chapter thirty-one

 

Guernsey 2011

 

Before leaving the shop, Fiona phoned John and told him about the business card. He said to go to the police station, and he’d phone Inspector Woods and warn him they were on the way and would meet them there. Within minutes they arrived and were shown into the inspector’s office.

He gave them a tired smile.

‘Well, John tells me you may have some useful evidence for me. About our friend Duncan Domaille, right?’

Fiona handed over the envelope.

‘I’m afraid we’ve both handled it, but we didn’t know what it meant, so…’

Woods nodded, pulled on a plastic glove from a drawer and took out the card, dropping it into a bag before taking a closer look. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he looked up.

‘I see what you mean. If this is Domaille’s lawyer in Sydney, then it’s a safe bet he must have dropped it in the office. No other way could it have got there. We can check for fingerprints and DNA. Well done!’ He broke into a coughing fit just as John arrived and he waved him in.

John reached out for the bag and after a quick glance, let out a whistle, and sat next to Fiona grinning like a Cheshire cat.

‘Will this be enough to convict him?’ she asked.

Woods shook his head.

‘Not on its own, but would count as strong circumstantial evidence if we can show he a) knew about the painting and b) tries to steal it again. It doesn’t prove he was there on the night your brother died, only sometime before that.’ Picking up the bag he walked to the door and called an officer, asking him to send it for testing. His expression was solemn as he returned and looked at Michael and Fiona. ‘Are you both still up for trying to trap him? You know he might be armed? We could try and catch him another way.’

They exchanged glances.

‘Yes, we’re committed to seeing it through. Even more now we have some evidence against him,’ Fiona said.

‘Good, in that case, what we really need is for him to confess, or at least implicate himself in some way, on tape. Lead him on a bit if you have time. Ask him how he knew about the work of art etc. Would you be willing to do that?’

Fiona had seen enough TV detective dramas to know how it was supposed to happen, but would she have the time if he was threatening her with violence? Or worse? She gulped.

‘I could try. Where would the police be?’

‘We’ll have a man in the back garden and others will be in the surveillance van in the street, which is being set up as we speak…’

John interrupted. ‘Fiona, what you don’t know is that I went to the house this morning and set the cameras to link to the equipment in the van, rather than my computer, so we can pick up Domaille on record, collecting audio as well as visual. You control them from your computer.’ He added, shifting on his chair.

‘Right, so you’re saying from now on, everything we do is on camera? Every room?’ Michael said, frowning.

‘Not every room, no. There are no cameras in the cloakroom or bathrooms. And you only switch them on in the evening when alerted by the police. That’s right, Ron?’

The inspector nodded.

‘Yes, we have no wish to intrude on your privacy. We’re monitoring Domaille’s movements, and if he seems to be heading for your house, we’ll ring and ask you to switch on the cameras at the same time as we send officers to the house.’

‘Okay, that sounds fair enough. You happy with that, Fiona?’

She nodded. It all sounded more complicated than their original idea; dependent on both the police and technology to work. And there was no guarantee Duncan would do what they hoped he would.

 

It was hard to relax after returning home, and Fiona sensed Michael was also on edge. A furrowed forehead replaced his usual lazy smile. After unpacking her case and taking a long, hot shower, Fiona went to the kitchen where she’d left him drinking coffee and made herself a cup.

‘We’ve still got three hours until sunset so how about sitting in the garden for a bit before supper? I might tackle the flower beds to keep me occupied.’

Michael glanced up from the newspaper.

‘Are you sure you’re not too tired? We’ve had quite a day so far.’

‘I know, but since finding that business card I’m a bit hyper and need to do something physical or I’ll never sleep.’

‘I’ll give you a hand if you show me which ones are weeds. You’re right; we need to keep busy. I’ve always hated the waiting game, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, like waiting at the dentist’s to have a filling, or going into the exam hall at uni.’ She smiled faintly, and he grinned.

‘Right, weeding it is! After you,’ he said, standing.

Carrying her coffee, she led the way to the shed and dug out spades, trowels and secateurs. Michael carried them over to the flower beds while she finished her drink. Placing the empty cup on the table, she joined him and started pointing out what needed to be dug out. He agreed to use the spade for the more resistant weeds while she used the trowel on those small enough to work loose. Between them, they cleared one of the beds in an hour and made a start on another. Fiona checked her watch.

‘Shall we stop now and cook supper? It’s looking great, thanks. I can do some more tomorrow; there’s no rush.’ Silently she thought they might be glad of something to do another evening if Duncan hadn’t turned up. As far as he was concerned, he had until Wednesday to make a move.

They replaced the tools in the shed and headed for the kitchen to check out the contents of the fridge and store cupboard.

‘I could rustle up a chilli con carne,’ offered Michael, holding a bag of rice and a packet of mince.

‘Perfect. And there’s ice cream for afters, so sorted. Do you need a hand?’ Fiona said, lining up beans, cheese and sour cream on the counter.

‘No, I’m good. Go and watch some TV and relax,’ he said, smiling.

She pulled out two cans of lager from the fridge, handing one to him and taking hers and a glass to the sitting room. Being at the front of the house they’d decided Michael couldn’t risk being seen there, but it was important that Fiona seemed to be behaving normally. She switched on the TV and stretched out on the sofa, trying to focus on the usual bank holiday drivel. By the time Michael shouted, ‘Supper’s ready!’ she was on the verge of dozing off, bored by the repeat of a film she hadn’t enjoyed the first time around.

Michael had set the table in the kitchen, at the back of the house and safe from prying eyes. A large dish of chilli and smaller dishes of cheese and cream were placed ready.

‘Mmm, smells good! Is this your signature dish?’ She grinned at him as she sat down.

‘No, I can do better than this, given the right ingredients. This was potluck. When I’m planning to entertain guests, I might offer a roast with all the trimmings, or perhaps a paella. Depends on the time of year.’ He smiled, taking two more cans of lager from the fridge before joining her at the table.

She piled food onto her plate and took a mouthful. ‘That’s good, Michael. Bodes well for your roast or paella,’ she said, with a smile.

‘Thank you for those kind words, Miss, you might get to try my other dishes sometime,’ he said, in a little boy voice.

They both laughed.

Fiona filled her glass and took a sip, trying not to think of further intimate meals with Michael. Realistically, they would have no option but to spend a lot of time together while Duncan was at large. He hadn’t said anything about when he’d leave, and she preferred not to ask. One day at a time…

They finished the meal as the sun was dipping in the sky and Fiona went around drawing curtains and blinds. After filling the dishwasher, they settled in the sitting room, now safe from prying eyes. It was just after nine, and it could be anytime from now on that Duncan made a move, and Fiona felt the muscles in her neck tighten. Michael, however, looked calm.

‘TV’s dire, but I’ve got some DVDs we could watch if you like.’

‘Sure. Let’s have a look.’

Fiona opened a drawer to display the collection, letting Michael choose.

‘Hey, about this? Life of Brian, seen it loads of times but still makes me laugh. Okay with you?’

‘Fine, I love it too.’

Fiona slipped the disc into the player and switched on the television, before plumping for an easy chair, leaving Michael the sofa. Within minutes they were giggling at the antics of the Monty Python crew. Fiona felt her neck muscles relax and let herself be carried away by the film. By the time it finished, they were both yawning and ready for bed. Upstairs, they arrived outside her room and Fiona hesitated. Michael gave her a quick hug.

‘Don’t worry, if he does come, remember we’ll get ample warning, and I’m nearby. Try and get some sleep, okay?’

She nodded, the thought of Michael sleeping so close causing a mix of emotions. Not helped by the thought that a killer might turn up. He kissed her on the cheek before heading to his room. After brushing her teeth and cleaning her face, she slipped into bed, her mobile within reach. She must have fallen asleep as the next thing she knew her mobile was ringing loudly in her ear. Blearily, she saw it was John, and it was three in the morning.

‘Hi, sorry to wake you, but Duncan’s heading your way. Switch on the cameras.’