‘Hold on a moment.’
Twenty seconds later the lock clicked. I opened the gate and crunched across the gravel drive. A woman in her thirties stood by the front door. She was wearing a light-grey tracksuit and had auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. Despite the lack of make-up, she looked almost as sensational as she had in the picture on Roger’s desk.
‘I’m Tabitha,’ she said holding out a hand. ‘Roger’s wife.’
‘Kenny,’ I said, shaking it.
‘Please excuse my appearance,’ she said. ‘Just off for a run.’
‘Not at all,’ I replied – pretty rich, bearing in mind I was wearing a muddy evening suit and the beginnings of a black eye.
She ushered me in, where I was greeted by a golden retriever who leapt up and planted a paw on each of my thighs.
‘Down, Godfrey!’ said Tabitha, sternly. Godfrey took no notice. I gave his head a companionable pat before he was grabbed by the collar and deposited whining behind a nearby door. ‘He gets excitable around strangers,’ said his mistress. ‘Roger’s having a shower. Perhaps you’d like to wait in his study . . .’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and she led me up the stairs. On the landing was a six-year-old girl in pyjamas.
‘Who’s that man, Mummy?’ she asked.
‘He’s a friend of Daddy’s, darling,’ Tabitha said, adding, for my benefit, ‘This is Hester, our daughter.’
‘Hello, Hester,’ I said, and gave her a wave.
‘You look like Granddad Nigel,’ she said. ‘He died of cancer.’
‘Go and play with Godfrey, darling,’ Tabitha said. ‘He’s in the dining room.’
Hester gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh, all right, then,’ she said, and marched past us.
‘Sorry about that,’ her mother said. ‘You know what they’re like at that age . . .’
Roger’s study looked as though it had been transplanted from the Reform Club. One wall supported shelves of leather-bound books, and a pair of burgundy chesterfields faced each other across the room. In one corner was a large oak desk. Covering the floor, an ancient Turkish rug. The only things that would have perplexed Phileas Fogg were a large flat-panel TV screen and the laptop on the desk.
‘Do sit down,’ Tabitha said. ‘Can I get you a coffee or something?’
‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’
‘Roger should be with you in five minutes or so. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get on with my run.’
The books turned out to be medical tracts in German, or bound copies of ancient agricultural reports. The kind of thing interior designers bought from libraries and house clearances for clients who wanted to appear cultured without having to read anything. Maybe Roger stayed up half the night boning up on the function of the spleen, or Lincolnshire milk yields in 1902, but I had my doubts.
I spent a while looking through the window on to the garden, where Hester was gooning around with Godfrey. When I got bored with that, I checked out some Spy cartoons of long-dead politicians. I suspected that a large globe of the ancient world had a secondary use, and I was right. A catch near Mesopotamia released the northern hemisphere. The globe swung open to reveal a varied selection of quality spirits.
Even I draw the line at knocking it back at seven thirty in the morning, but the lack of sleep was beginning to kick in and I could do with a sharpener. I unscrewed the top of a bottle of Hennessy and had just applied it to my puckered lips when Roger entered the room. ‘Glad you’ve made yourself at home, Kenny,’ he said.
‘I couldn’t find any glasses,’ was the best I could manage.
‘Oh, I think you’ll find most people are taking their breakfast aperitif straight from the bottle these days,’ he said. ‘It’s all the rage.’
I screwed the top back on and replaced the bottle in the globe. Roger was in a dark business suit. His white shirt was pristine and his mauve tie perfectly knotted. He smelled of expensive aftershave. I felt at a disadvantage.
‘Perhaps we should sit down,’ he said, and we occupied separate sofas. ‘I’m assuming your visit has something to do with Harry.’
‘It’s connected. I’ve interviewed quite a few people now. One of whom gave me some interesting information.’
‘Which you couldn’t wait to tell me about?’
I looked him directly in the eye and said, ‘You leaked the information about your dad planning to move to Docklands and sack half the workforce.’
‘Who told you that?’ Roger asked.
‘Doesn’t matter who told me,’ I said. ‘What does matter is that it’s true.’
‘Don’t be absurd. Why would I want to sabotage my father’s company? The company I work for. The company that pays for all this.’
‘You tell me.’
‘I don’t think so, Kenny. Whoever fed you this is clearly some kind of fantasist with an axe to grind. Now, if we’ve quite finished, I’ve got a job to go to and I’m sure there’s a drying-out clinic wondering where you are . . .’
Roger checked his watch and I decided to give the interview a bit of bite. ‘You couldn’t bear the idea of Harry being in charge of the company, could you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I told you my sister’s the one with the nose for business. I have absolutely no problem with that.’
‘And you’ve probably been telling yourself that for years. Maybe you even managed to believe it. But when Frank made Harry MD, something snapped. God knows I understand, Roger. All my brother’s really done in life is get lucky a few times. Drives me nuts when people bang on about how talented he is. What it really comes down to is that some of us get the breaks and some of us don’t.’
Roger nodded. ‘Harry was good at boiling down spreadsheets,’ he said. ‘But I had much more of an idea what was going on at the sharp end of the business.’
‘I’m sure you did.’
‘Dad never listened to me. All he ever wanted to know was what Harry thought about this and what Harry thought about that.’
‘Must have been frustrating.’
‘Whenever I took him a business idea, all he’d say was that he’d take a look and that would be the last I’d ever hear of it. If she came up with something, though, it was like the bloody Oracle had spoken.’
‘It’s understandable you did what you did.’
‘D’you really think so?’ Roger asked.
‘Absolutely.’
‘There’s not a day gone by when I haven’t regretted it.’
‘I’m sure that will be taken into account when it comes to sentencing. You could be out in nine or ten years.’
‘What?’
‘Maybe less.’
‘For forwarding a couple of emails to a journalist?’
‘I thought you were talking about . . .’
‘You think I murdered Harry?’
‘Not murdered, exactly . . .’
‘You come to my home looking like Christ knows what and start making wild accusations. I should beat the shit out of you.’
Roger stood over me with balled fists and a face contorted by rage. He might not have killed his sister, but he was on the verge of doing me some serious damage.