Gary appeared at the door with a little tray filled with plastic coffee cups and leaned on the handle with his elbow. Tristan got up and opened the door.
“The agency income is irregular, and you haven’t filed any tax returns yet,” said Sarah, holding the Kate Marshall Detective Agency contract between thumb and index finger as if it were a pair of dirty underpants. Gary placed cups of steaming coffee on the desk.
“The agency also gets income from the caravan site,” said Tristan.
“So, when detective work is low, Kate’s got you changing beds and emptying chemical toilets?”
“We’ve started a business together, Sarah. It takes time to build it up. Kate’s son, Jake, is coming back from university in a couple of weeks. And he’ll be working for us helping to run the caravan site over the summer.”
Sarah shook her head. She’d always been hostile toward Kate, but since he’d gone part time at the university to work at the fledgling detective agency, Sarah’s dislike had gone up another notch. In her mind, Kate was taking Tristan away from a secure job with good benefits. He wished Sarah would accept Kate as his friend and business partner. Kate was smart and never said anything derogatory about Sarah, but Sarah was happy to let rip and rant about Kate and her many faults. Tristan understood why his sister was protective. Their father had left when they were tiny, and their mother had died when Sarah was eighteen and Tristan fifteen. At a very young age, Sarah had had to become the breadwinner and parent.
“He’s got a tenant now, haven’t you, Tris?” said Gary, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s a nice bit of extra income.”
“Yeah. The tenancy agreement is there,” said Tristan.
“How is it going with the yeti?” asked Gary. Tristan smiled. His new tenant, Glenn, had dark hair covering every visible piece of skin, as well as a thick, bushy beard.
“He’s a good bloke. Very tidy. Stays in his room most of the time. Doesn’t really talk,” said Tristan.
“Not your type, then?”
“No, I like a guy with two eyebrows.”
Gary laughed. Sarah looked up from the paperwork.
“Gary. Now he’s left his full-time job at the university, it’s going to be difficult to approve a remortgage on his flat with what he’s earning . . .”
Gary went round the desk and touched her lightly on the shoulders.
“Let’s have a look. Everything is workable, with a bit of Gary magic,” he said. She got up and let him sit in the chair, and he pulled up the mortgage application on his screen.
“You’re lucky that your brother-in-law is a bank manager,” said Sarah. Tristan’s phone rang in his pocket, and he took it out. Kate’s name flashed up on the screen. “Who’s that? This is important.”
“It’s Kate. I’ll be quick,” said Tristan, getting up and leaving the small office.
As he walked down the corridor, he heard Sarah’s voice saying, “Kate’s all right. She hasn’t got a mortgage on her house . . .”
“Hello,” said Tristan, answering the call. “Hang on. I’m at the bank.” He moved past the line of people waiting for the cash desks, through the foyer, and outside onto the pavement.
“Did it all go through okay?” asked Kate.
“Sarah and Gary are just dealing with it.”
“Do you want me to call back?”
“No. I’m good.”
Kate sounded excited when she told him about her phone call with Bev Ellis.
“This could be a high-profile cold case?” said Tristan.
“Yes. But it looks complicated. Joanna Duncan’s disappearance was featured on Crimewatch, and after twelve years, the police still had very little to go on.”
“Do you think this woman can afford a long investigation?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been googling. The press made a big thing about Bev being a single mother on a low income.”
“Right.”
“But that’s the press, and you know how they like to distort things. She’s recently moved to Salcombe and lives with her long-term boyfriend. Their address is on the millionaires’ row. I’d like to go and meet them, tomorrow, if you’re up for it?”
“Of course.”
When Tristan came off the phone, he felt a little burst of excitement. He turned to see Sarah emerging from the front entrance of the bank.
“You owe Gary a pint,” she said, crossing her arms over her blue blouse against the breeze. “He got your remortgage approved and on a much better fixed rate for five years. You’ll save eighty quid a month.”