After the meeting was over Cynthia went back with Gladys to her bungalow to examine the injured ankle. It did look slightly swollen and red compared to the other so Cynthia put on the compress accompanied by the recommendation that the nurse at the Village should check it. She left her friend with her leg up on a chair but, however bad the pain was, it didn’t stop Gladys coming over to lunch at the restaurant. When she limped back with some help from Cynthia, she announced she was going to rest up pending the nurse’s inspection and wait for the advance copy of her article to arrive.
When Cynthia arrived home, she decided to start work. She opened up her laptop, summoned up Google Maps and began examining the group of streets around Clapham North Station. When she zeroed in on the houses there were, as George had suspected, very few which appeared to have a garage. Many were linked Victorian villas now divided up into flats with cars parked on the street outside. For a house to have a garage it would most likely have to be on the end of a row and have enough ground alongside it. There surely couldn’t be many of those. Jack Metz had said the garage was on a slant to the house and he remembered that because it had made his task in transferring the body more difficult. Cynthia wondered if he had meant at an angle to the house but attached to it or at right angles to save space. Then there was the central question as to how reliable Metz’s information really was. There was a Clapham South Station of course as well as the north one. Metz’s long-term memory had seemed OK but once he’d parted with the knife he’d behaved as though the incident at the church had never taken place, so what did that say about short term memory?
With an effort Cynthia ended this rather ragged train of thought and moved on to housing sites to build a picture of property for sale. There was an array of flats and she passed quickly by those. Houses were fewer in number and spread around Clapham. Two of them had garages but were much closer to Clapham Common than either North or South. Looking at the map on Google she could see the common was only a short drive from the streets which Jack Metz had pinpointed. It was back to the memory question again. Had Metz focussed on the house itself and the angle of the garage rather than accurately recalling the street or the area? Would it be worth making the journey to see properties elsewhere?
While she was mulling over these questions, a call came in from George. “Could I come round?” he enquired. “I’ve found out something quite interesting and I didn’t want to disturb Gladys with her foot for another taskforce meeting.”
“Of course,” Cynthia responded after the merest smidgen of hesitation. “Would you like some tea?”
“That would be really nice.” His voice went up a few notches. “Please don’t go to too much trouble.”
“I won’t—it’ll be in a mug.”
“Excellent—I’ll look in at the main hall on my way and see if they have any cake. It’s usually on the meagre side on a Friday, especially when it’s steak night the next day. The powers-that-be don’t want to give too much away.”
Cynthia smiled to herself. She’d heard that one from George a few times now. “I’ll see you when I see you. I have an update to share with you as well.” She pressed the disconnect button and went into the kitchen to boil the kettle. As she got out the mugs and the teabags she realised the smile was still on her face. She thought back to their lunch together in London and how much she’d enjoyed it. Up until the lunch George had been, well, a pleasant acquaintance. After it she regarded him as a genuine companion. They had both had tales to tell about their marriages and their jobs. The sense of loss at the death of a much-loved partner was something they both shared. Equally the jobs from which they had retired still held reservoirs which should be regarded as secret. She hadn’t been entertained so well since… since David had been alive and even he hadn’t displayed the easy control which seemed to come naturally to George. She’d got to know him much better and found him kind and generous as well as naturally attracting respect.
She shook herself as the kettle reached its crescendo and the doorbell rang at the same moment. George came in holding a plastic box in his hand. “We brought a whole set of these from the other house when we came here,” he announced, waving the box in the air. “Miriam must have bought them years ago and this one came in useful today.” He took off the lift with a triumphant air. “Because much to my surprise they had fruit cake.” He turned the box upside down and offloaded two pieces of cake on to a plate which Cynthia had put on the kitchen table. She in turn put his mug of tea on a mat in front of the seat which Gladys usually occupied. He waited for her to sit down opposite him before he followed suit.
“You’ve trimmed your beard,” she said. She hadn’t meant to say it, just think it, but it just sort of came out.
Gorge didn’t appear displeased. He stroked the stubble on his face, which was all that remained from his previous luxuriant growth. “Yes, well it’s all part of my effort to smarten myself up. I was getting rather tired of it hanging around.”
“It makes you look younger.” She hadn’t meant to say that either but it was more natural this time. She looked approvingly at the well-fitting shirt and trousers with a crease in them which he was wearing.
George smiled in response, a smile which lingered. “That’s the kind of compliment I’m always looking for from a charming lady and thank you for the tea.” He paused, the remnant of the smile still lingering. “Now, are you going to shoot first?”
Cynthia didn’t realise how much she was enjoying the conversation until she had to make the effort to embark on a recitation of where she had got to with the houses and garages. “I spread the net fairly wide because of our doubts about Jack Metz and his memory,” she finished up. “I thought about our encounter with him some more as well. You were right—we were fortunate to get rescued.”
“Well, yes—I’ve said my piece about that. Andy was just curious enough to send someone along to see who might turn up. And it was worth it to catch up with Metz as well as the occupants of the Bentley. I would guess that was the Grouper Junior, the son, and that he was hoping to catch up with Metz as well. He thought that having been to the service and there was no sign of Metz in the church it wasn’t worth wasting any more time. He was wrong.”
“Why all the interest in Metz?”
“Cynthia, we’re gradually establishing a line leading upwards to the Grouper, first Charlie Willis, then Metz and his companion. Metz took his orders directly from the top. What was the connection between the Grouper and Richard Pennington? We don’t know yet, but we may be closer to finding out. How does that affect the present-day Grouper organisation? Again, we don’t know. Perhaps, like me, they don’t like loose ends.”
Cynthia nodded. She understood the reasoning as George had explained it very well. “If the police took Metz in, what will happen to him?”
George drank deeply from his tea and then munched on a piece of cake as he took time to consider the question. “In my judgement, not too much unless you ladies make a formal complaint. I hope you won’t do that because it would compromise what our taskforce has achieved so far.”
“We’ve no intention of doing it. There’s undoubtedly something wrong with Metz, mentally I mean.”
“I agree—let’s assume Alzheimer’s shall we from his behaviour? The police will give a warning to whoever looks after Metz to watch him much better. Otherwise, they have the power to order him to be placed in secure accommodation. Coming back to his memory, I suppose anyone even without Alzheimer’s after thirty years could be forgiven for being wobbly on detail.” He hoovered up some cake crumbs. “Why don’t we arrange a viewing of those houses you found for tomorrow and take a look around the area?”
“We?”
George started on the next piece of cake after offering it to Cynthia. “It’s only fish night tonight so no harm in having the cake as well. Yes, you and me—I’m assuming Gladys will be dealing with her script and looking after her ankle. She won’t feel like walking round in London. Also, a couple look more like house hunters than a threesome.”
“A couple?” Even to herself Cynthia sounded like a parrot.
George ate the last crumbs of the cake off the plate and circled round with his fingers those which had fallen on the table. “Why not? We carried it off at the bank, didn’t we?”
“After we left under a cloud, you mean?” Cynthia smiled. “I enjoyed our lunch out though.”
“Well, I think it’s important to get out of here from time to time before we become totally institutionalised. There’ll be another chance on Sunday. We’ll see what they have to offer in Clapham. I’m not a great fan of Sunday lunches here. How they produce it I don’t know but it’s not like home-cooked roast beef.”
“If you’re campaigning for me to produce a Sunday lunch,” Cynthia left the sentence open.
“You can’t blame a man for trying.” George laughed. “Let me tell you what I found out. It took some digging into the records but Shamira Iqbal’s aunt is called Helena Ahmed. Her birth name was Fatima but she changed it as soon as her legal career took off.”
Cynthia’s interest was instantly aroused. “So Helena changed her birth name to give her a wider appeal?”
“Maybe.” George looked thoughtful. “That might be the reason, I suppose.” He paused. “Anyway, I’ve confirmed what Shamira told you. Helena is well-known in Pakistan as a leading lawyer and also as a champion of women’s rights to the extent that she has a permanent bodyguard. She’s an advisor to the government as well.”
A bleep on Cynthia’s phone interrupted them. It was a text from Gladys. “She’s got her article,” she reported.
George got up. “Great—ask her to do us copies please. That’s our homework for tomorrow.”