Val McDermid - Kickback

Rachel's face seemed to close down on me. 'Why? What makes you ask?'

'I don't think you want me to answer that,' I said gently. 'Who is she?'

'Her name is Liz Lawrence. She works two afternoons a week in our Warrington office. She has done for nearly three years. I think you must be making a mistake, Miss Brannigan. She's… she's a nice woman. She works hard,' Rachel insisted.

I sighed. Sometimes this job makes me feel like the bad fairy who tells children there's no Santa Claus. The worst of it was that I had another sackload of disillusion to dump on someone before the day was over.

Ted's suit was having yet another outing. When I got back to the office, he was perched on the edge of Shelley's desk, looking as cheerful as a bloodhound whose quarry has just disappeared into the river. 'And you know what garages are,' I heard him say as I came in. They don't know when they'll have either van back on the road.'

'More problems?' I asked.

'You're not kidding. Two of my three vans are off the road.

Which means my installations have slowed right down. It's a disaster,” Ted said mournfully.

'Are you sure it's just a coincidence?' Shelley demanded. 'On top of everything else, it's beginning to sound as if somebody's got it in for you!'

Ted managed to look both wounded and baffled. 'I don't think so, Shelley, love,' he said. 'It's just been bad luck. I mean, the first one was parked up when it happened. Somebody'd obviously smacked into it in the pub car park while Jack was busy inside.'

“Jack McCafferty? What was he doing with one of the vans? Surely he's got nothing to do with installations?' I asked, too sharply. They both gave me odd looks.

'He borrows it now and again. He runs a little disco business with his brother-in-law, and sometimes they're double booked so he borrows one of my vans overnight to run the disco gear around in,' Ted said. The final piece slotted into place.

Then I remembered what kind of vans Colonial Conservatories use. My stomach felt like I'd eaten too much ice cream too fast. 'What night was it that he had the accident, Ted?' I asked.

Ted frowned and cast his eyes upwards. 'Let me see… It must have been Monday night. Yes, Monday. Because we were running round like lunatics Tuesday trying to fit everything in, and that's why Pete was going too fast to stop at the roundabout. And now we're two vans down, and no sign of either of them back till next week at the very earliest.' Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flicker of movement as Shelley's hand sneaked out to pat Ted's.

Oh well, at least it hadn't been Ted's white Transit van that had tried to push me off Barton Bridge. 'I wish I had some good news for you, Ted,' I said, 'but I'm afraid it's a bit mixed. We're not due at the bank for another half-hour yet. D'you want to come into my office and I'll run it past you before we go and see Prudhoe?'

I thought I wasn't going to be able to get Ted to the bank. When I unfolded the tale of Jack's treachery, he went white round the mouth and headed for the door. Luckily, the sight of Shelley's astonished face slowed him down long enough for me to grab his arm and steer him into a seat. Shelley got a medicinal brandy into him and he recovered the power of speech. 'I'll kill the bastard,” he ground out between clenched jaws. 'I swear to God, I'll kill him.'

'Don't be silly,' Shelley said briskly. 'Kate will have him put in prison and that's much more satisfying,' she added. Taking me to one side while Ted stared into the bottom of his empty glass, she muttered, "Which bastard are we talking about here?'

I gave her the last five seconds of the tale, which was enough to get her crouching beside Ted, murmuring the kind of comfort that it's embarrassing to witness. Of course, that was when Detective Chief Inspector Delia Prentice chose to put in an appearance. I immediately steered her towards the door and said, 'Ted, I'll see you downstairs in five minutes.'

I'd rung Delia as soon as Shelley gave me a time for the meeting with Prudhoe. I figured it would save me a bit of time if I outlined the case to her at the same time as I told the bank. I knew that the bank might be less than thrilled, but frankly, they were just going to have to lump it. I still had to find enough proof to nail Brian Lomax, and I simply didn't have the time to go into a ritual dance with Ted Barlow's bank manager about ethics.

Leonard Prudhoe was just as I'd expected. Smooth, supercilious, but above all, grey. From his silver hair to his shiny grey loafers, he was a symphony in the key of John Major. The only splash of colour was the angry purple zit on his neck. God knows how it had the temerity to sit there. Also, as I'd expected, he treated us like a pair of naughty children who've been reported to the head so they can learn how the grown-ups behave. 'Now, Miss Brannigan, I believe you think you might have some information pertinent to Mr. Barlow's current problems. But what I really can't understand is why you feel it necessary to have Chief Inspector Prentice present, charming as it is to make her acquaintance. I'm sure she's not in the least concerned with our little difficulties…'

I cut across the patronizing bullshit. 'As far as I'm concerned, a crime has been committed and that's more important than your sensibilities, I'm afraid. How much do you know about fraud, Mr. Prudhoe? Am I going to lose you three sentences in? Because if you're not well versed in major fraud inquiries, I suggest we get someone in here who is. I'm a very busy woman, and I haven't the time to go through this twice, which is why DO Prentice is here,' I said briskly. He couldn't have looked more shocked if I'd jumped on the desk and gone into a kissagram routine.

“Young woman,' he stuttered, 'I'll have you know that I am an expert in financial defalcations of all sorts.'

'Fine. Pin your ears back and take notes, then,' I retorted. There's something about pomposity that brings out the toe-rag in me. It must be the Irish quarter of my ancestry.

Prudhoe looked affronted, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ted looked a fraction less miserable. Delia Prentice seemed to have developed a nasty cough.

There's really no need to take this attitude,' Prudhoe said frostily.

'Listen, Mr. Prudhoe,' Ted interrupted. 'You people tried to take my business away from me. Kate's been trying to sort it out and, as far as I'm concerned, that entitles her to take any attitude she damn well pleases.'

The turning worm shut Prudhoe up long enough for me to get started. 'On the surface, it looks as if what has happened to Ted is a sequence of unfortunate coincidences, culminating in you cutting off his line of credit. But the truth is, Ted is the victim of a very clever fraud. And if the perpetrators hadn't got so greedy that they decided to go for a second bite of the cherry no one would ever have cottoned on, because the frauds would have looked all of a piece with genuine mortgage defaulters.' In spite of himself, I could see Prudhoe's interest quicken. Perhaps, under his patronizing pomposity there was a brain after all.

I outlined the reasons why Ted had come to us in the first place. Delia Prentice had her notebook out and was scribbling furiously. When I got to the missing conservatories, Prudhoe actually sat forward in his seat. This is how it works,” I said, thoroughly into my stride.

'You need a bent salesman and you need an insider in the office of an estate agency that specializes in decent-quality rental property. In this case, they used a firm called DKL Estates, who are as innocent of any criminal involvement as Ted is. The insider, let's call her Liz, picks houses that are to let where the owners have fairly common names and, preferably, where they are abroad, either working or in the services. Ideally, they want a couple who have been paying the mortgage for a fair few years, so that there's a substantial chunk of equity in the house. Liz then tells the office computer that she has found someone who wants to rent the place and whose references check out.