Simon Beckett - Owning Jacob - SA

Two weeks after he had visited Ann Usherwood he was no nearer a decision. He hadn’t been in touch with her again. There was no point.

He was still only going through the motions of his life when the phone call came through to the studio.

Zoe answered it, then cupped her hand over the receiver. “Guy for you. Won’t say who he is, but says it’s important.”

Ben was on a pair of stepladders, replacing a light. “Tell him I’m busy.” He heard her repeat it.

The model finished checking herself in the mirror. “Do you think this top needs pinning at the back?” she asked, pulling it between her shoulder blades so it was tighter across her breasts.

He didn’t really care but tried to apply himself to the question.

“He says to tell you his name’s Quilley,” Zoe said from behind him.

Ben’s mind emptied.

“Come on, Ben, do you want to talk to him or not?”

He climbed down from the stepladders. When she held out the phone for him he realised he still had the lightbulb in his hand. For a moment he couldn’t think what to do with it. He put it on the window ledge and took the receiver.

“So am I pinning this, or what?” asked the model.

He motioned vaguely for Zoe to sort it out. She gave him an odd look before she moved away.

He put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr Murray. Long time no see, as they say.”

Anger seared through him without warning. Its strength was debilitating, like a fever. “What do you want?”

“Just a chat, that’s all. Are you still there, Mr Murray?”

There were so many insults and accusations clamouring to be shrieked they closed his throat. If the detective had been in the same room as him Ben would have gone for him. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.” His voice was thick.

“You’re still a little worked up, I can tell. You shouldn’t have taken what happened personally. It was a simple business matter, that’s all. Like I told you, I’m in the information business. If one person doesn’t want to buy, then you take your wares somewhere else.”

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re scum. You’re a piece of shit.” He was dimly aware of Zoe and the model staring over at him. He turned his back.

“You’re entitled to your opinion, of course,” Quilley said. “But before you get too carried away I’ll come to the point. While we’re on the subject of information, I’ve come by some that I think will interest you. In fact, it’s fair to say that I know it will.”

Curiosity won over the desire to slam down the receiver.

“About Jacob?”

“Indirectly, I suppose. Or perhaps directly, depending on how you look at it. Let’s say it has a bearing on the current situation.”

“What is it?”

He heard Quilley chuckle. “Ah, now that’s the question, isn’t it? And of course the next one is how badly do you want to find out?”

“Why should I believe you know anything?”

“I’d have thought you of all people wouldn’t need to ask that, Mr Murray. You should know from personal experience that I’m rather good at digging around. Particularly when I think there’s something there to be dug up, as it were.”

“So why have you waited all this time?”

“Let’s say I found myself in something of a quiet patch, professionally speaking, so I decided to tidy up some loose ends.”

“You mean your work’s dried up.” Ben couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his voice. “Stopped getting recommendations, have you?”

“I wouldn’t worry yourself about that, Mr Murray. The fact is that I’ve got something to sell. What we need to establish now is whether you want to buy.”

“I don’t know until I’ve got some idea what it is.”

“If I told you I’d be putting myself at a disadvantage, wouldn’t I? I’m afraid you’ll just have to take it on faith.” The detective’s regret was cheerfully insincere.

Ben chewed his lip. “How much do you want?”

“Well, now, that’s open to negotiation, isn’t it?”

“I’ve not said I’m interested yet. I know what Kale’s been doing, if that’s all you’re offering.”

There was a momentary pause, then another chuckle. “Who said it was anything to do with him? But I tell you what,” Quilley went on as Ben was absorbing this, “you have a think about it for a day or two. Ask yourself how much your stepson is worth to you. And then when you’ve decided give me a ring.” The detective let this sink in. “A word of advice, though,” he added. “I wouldn’t leave it too long. Nice talking to you, Mr Murray.”

He met Colin in a pub that evening. It was crammed with after-work city drinkers. There were no seats left but he found a corner to stand in by the cigarette machine and the bar. He ordered a pint while he waited.

Colin was late. When he pushed through the pub doors his hair and overcoat shoulders were dappled with melting snow. “First fall of the year and it isn’t even Christmas yet,” he complained, brushing it off.

Ben didn’t say anything. The prospect of a Christmas without either Sarah or Jacob made him feel as if he had stepped out into a black void. It had been something else he had avoided thinking about. It seemed to be a day for having things thrust on him.

“I can’t stay long,” Colin said, shucking off his overcoat. “I’m, uh, meeting somebody in an hour.”

“You mean Jo?”

“Er, yeah. Do you want a drink?”

“I’m okay. I’ll get you one.”

Ben turned to the bar, giving Colin a chance to get over his discomfort. The affair showed no signs of dying out, but he still seemed to find it embarrassing to talk about it.

“So what did Quilley actually say?” Colin asked, taking the lemon from the tonic he’d requested and nibbling at it. He’d told Ben it was an appetite suppressant. If nothing else infidelity had made him cut down on drinking and lose weight. The cigar habit had been quickly snuffed as well. Ben wondered if Maggie was as unsuspicious of the sudden change as Colin appeared to believe.

He outlined the conversation with the detective.

Colin sipped his tonic as he listened attentively, every inch the solicitor. “Well, you’ve got two choices,” he said when Ben had finished. “You either tell him to fuck off, or pay up and hope he really does know something useful. If you do that you’ve got to decide how much you’re prepared to fork out, and how to make sure Quilley doesn’t stiff you completely.”

“You think it might be worth taking a chance, then?”

“Can you just ignore it?”

Ben reluctantly shook his head.

“So there’s your answer. But make him give you some idea what it is he’s selling before you pay him, otherwise he might just take the money and tell you that Kale has All-Bran for breakfast. If he really does know something, and he’s as strapped for cash as he sounds, he’ll give you some sort of clue. If he won’t then he’s probably just trying to rip you off.”

“If he is I’ll fucking kill him.”

Colin dropped his lemon rind into an ashtray. “That’ll certainly help you get Jacob back, won’t it?”

The anger died as quickly as it had appeared. After the vacuum of the past two weeks the sudden onslaught of emotions was like eating over-rich food after a fast.

“There’s no guarantee that what he tells me’ll help anyway,” he said, despondent again.

“No, but there’s only one way you can find out.”

Ben stared into his beer but found no inspiration.

“If you decide to risk it you still shouldn’t let him think you’re too eager. He’ll only try to screw you for as much as he can if you do.”

“He warned me not to leave it too long.”

“He’s hardly going to tell you there’s no rush, is he? I’d make the bastard sweat for a day or two. Play it cool.” Colin looked at his watch. “Sorry, I’m, er, going to have to go.”