Page 56 of A Box of Wishes
Ryan closed his mouth. He took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “I don’t deal drugs,” he said.
“I believe that. After the break-in, my governor asked me to keep an eye on your place. See if I could find the person making the complaints while looking for the burglars. I’ve explained about the box and the paper squares. I mean, I have first-hand experience with those. But I’m afraid that last night’s attack will just open that whole can of worms again.”
“That’s why you’ve been blowing hot and cold?”
Ben looked affronted. “I didn’t. I made it clear that I want to go out with you. But I’ve also been trying to hold back starting anything serious until I’m off this case. I didn’t want to come to you under false pretences. I’d be worse than Keith if I did that.”
“Ah, yes.” Ryan had been waiting to hear the arsehole’s name. “Next you’re going to tell me he had something to do with it, too.”
“Well, yes.” For the first time, Ben almost smiled when he mentioned his ex. “He was a controlling bastard. Undermining, you know? I’m trained to recognise that behaviour. But I didn’t see it when it was right in front of my eyes.”
“So you lost your confidence.”
Ben shrugged. “Pretty much. He was never able to poison my mind when it came to my work, so my work’s been my solace. And then I met you.”
“And?”
“I started to want things I’ve not wanted in a very long time. I didn’t want to tell you any of that until the investigation has been put to bed.”
“Fair enough. Seeing what happened last night, isn’t there a good chance it will be put to bed today? You arrested the two men, right?”
“We did. Whether that ends the investigation, I don’t know. Let’s see what my boss has to say when he gets here.”
They finished their late breakfast, and for the rest of the morning Ryan hid his bruised face in the kitchen and let Rebecca run the show out front.
Ben stuck close. He loaded the dishwashers and ferried trays of sandwiches, muffins, and cakes as they were needed. And if he brushed Ryan’s back or shoulder as he passed him, Ryan wasn’t going to complain.
DI Tarbert arrived promptly at 3:00pm, just as Ryan closed the coffeehouse.
“So you think I’m a drug dealer?” Ryan demanded as soon as he’d shaken Tarbert’s hand. “Really?”
Tarbert unbuttoned his coat. “If Ben has told you that much, you’ll know that we think it unlikely.”
“But you need to follow up all complaints. Yes, Ben said that.”
“There you are, then. We don’t want to make your life difficult. But we don’t want a turf war in the town, either. Especially not if it’s caused by someone reporting you out of spite.”
They settled in what Ben had started to regard as “his” nook. Tarbert on one side, he on the bench beside Ryan. He didn’t think Ryan needed his support, certainly not against his governor, but when he saw Ryan’s tense shoulders and unhappy eyes, the choice had been easy. He wouldn’t deny that Ryan was important to him. Not ever.
“I don’t see how anyone would report me out of spite,” Ryan said. “I get on with people.”
“That would make you quite unique. How about the people around here? The other businesses? Residents?”
“There are only three rental properties in the courtyard. Two are contractor accommodation. If they’re occupied at all it’s Monday night to Friday morning. The third belongs to Isabelle Helling, who travels more than my sister and cousin together. And that’s a feat, let me tell you.”
Tarbert scribbled in his notebook. He did it to assure Ryan that his information was being taken seriously, Ben knew. The case file of the break-in contained a list of tenants and detailed backgrounds on each. Ben could recite names and addresses for each contractor who’d stayed in the courtyard over the last year. He also knew the names of all the residents whose windows overlooked the courtyard.
“Ms Helling does what?”
“She’s a fashion journalist. If you want to know what magazines she writes for, you need to talk to my ma. She and Isabelle are old friends.”
“Thank you. That covers the residents, such as they are. How about the other businesses?”
Ryan sighed. “I didn’t think the police had enough resources to do everything twice. I’ve already been over this with Ben. And I’m sure he’s written reports or filled in forms, or whatever it is you do.”
“I’m sure he has,” Tarbert said. “In fact, I know he has. But that’s not how it works. Have you ever made a cake, exactly the way you always do, and have it come out different?”
“Sure.”
