Page 73 of Don't Believe A Word

‘Where are you now?’ Connor asked.

‘I’ve just come up to the lodge. I hate leaving her when we’ve fallen out, but there was no getting through to her, so I’ll try talking to her again in the morning.’

Silently wishing her good luck with that, Cristy said, ‘Connor and I will probably be in Guernsey at the end of the week to speak to Corny. Are you still OK with setting that up?’

‘Of course. And who knows, Mia might be up for talking toyou too. I wouldn’t take any bets on it, but she’s so unpredictable there’s no knowing what she might do. Of course, there’s always the possibility you’ll hear from her lawyers threatening to sue you if you don’t stop the podcasts.’

‘We’re kind of expecting it,’ Cristy told her, ‘but don’t worry, we’ve got lawyers too and she can’t shut us down as easily as she might think. I’ll let you know if she gets in touch. Meantime, we’ve heard from Edwin Prosser’s son who’s said he might talk to us in his father’s place. And, hang on …’ she said, as Clover put a screenshot in front of her showing a tall, well-built man with a shock of dark hair and eyes shielded by sunglasses, looking over his shoulder as he walked through a grand-looking doorway. ‘Is that …?’

‘George Symmonds-Browne,’ Clover finished. ‘Catherine Shilling just sent it.’

Cristy studied the shot more closely, feeling something decidedly strange coming over her as she took in the way he seemed to be staring right at the camera as if threatening whoever was behind it. There was a woman next to him, short with fair hair, but in profile so it wasn’t possible to make out her features. She didn’t appear particularly young, probably mid-forties, and the same went for the other man in the shot, although his back was turned completely so there was no knowing what he looked like.

Clover was saying, ‘Apparently Catherine Shilling asked someone, presumably still active in the force, to do some more digging on our behalf and they came up with this. She thinks it was taken in 2016, in a place called Vence, north of Nice, and could be connected to an investigation that was going on at the time into an organized crime network operating on the French Riviera.’

‘Oh my God,’ Sadie murmured.

‘I’ll give Catherine Shilling a call,’ Cristy said, ‘and get back to you if she can tell me any more.’

After ringing off she checked the time and decided it wasn’t too late to call Shilling now.

‘Hi, I was expecting to hear from you,’ Shilling said, as soon as she answered. ‘I don’t have anything else yet, hopefully tomorrow or the next day, but I expect you already know that the Côted’Azur is as synonymous with criminal gangs as it is with the disgustingly rich.’

‘How did you come by the photo?’ Cristy asked.

‘Apparently it turned up on the UK national database back in 2016, probably due to Symmonds-Browne’s connection to the undercover operation in the late Nineties and early 2000s. It was most likely sent the Met’s way for cross-referencing of some kind and got entered into the system. Anyway, I’m assured it’s him, and I’ve already given you the location, so I’ll get in touch again if I manage to find out more.’

As she ended the call, Cristy said, ‘Better send the picture to Sadie.’

‘We’ve got other shots of him,’ Clover reminded her. ‘Mainly from an old Facebook page that hasn’t been touched since 2014, and nothing connecting him to anyone or anything much apart from a horse and a couple of dogs.’

‘Have you got them there?’ Cristy asked. ‘We could run a comparison with this shot from the police files.’

‘Easier done at the office,’ Jacks informed her. ‘I’ll get onto it first thing.’

‘And now we should eat,’ Jodi and Meena declared in unison, surprising themselves and making the others laugh.

A couple of hours later, home at last and ready to crash, Cristy checked her phone as it rang and felt a thud in her heart when she saw it was David. Did she want to speak to him now? Yes, of course she did, why was she even asking herself the question?

‘Hi,’ she said, clicking on, ‘this is a surprise.’

‘I hope a welcome one,’ he responded, ‘and not too late?’

Assuming he meant the time of night, not a point in their relationship, she said, ‘It’s fine. By the way, thanks for sending the info about the finances. I’m not sure where it takes us—’

‘It’s a very broad overview,’ he interrupted, ‘and I’m afraid it probably won’t get much better than that. Their dealings are extremely well protected, as is the case with most individuals of similar net worth. The managers at Crosswell Haigh wouldn’t be doing their jobs if something dodgy could be sniffed out that easily.’

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, she said, ‘You’re a wealth manager. Do you break the rules for your clients?’

‘You can’t ask me that and expect a straight answer when there are so many ways of interpreting said rules, particularly in the finance world. Incidentally, this isn’t why I’m calling, but I’m happy to carry on discussing it if it’s something that interests you.’

The dryness of his tone made her smile and remember how much she enjoyed his irony. ‘So why are you calling?’ she asked, knowing what she wanted to hear, while dismayed with herself for hoping.

‘I said in the email I sent with the finance report that Victor Dubois, the Winters sisters’ lawyer, told me something interesting that I couldn’t share until he cleared it.’

Disappointed and intrigued, she said, ‘Has he given the go-ahead?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’m bound by my word not to reveal what he said, but I don’t have a problem with advising you to ask Sadie about Lottie’s will.’