Page 18 of The Impossible Fortune
‘Yesterday,’ says Elizabeth. ‘He came to see me on the terrace. They planted a bomb under his car.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘It was supposed to be a wedding.’
Elizabeth shrugs. ‘An awful lot of murders start at weddings, Joyce.’
‘I did think you perked up a bit during the reception,’ says Joyce. ‘I should have known killing was involved.’
They take a right turn into Ontario Street, a row of lovely three-storey cream stucco-fronted houses, with the sea a wide wall of grey-blue at the end of the road.
‘He says he has information,’ says Elizabeth.
Joyce nods. ‘I know we all playedTrivial Pursuitone night, and he was very good at that.’
They take a left onto Templar Street, a narrow road flanked by the back walls of big houses and lined with recycling bins.The sort of street where a busy town keeps its mess and its secrets. Even the seagulls are keeping their distance.
They pass a lamp post to which two rusted bicycle frames are chained, and Elizabeth and Joyce look up at a shoddily built two-storey office building. There are boards nailed over the upper windows. It has a bright blue door on which the number 8 is daubed in white paint.
‘It’s very urban, isn’t it?’ says Joyce. ‘Very gritty. Are you sure it’s the right place?’
Elizabeth waves her hands in the air, and Joyce sees a camera tilt in response to the movement. ‘I suspect it might be.’
Beside the door is an entry pad with two buzzers. The bottom one has been ripped out, and the top one has a sticker readingDO NOT PRESS.
Elizabeth presses it.
They wait, and Joyce strains to hear any sound from within. Nothing.
Elizabeth presses it again, and is met, again, with silence.
‘Joyce,’ she says, ‘go down that side passage and see if there’s any way we can break in.’
Joyce holds the bottom of her coat tight to herself and inches down a narrow, musty alleyway running alongside the building. There are no doors, and just two windows on the upper floor, both covered by solid metal grilles. At the end of the alleyway is a high wall topped with barbed wire, so there is no access to the back. She does notice something interesting, however. She makes her way back to Elizabeth. Elizabeth is running a slim metal file around the edges of the front door.
‘Locked up tight,’ Elizabeth says, removing the file. No wonder he called it The Compound.
‘No way in down there either,’ says Joyce. ‘But there’s a heating vent poking out of the wall.’
‘Are you suggesting one of us climbs through a heating vent?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘You don’t always have to be facetious with me. But there was steam coming out of it. So either someone is in there, or has been in there very recently.’
‘Very good, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth.
‘And Nick Silver was expecting you at one on the dot?’
‘He was,’ says Elizabeth.
‘And someone really put a bomb under his car?’
‘Fairly thrilling, isn’t it,’ says Elizabeth, ‘in its own way?’
‘Don’t say that, Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘He’s family.’
‘Joyce, your son-in-law’s best man is not family,’ says Elizabeth.
‘You choose your family these days,’ says Joyce. ‘I saw that on Instagram. We should be cautious and come back another time, shouldn’t we?’
‘We should,’ agrees Elizabeth.
