When I did, I expected a story about how it had been lost or stolen. Something that would at least give us the smiling man’s first interaction with the text. I was surprised when Browne said he had his copy there in his lap.
‘We’re talking about The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, given to you by Amy Burroughs?’
‘Only copy I ever had,’ he said.
‘You’re certain it hasn’t been replaced?’
‘Course.’
‘Could you check the last page for me, Mr Browne? Read me the final line?’
I heard him turning pages. ‘Tamam Shud,’ he said.
I looked at Sutty, who was blowing out his cheeks. ‘And nothing’s been torn from it or amended?’
‘I know it’s the one Amy gave me cus her writing’s there at the front. She’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘As well as can be. Could you read me that dedication?’
Haltingly, he did so. It was word-for-word the same as that found in the unidentified man’s copy. As he talked I lowered myself into a chair, resting my head in my hands. Either it had been counterfeited or she’d dedicated two copies. The local police had taken a statement from Browne and it all checked out. He hadn’t been near the city in the last few days. I thanked him for his help and hung up.
I looked, flatly, at Sutty.
He looked, flatly, back at me.
I couldn’t even get the first swear word out before the phone started ringing again.
It was Aneesa Khan.
‘Good morning,’ I said, not really feeling it. ‘We’re still on for later?’
‘That’s what I’m calling about. I’m afraid it looks as though our conference call with Anthony might not be possible.’
‘Really,’ I said.
Aneesa told me she’d been trying to get hold of Anthony Blick all morning to no avail. She said she’d last spoken to him, briefly, over a week before, but this morning his phone just rang out. Or at least it had at first.
Now it didn’t ring at all.
Sutty eyed me suspiciously while I tried to talk around the facts of a side-investigation I was keeping from him.
‘Are you still in the office?’ I asked Aneesa.
5
Blick’s was the respectable city-centre workplace you’d expect. A light, open reception area with biometric security measures and ergonomic chairs. A young woman on the front desk took me through to Ms Khan’s office, asked if she could get me anything and then left, closing the door behind her when I declined. Aneesa looked like she was sleeping badly, too, but she greeted me with a tired smile and I took a seat.
‘You said you last spoke to Mr Blick over a week ago. Can I ask what your conversation was about?’
‘Nothing special. As you know, Anthony’s made a point of taking some time out. So we have a monthly phone call where I brief him on any developments at the firm. Long-term clients, personnel, office politics …’
‘And he sounded OK?’
‘He sounded like he was having the time of his life.’
‘He didn’t say anything that struck you as odd or out of the ordinary?’
‘Nothing …’
‘Are you in charge of the office in Mr Blick’s absence?’
She nodded. ‘We’ve always worked very closely together.’ My face didn’t change but when she looked up she said, ‘Strictly professional.’
‘Does Mr Blick have a partner?’ She shook her head. ‘Any close friends or family?’
‘He works extremely hard …’
‘You’re telling me there’s no one in his life who’d notice his absence?’
‘Anthony lives for this place, but that’s partly what this trip’s about. His health scare last year. He wanted to go and see some of the world before he felt too old …’ She sounded like she was trying to convince herself of something. She was worrying a thread at her sleeve.
‘Do you have his home address?’
‘What’s going on?’ she said, her eyes moving on to mine.
‘As far as we know, his phone’s run out of battery, but that’s no reason for us not to check up on things.’
We drove out to Anthony Blick’s Carrwood home, while Aneesa described it to me in glowing terms. The venue for the office’s annual Christmas party, where her boss curated an evening of fine wine and dining. Last year’s had been particularly grand, with Blick treating his employees to several expensive bottles and a catered, eight-course meal.
‘What does he make of the events at the Palace?’ I asked. Aneesa was silent for a moment. ‘You have told him?’
She stared straight ahead. ‘I emailed him about the breakin …’
‘But not about the body?’
‘He never replied,’ she said quietly. We both began turning scenarios over in our heads.
‘There’s something else I need to ask you,’ I said. ‘Do you remember a Geoff Short? Worked for Blick’s up until last year …’
‘Geoff, of course.’
‘How well do you know him?’
‘What are you asking? He was a colleague, a friend.’
‘So you didn’t know he was having an extra-marital affair with one of your clients?’ I chanced a look at her.
‘What? No …’ She connected my statement with what Natasha Reeve had told us, about discovering Freddie’s affair. ‘Oh my God. But Geoff’s married …’
‘His wife’s in the dark, and I said as long as it wasn’t relevant to the case she could stay that way. Do you know her?’
‘Only socially. I haven’t seen her in a long time, though. She was teaching out in America for most of last year.’
‘Apparently so.’
‘… You don’t think she sent those notes to Natasha?’
I shook my head. ‘I checked her out. She was definitely in Washington, teaching at the time, and the notes were hand-delivered. Obviously she could have had a surrogate, but it all starts to feel unwieldy.’ When I chanced another look at Aneesa she was frowning, turning over who else might be responsible, I thought.
The list of people connected to both Frederick Coyle and Geoff Short wasn’t a long one, and her name was on it. Freddie Coyle preferred men, but for all I knew she might have had a pre-existing affair with Short. She might even have sent the notes out of loyalty to Natasha, but that felt like a leap. From what I’d seen, Natasha Reeve treated Aneesa no more warmly than she treated me.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ said Aneesa, breaking into my thoughts.
She was holding up a cigarette.
‘No, go ahead. The vaping didn’t work out, then?’
‘I don’t know where I left it – my mind’s all over the place.’
She lit up and took a drag. It was the first time she’d looked relaxed since I’d met her.
The house was a large, detached property with bay windows and a herringbone wood door. A long driveway wound through the garden, which was brilliant green under the sunlight, looking sharp and well loved, considering its owner was out of the country. There was a cream-coloured Lexus beside the house, and a messy handyman van next to that.
‘Is the car Anthony’s?’
Aneesa frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’
There were voices coming from the hallway, the sound of a portable radio and the smell of paint. I knocked lightly and pushed it open. A man on his knees with a paint roller looked up at me with a questioning face.
‘Hi, we’re looking for the owner …’
‘Mrs Hardy,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
A woman stuck her head round the corner and, seeing us, walked down the hallway.
‘Can I help?’ she said, leaning comfortably into the frame.
‘I’m Detective Constable Aidan Waits, we’re looking for Anthony Blick …’
‘Anthony Blick?’
‘I believe he owns the house …’
She was already shaking her head.
‘Excuse me,’ said Aneesa, incredulously. ‘I had Christmas dinner with him here …’
The woman looked between us with a smile. ‘And he sold it to me in January.’
6