Page 12 of A Simple Mistake
Skylar frowned at the non-existent view outside his floor-to-ceiling window and the vague outline of his hair, looking like a rat’s nest, when it came to him.Reflections.That was what had bound all the parts of his dream together.He’d been dreaming about reflections.
He reached for his phone and dialled.
“Yes?”
Aidan Conrad sounded as unmoored as Skylar felt.Was he in court this morning and had spent all night preparing?Skylar sighed.He’d snuck into the gallery at the Royal Courts of Justice a time or two to watch Aidan perform.That raspy voice was something else, and the jury was in for a treat.
“Payne, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.That coroner’s report you quoted at me—do you have photos?”
“Good morning to you, too.Photos of what?”
“Mrs McTavish?Wake up.”
“I’m awake,” the barrister grumbled.“And I’d wager at least two coffees ahead of you.”
“You’d lose that bet.I’m fucking jetlagged.Now.Photos?”
“Why?Have you found something?”
“Yes.No.Maybe.”He drew a deep breath, then expanded on his vague answer before Conrad deluged him with questions.“I don’t know, okay?There’s something that doesn’t add up.I thought if I could see the woman, it might click.”
Aidan didn’t laugh.He didn’t ask or argue.“I only have a copy of the written report,” he said.“But I can ask.You’re not about to disappear to the other side of the world again, are you?”
“Not this week.And my next job’s in Paris.”
“Right.Leave it with me, then.I’ll make it happen.”
He ended the call, and Skylar went back to staring into the mist, wondering what he’d seen in Margot McTavish’s flat that was bothering him.
The law moved at its own pace.By Wednesday evening, Skylar was still waiting for photographs of Margot McTavish’s autopsy, and the itch in his brain was driving him nuts.He hadn’t called Aidan again, having learned long ago that Aidan had a memory like an elephant.If he hadn’t sent the photos, it was because he had no photos to send, and no amount of prodding would produce them.The only thing left for him to do was to head over to Seven Dials, go through the flat once more, and hope that this time his conscious mind would notice what his subconscious had already seen.
Nothing had changed in Margot McTavish’s spacious flat.
Skylar found the same silent rooms, their contents neat and orderly, the air musty and lifeless.No longer loopy from jetlag, Skylar had the urge to throw open the windows, invite enlightenment along with fresh air.Anything to scratch that itch in his brain.
He didn’t dare disturb a thing.
On his first visit, he’d been seeking evidence Margot McTavish hadn’t died in her bed.Like the police before him, he’d come up empty.
Today was different.He knew the evidence he sought was here.He’d already seen it without recognising it for what it was.
Skylar went over the flat again, but this time, he photographed every inch.
Colours, light, patterns, arrangements… his strengths all leaned towards the visual.One reason Aidan had sent him here.The other was his obsession with detail, which had started his association with Aidan and his unconventional firm.
Skylar remembered Thrapston House, the creamy Caen stone façade, the moulded plaster ceiling with its accents picked out in silver, and the fabulous green salon on the second floor with its display of archaeological pencil sketches and a collection of ancient pottery.Half of the crowd had matched the surroundings, elegant and suave, there to be seen.The other half—tweed jackets, rollneck jumpers, and more beards than a folk festival—had come for the pots and sketches.Aidan Conrad, elegant, imposing, and fawned over by too many of the guests, had seemed to belong to the posh crowd.Until a sketch had gone missing, Aidan had barred the door like an avenging angel, refusing to let anyone leave, and Skylar had enjoyed pointing him towards the man in the expensive, ill-fitting puce suit jacket.
Aidan had laughed so hard, he’d almost choked.Once the sketch had been restored and the thief handed to Thrapston House Security, they’d ended up in a Thai restaurant Aidan loved and hadn’t left until the place closed many hours later.By which time, Aidan had learned Skylar’s life history and had recruited him to his firm.
And if he didn’t want to return to Aidan and tell him he was too blind to see what was in front of his eyes, he’d better find what was causing the itch in his brain.
Jack wasn’t the only adult who arrived to watch the dance class that Friday afternoon.
“When I heard what happened last week, I knew you’d be making an appearance,” Melissa Farnway told him.She had a daughter in the same class as Nico and Daniel and she appeared, if anything, apprehensive rather than angry.
“How do you mean?”Jack asked as he took his seat beside her.
