She considered the photograph of Hayley and Noah on the wall, both smiling, both looking happy. Barry’s eyes followed hers briefly, before returning to hold her gaze.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t want to get up your nose, and I certainly don’t want you to get up mine, but it’s worth my saying that I’m not after you here. I just want to find my brother-in-law before he gets himself killed, and if you can help me do that, then I would be very grateful. Okay?’
It was a peace offering.
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Anything on Arun Choudhuri’s murder?’ she asked.
He thought for a moment. ‘George Abbott thinks Robert Ashdown killed him.’
‘Does he indeed?’ She mulled this over. ‘I may not like the idea, but I suppose he could be right. Arun Choudhuri was a witness to that evening, after all.’
‘He threatened my family,’ Barry finally admitted. He didn’t have to say exactly who. She knew.
She didn’t look at him as she said, ‘I guessed as much.’
When she left, although she was reasonably certain he’d keep her secrets safe for the moment – no doubt hoarding them to be used in the future when it would benefit him to maximum effect – she still didn’t trust him an inch.