Kate had always avoided the merry-go-round of notoriety that accompanied Peter Conway. There had been lucrative opportunities to write books and tell her story to the tabloids, but in Kate’s mind, that would be profiting from murder. Singers and actors were famous for their art. Conway was famous for killing, and it was sick to profit from that.
25
Jake phoned Kate to say that the changeover ladies had come to meet him before their first shift at the weekend, and were helping to move the clean bedding from the office down to the storeroom in the surf shop. When Tristan called after meeting with Bishop, Kate asked if they could meet at his flat.
Tristan made them tea, and they sat in his small kitchen, bringing each other up to speed.
“I’m sorry that Marnie was such a freak about the book,” said Tristan.
“Part of me feels bad for not signing it. She didn’t look like she had a lot of money,” said Kate. “It made me understand Joanna a little better. She wanted to escape that housing estate and have a better life. I don’t know if Marnie was bitter about that.”
Tristan nodded.
“How high were the stakes for Bill, if Joanna had gone ahead and written the asbestos story?” he asked.
“His investment would have gone down the drain. I don’t know how much he would have lost, but I get the idea it was significant. Bev sounded defensive on the phone when I brought it up. It must have put her in the middle of things, but she insists that Bill and Joanna sorted it out. She didn’t write the story, and his company fixed the problem.”
“If they sorted it amicably, then that doesn’t necessarily raise a red flag, but it’s the same names we keep coming back to. Marco Polo House is now linked to Shelley Morden, Joanna, and Bill. Shelley and David Lamb are linked to Max Jesper’s commune, and Noah Huntley is linked to all of them, apart from Bill. We need to talk to Noah Huntley.”
“We don’t know how deep Joanna dug into his private life, but she had enough to write an exposé on his use of rent boys. We’ve also got Noah Huntley investing in Jesper’s hotel, going to social events at Jesper’s house. Who’s to say that he didn’t regularly drop by the commune?”
“If only we had Joanna’s notes and files from that time,” said Tristan.
“Joanna’s editor, Ashley Harris, told her to drop the whole part of her original story about Noah Huntley and his rent boys. Why? What if Noah Huntley had something to do with David Lamb and Gabe Kemp going missing?” said Kate.
“And George Tomassini—we can’t forget him. Ade thinks he went missing mid-2002.”
“I’ve left a message with Alan Hexham, asking if he could pull some strings and find out if David Lamb, Gabe Kemp, and George Tomassini had criminal records,” said Kate.
“Do you think he can? Do you think he will?”
“He knows everyone, and he’s always said that he’d help us if he can . . .” Kate shrugged and sipped her tea. She didn’t feel hopeful. “What about your friend Ade as a backup?”
“I get the impression that Ade left the police force under a cloud. He sued them for an injury he had at work, and his colleagues were called to testify at the tribunal . . . If nothing comes back from Alan, then I can ask,” said Tristan.
“It’s okay. I get it. I didn’t exactly leave the police force brimming with contacts.”
“Do you want more tea?” asked Tristan.
“Please.” He got up and refilled their mugs from the teapot. “We still need to find Ashley Harris, Joanna’s editor at the West Country News. He could have known what she was writing about, what she was investigating. That could tell us everything . . .”
“And Famke van Noort—if we could talk to her and be secure in her alibi, then we could rule out Fred,” said Tristan, pouring milk in their teas.
“Fuck. I forgot about Fred,” said Kate.
The front door opened, and there were loud voices in the hallway, and laughter.
“That’s Glenn,” said Tristan. Kate could see he wasn’t pleased at the disturbance.
“Tris! You in?” came a voice from the hall. Tristan left the kitchen, and Kate could hear them talking. There was a crash as the living room door hit the wall.
“I’ve got you, keep going straight,” said a male voice.
“Shitter, mind the handlebars on the wall,” said another. Both voices had West Country accents. Kate was surprised to see two very large hairy guys come into the kitchen, pushing a Harley-Davidson motorbike, which was all gleaming chrome with a huge leather seat.