Page 46 of The Impossible Fortune
‘I know,’ says Davey, picking up his gun and pointing it at Ron. ‘But you were lying, and friends don’t lie to friends.’
‘Honestly, I d–’
Davey fires his gun into the air, then points it back atRon. ‘Please, I’ve got Zumba at nine, I don’t need this this morning.’
Davey’s butler emerges from the house.
‘Sir?’
‘Air shot,’ says Davey.
‘I shall retrieve the casing,’ says the butler and disappears into the nearby undergrowth.
‘Just tell me,’ says Davey. ‘I won’t kill anyone.’
‘A lord,’ says Ron. ‘A banker, another client.’
‘Lord Townes?’ asks Davey.
‘Maybe, yeah,’ says Ron.
‘Okay,’ says Davey. ‘Handsome little beggar. Have you been to see him?’
‘Not yet,’ says Ron. ‘But we will.’
That’s probably one for Joyce. She’ll enjoy that.
‘Oh, I’d recommend it,’ says Davey. ‘Because someone must have killed her, and it’s unfair to only suspect me, don’t you think? Why not Lord Townes? Or don’t lords kill people?’
‘Everyone kills people,’ says Bogdan.
‘Precisely.’ Davey considers Bogdan for a moment. ‘Are you ever looking for work, Bogdan?’
‘No,’ says Bogdan.
‘Shame,’ says Davey, as his butler appears out of the undergrowth with a bullet casing in his hand. ‘I’ll let you get on your way, lads. What a mystery you have to solve.’
‘If it was you,’ says Ron, ‘we’ll find proof.’
‘Oh, Ron, you lovely big bear,’ says Davey. ‘Look at my house. I get away with everything. Look under as many stones as you wish. You’ll never find a thing.’
‘There’re always more stones,’ says Ron.
Davey looks at his watch. ‘That’s me off to Zumba. If you don’t get there early they put you at the back.’
Ron watches Davey walk towards the house. He pauses and turns.
‘Talking of looking under stones,’ says Davey, ‘are you absolutelysureNick Silver is dead?’
He raises a single eyebrow, and heads into his beautiful house.
23
‘That must be the world’s shortest honeymoon,’ says Joanna. ‘I feel like Liz Truss.’
Paul gives a tight smile.
‘Sorry, just trying to cheer you up,’ she says. The motorway has been empty almost the whole way, a benefit of driving at seven in the morning. The poor night porter at the hotel checking them out a day early had assumed the two of them had had an awful row. As they left, he’d mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’ at her. She nodded and gave a reassuring smile. Easier than saying, ‘My new husband’s best friend has gone missing, and his business partner has died in a targeted car bombing, so we’re going to look at some text messages with my mum and an ex-spy.’
