“I like that you’re a woman. I’ve spent so many years dealing with policemen who’ve patronized me,” said Bev, her voice rising in defiance. “Could we meet? I can come over to your offices.”
Kate glanced up at what was passing for their “offices.” The space they were using had been Myra’s living room. It still had the old 1970s patterned carpet, and their desk was an opened-out leafed dining table. Along one wall were bottles of urinal disinfectant and packs of paper towels for the caravan site. A large corkboard on the wall had a note that said ACTIVE CASES pinned at the top, but it was empty. Since the conclusion of their most recent job, a background check on a young man for his prospective employer, the agency had had no work. When Myra left her estate to Kate, it was on the condition that she quit her job and pursue her ambition to start a detective agency. They’d been up and running for nine months, but building the agency into something that could make a profit was proving to be tough.
“Why don’t I come and meet you with my colleague, Tristan?” said Kate.
Tristan Harper was Kate’s partner in the agency, and he was out at his other job today. Three days a week he worked at Ashdean University as a research assistant.
“Yes. I remember Tristan from the National Geographic article . . . Listen, I’m free tomorrow? But you’re probably all booked up.”
“Let me talk to Tristan, check our diary, and I’ll call you right back,” said Kate.
When she put the phone down at the end of the call, her heart was thumping with excitement.
2
At the same time Kate was finishing her call, Tristan Harper was sitting in his sister’s small glass-walled office in the Barclays Bank on Ashdean High Street.
“Okay. Let’s get this over with,” he said, sliding the plastic folder containing his mortgage application across the desk. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“What do you mean?”
“Your interrogation into my finances.”
“Would you wear that if I was a stranger interviewing you for a new mortgage application?” said Sarah, opening the folder and peering at him across her desk.
“This is what I wear for work,” said Tristan, looking down at his smart white V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and trainers.
“A bit informal for a bank interview, though,” she said, adjusting her gray jacket and blue blouse. Sarah was twenty-eight, three years older than Tristan, but sometimes she seemed twenty years older.
“When I arrived, I didn’t see many people lining up to cash their giros wearing three-piece suits. And these trainers are limited-edition Adidas.”
“And how much did they cost?”
“Enough. They’re an investment. Aren’t they gorgeous?” he said, grinning.
Sarah rolled her eyes and nodded. “They’re very cool.”
Tristan was tall with a lean, muscular frame. His forearms were covered in tattoos, and the head of the eagle tattoo across his chest poked up from the V-neck of his T-shirt. They looked alike, brother and sister, with the same soft brown eyes. Tristan’s chestnut-brown curly hair was now shoulder length and tousled. Whereas Sarah’s hair was tied back and neatly tamed with straighteners.
There was a knock on the glass door, and a short balding man wearing a suit and tie came into the office.
“Has she started the interrogation yet?” he said. “She wanted to bring in a lamp to put on the desk so she could shine it in your face!”
This was Gary, Sarah’s husband and the manager of the bank branch. Tristan got up and gave his brother-in-law a hug.
“Gary! Don’t be so silly,” said Sarah, now smiling with them. “I’m asking the same questions I would of any other mortgage applicant.”
“Look how long your bloody hair is. Wish mine still grew like that!” said Gary, patting his expanding bald spot.
“I much prefer him with short hair,” said Sarah.
“Do you want a coffee, Tris?”
“Please.”
“A black coffee would be lovely, thank you, Gary,” said Sarah. He left the office, and she took out the mortgage application form, scanned it, turned over the paper, and sighed.
“What?” said Tristan.
“I’m just seeing the pitiful amount you’re now earning part time working at the university,” said Sarah, shaking her head.
“I’ve got my contract for the agency, and my new tenant’s agreement,” said Tristan. Sarah looked in the plastic file and pulled out the two documents, flicking through them with a frown on her face.
“How much work has Kate got for you?”
Tristan noted how Sarah said Kate’s name with an inflection, as she always did when referring to women she disapproved of.
“I’ve invested in the agency as a partner,” said Tristan, bristling. “The agency pays us both a retainer, regardless of work. It’s all there in the contract.”
“And has the agency got any work right now?” she asked, looking up at him.
Tristan hesitated. “No.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows and turned back to reading the paperwork. Tristan wanted to defend himself, but he didn’t want to have another argument. In the nine months since he and Kate had started the detective agency, they’d had four cases. Two women had asked them to gather evidence of their husbands’ infidelity. The owner of an office supplier in Exeter had asked them to find out if one of his employees was stealing stock and selling it, which she was, and they’d also done a detailed background check for a local businesswoman on a young man she wanted to hire.
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.”