Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [59]
‘I only ever met him once. Many years ago. We exchanged pleasantries.’
Jack watched Harris’ face closely. Clifford shifted his eyes for an instant to MacAllister and then cleared his throat. ‘I suppose you’ve heard?’ he said. ‘He was murdered two days ago. Horrible news.’
‘Shocking,’ said Jack. He held up the book in his hands. ‘Anybody ever approached you about these, offering to buy?’
Harris seemed uncomfortable for a moment. But then it passed and he went back to exuding his effeminate arrogance. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. Hammond Kasprowicz made an offer on them only a few weeks ago.’
It was getting better by the minute. ‘But you said no?’
‘I’d rather lose a testicle than help Hammond Kasprowicz in any way whatsoever.’
‘Your business together didn’t go too well?’
‘He’s a cunt.’
‘Seems a popular opinion.’
Harris moved towards the door of the library. ‘Even his daughter thinks so.’
Jack felt a little sting. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Annabelle? Well, of course. She’s Ian’s wife.’
Jack felt another sting. It took its time passing. ‘Aren’t they divorced?’
Harris smirked. ‘Appearances are necessary sometimes,’ he replied, preening. He pointed his little chin and stretched the wrinkles in his creamy neck. He obviously enjoyed knowing things. ‘Let’s just say there are certain legal technicalities that need to be taken care of. And I am assisting. Everybody needs help against pricks like Kasprowicz.’
Jack lowered his eyes for a moment. Thoughts were coming fast now. Unpleasant ones.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Harris headed for the door. ‘Be quick.’
MacAllister stood for a moment, listening to Clifford Harris’ footsteps fade away down the hall. Then he turned around. He placed his big hairy hands on his hips and pointed his big hairy chin at Jack. His big placating grin was gone. ‘So what do you think now?’ he said, in an angry whisper.
‘What’s there to think?’
MacAllister blew a hard breath through his nostrils. ‘Yeah, that’s it, you’re right. There’s nothing to think. Nothing at all. Because you already know everything.’
Jack turned away. He had had enough.
‘You’re the smartest bastard in the world.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jack through his teeth. ‘Uncle Brendan.’
He walked out of the library and down the hall. Outside he leaned against the wall of the front-door alcove and breathed in the cold wet air. He lit a cigarette and tried not to think about Annabelle Kasprowicz.
Which proved difficult. She was walking directly towards him.
17
SHE WORE ALL THE RIGHT GEAR for a morning gallop: tight black boots, biscuit-brown jodhpurs, a thick high-necked white jumper and a powder-red raincoat. A belt hung loosely around the buttoned waist. She carried a black riding helmet in her right hand, a stiff black riding crop in the other. Her hair was tied back, her cheeks flushed, her nose a little pinched and shiny. Country morning fresh. The stable boys must have fallen over themselves to help her into the saddle.
Jack watched her face: if she was surprised to see him, only she knew about it. There was a slight hesitation in her stride as she looked up at the house and scanned the windows, but she kept on coming. Then she was standing in front of him, keeping the one step up into the alcove between them.
‘Nice ride?’ asked Jack.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Working. You?’
She looked over his shoulder into the house. ‘It’s not how it looks.’
‘You haven’t seen the view from here.’
‘We brought Louisa down to stay. Our house is under siege from reporters. She doesn’t need the drama.’
Jack nodded, smoked. He flicked ash from the cigarette. ‘These country millionaires come in handy sometimes.’
‘Don’t be like that. My father isn’t back yet and we … I …’
‘It must be great for your daughter to see her parents cooperating so well. Putting her first. I mean, with the divorce and everything.’
Annabelle turned away.
Jack looked at the side of her face, taking in every detail. All he could confirm was that she was beautiful. ‘Comfortable night?’ he asked.
‘Shall I show you where I slept?’