Part 8 (1/2)
”Hi, Eddie, this is Joe,” said Zak.
The boy didn't look round but ran his fingers over the keyboard. The screen blanked then filled with the word h.e.l.lO!
That's the most you'll get,” said Zak, pulling Joe away. ”Unless he decides you're electronically interesting. He hardly acknowledged me when I got back, then Christmas morning among my prezzies I found a print-out with details of my last drug test plus those of every other top-flight woman I was likely to come up against.”
”Is that useful?” said Joe.
”No, but it's amazing,” said Zak.
As they came down the stairs, Joe heard a man's voice saying, ”So what's he doing in my bedroom?”
Zak ran lightly into the lounge and said, ”Hi, Dad. My fault. I was showing Joe the house and we were just admiring the view.”
”Of the houses opposite, you mean? Strange tastes you've got, girl.”
Henry Oto was a tall athletically built man with a square determined face. Zak had got his height and her mother's looks. Her sister had got her mother's size and her father's looks. You never know how the genes are going to come at you, thought Joe.
He knew from the papers that Oto was a senior prison officer at the Stocks, Luton's main jail. Remember, no escape jokes.
He said, ”Hi, Mr. Oto. I'm helping Zak out, fetching and carrying, you know.”
Oto said, ”Fetching and carrying what?”
Joe shrugged and looked to Zak for help. Clearly her father lacked her mother's courteous acceptance of the vagaries of her daughter's new lifestyle. That's what came of a.s.sociating with criminals.
Zak said, ”You don't want your finely tuned daughter straining her back picking up her holdall, do you?”
Oto said, ”Can't see how you're going to break records if you can't carry your own gear.” But he was smiling fondly as he said it and Joe guessed that Zak had always been able to twine him round her little finger.
To Joe he said, ”Haven't I seen you before, Mr. er ... ?”
”Sixsmith,” mumbled Joe. ”But just call me Joe, Mr. Oto.”
Joe had always tried to keep his face out of the papers, even on those few occasions when they wanted to put it in. Not much use in being a PI if everyone seeing you said, ”Hey, ain't you that PI?” But a photo had appeared recently in connection with one of his cases and presumably Oto took a special interest in anything to do with his prospective customers.
Mrs. Oto said, ”I'd better go and see to our meal. Mr. Sixsmith, if you'd like to stay ... ?”
”No, thank you kindly,” said Joe. It was doubtless a token offer but the woman didn't make it sound token. He gave her a big smile then turned to Zak and said, That everything for now?”
That's right. I'll see you out.”
She followed him into the hallway. Starbright was standing there. No one else in the house seemed to pay him the slightest attention so Joe didn't either.
”Has that been any help?” said Zak.
”I'm working on it,” said Joe.
The front door burst open and Mary came in. She didn't speak but gave Joe a look of fury and ran up the stairs. There was no trace of a limp.
Zak said, ”So what now?”
”Don't know,” said Joe. ”All I can do is keep prodding. You want me to go with it?”
Keep it simple, keep it honest. It wasn't so much a strategy as an inevitability.
She said, ”Of course I do. You can contact me here or down the Plezz.”
Starbright said, ”You in for the night, Miss Oto?”
”Yes, I think so.”
”You change your mind, you've got the number.”
The two men went out through the door which Mary hadn't bothered to close.
”Give you a lift?” said Joe.
”Once a day's enough. Anyway, I've got my own wheels, boyo. And they'll get me where I want a sight quicker than yours.”
Joe thought this remark was merely auto-macho till he saw the Magic Mini. It was almost completely boxed in by Mary's Metro and Oto's Cavalier.
”Oh shoot,” he said. He turned back to the house to get one of them to move but a noise made him look round.
Starbright had stooped in front of the Metro and was lifting its front wheels off the ground. He took two paces backwards and set the car down.
”Get yourself out of that now, can you?” he said.
”Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot.”
”Can't have you hanging around, can we? Places to go, people to report to. Old friends to see.”
How did he manage to make everything he said sound like a threat or an accusation? wondered Joe as he watched the Welshman roll away like a boulder down a hillside.
As he got into the car he glanced up at the house. Mary Oto was watching him out of an upstairs window.
He waved.
She didn't wave back.
Eight.
”Right, Sixsmith, just give me it straight,” said Butcher.
Joe gave it straight. She listened intently, not interrupting. When the mood was on her she made a great listener.
Joe was very fond of Butcher, but there was nothing s.e.xy in it. Not that she wasn't attractive in a cropped-hair-no-make-up kind of way, and she had the great advantage of being shorter than he was. But she didn't press his b.u.t.ton. Maybe it was the cheroots that did it. Keeping company with someone who put out more smoke than Mount Etna wasn't his idea of a turn-on. But he admired her superior intelligence, delighted in her capacity to make him feel witty, valued her judgement, and was deeply moved by the way she cared for her clients.
She'd mock him mercilessly if he even hinted it, but when push came to shove, he'd go to the wall for Butcher.
She said, ”Joe, you must be a great pain in the a.r.s.e to the police and I must say I've got some sympathy with them.”