“So what happens next?” Cynthia asked.
The taskforce meeting had kicked off at ten as arranged around her kitchen table, with them all sitting in their usual seats. They’d touched base briefly on the previous evening but waited for the meeting to “have a meaningful discussion” as George put it.
“We find the house,” he said. “And we do it without your getting into any more trouble.”
Gladys gave Cynthia a sly grin. “This sounds like the headmaster talking.”
“Or an ex-chief superintendent.” They giggled like schoolgirls.
George’s face acquired a delicate shade of pink and he planted his elbows down firmly on the arms of his chair. “You chased after a known criminal and he threatened you with a knife. You could have been injured or worse without help. It was lucky Andy decided to send someone.”
“Yes, that young man did arrive at the right moment,” Gladys conceded. “We assumed at first he must be a carer or a relative. There clearly was something about Metz which wasn’t quite right. I don’t think he was ever really going to hurt us. He was like a lamb with that young man.”
“I’m not so sure,” Cynthia responded. “For that moment when we were alone with Metz it was very frightening. Also, as that man was a police officer, I don’t understand why he came into the church for the service while Metz was skulking around outside. However, rebuke accepted—no more trouble. How do we find the house and when do we do it?”
“I suggest we do some research first,” George said. “We Google that area which Metz described and try to build up a picture of the houses there. My hope is there won’t be too many with a garage. Then we find out whether any houses there are for sale.”
“I understand the Googling,” Gladys came back, “but why do we need to know if houses are for sale?”
“Having some property details in our hands provides an excuse for us to do more nosing around. Perhaps we could do that on Sunday. I don’t know about the two of you but I’m feeling pretty knackered after yesterday. Also tomorrow is the last Saturday of the month…”
“…which means it’s steak night,” Cynthia put in.
“Indeed, and brandy after as well, so we might need a little relaxation first to make the most of it. I know we’re dedicated sleuths and all that but we’re not going to lose anything by waiting until Sunday to make a site visit, so to speak.”
“And also the trains are less busy and house hunters are likely to be out and about on a Sunday.”
“That was my thinking too.”
“I’ll volunteer to do the research on the houses.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Gladys asked. Without waiting for the answer she pointed down to the floor. “I’m pleased we’re staying here tomorrow. I did my ankle in chasing after Metz yesterday.”
“You should have told me,” said Cynthia instantly concerned. “Is it swollen? Let me look at it afterwards and I’ll put a cold compress on it.”
“If it’s serious, we can call in the nurse here to take a look,” George offered.
Gladys put up her hand. “I think I just turned it, that’s all. Some rest and Cynthia’s compress should do the trick. I don’t want to miss the steak dinner either.”
George nodded. “As to what you can do, when is your article coming out?”
“On Monday—Shamira has agreed the text and I’ll have an advance copy over the weekend, probably tomorrow. I’ve already seen the proofs and made a few corrections, nothing major, just some typos here and there.”
“Good—when you have it, perhaps you can let me know. I’d like to read it in depth and maybe have a session to chat it over with you.”
“No problem as long as I can keep my foot up. The message which shines through from the proofs is that her success as a lawyer was driven by her resentment at how her family was treated and her admiration for her aunt.”
“Do we know her aunt’s name?”
Gladys shook her head. “I don’t. She never mentioned it.”
“She didn’t mention her sister’s name either,” Cynthia chipped in. “She referred to her all the time as ‘my sister’.”
“I think she was more interested in getting her message across than naming people.”
“Nonetheless,” George said, “if the aunt is such a big noise in Pakistan as Shamira says she is, it might be worthwhile checking her out. It fills in another blank. I’ll take care of that.”
Gladys shrugged her shoulders. “Fine.” Then another thought occurred to her. “You didn’t tell us whether Cauley Mortimer is still a major hero for you after your visit.”
George gave a rueful laugh. “I think I’ve learned that the best place to keep heroes is in their box so that they always stay as they were. He’s not aged well. Mind you, I was very well received and he was happy enough to talk. He probably doesn’t have so many ready audiences these days.”
“Does it help us what he told you about Pennington and the woman?” Cynthia enquired.
“Yes, I feel it does,” said George slowly, “although I’m not sure quite how yet. He shut up very quickly once he’d come out with it.”
“Why was that?”
“I asked myself the same question on the way home. Once he described the woman, it was almost as though he’d said too much.”
“A looker with long black hair—wasn’t that it? Not a lot to go on.”
“True. Maybe our Cauley suddenly remembered my background. He may have had enough exposure to the police all those years ago when he threatened Pennington and then he was murdered. It must have been a nasty shock, that, the police linking up the two and treating him as a suspect. Now he might not want to be dragged into any more enquiries about the case. Anyway, I almost forgot—he gave me some cans of his beer to bring home, so here’s one for each of you.”
“Deadly Dragon,” Gladys read from the side of one of the cans. “I wouldn’t touch it coming from a footballer.”
“Well, I will.” Cynthia picked up the other can and stowed it away in the fridge behind her. “Could be just the thing for a warm day out in the garden. I’ll have yours as well if you don’t want it.”
Gladys hastily grabbed the can she’d been reading from. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I might give it a try.”