Page 14 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

‘Do you think they’ve killed him?’ Joyce asks.

A desk has been upended in the middle of the room, its drawers pulled out and scattered.

Two filing cabinets have been prised open, and papers are strewn across the floor.

If Nick Silver had been in his office, waiting for Elizabeth, he was certainly not here now.

‘Killed who?’ asks Donna. Not unreasonably, in Elizabeth’s estimation.

Donna had argued for a while against breaking in, and that was to be expected, applauded even: we all need our self-respect.

‘Did you really see someone breaking in, Elizabeth?’ ‘Don’t you think I have better things to do, Elizabeth?

’ ‘Is Elizabeth making you do this, Joyce? Blink twice for yes.’ But eventually the combination of Elizabeth’s helplessness and Donna’s resentment at Prince Edward costing her an easy week meant that she relented.

In the end, Donna had commandeered a local locksmith, who was only too happy to help – locksmiths not always being entirely above the law, and therefore eager for any opportunity to get on the good side of the police.

The locksmith, however, had no luck: the door was made of tougher stuff than his tools and expertise combined.

So Donna rang Bogdan, who was nearby helping to renovate the local Polish community centre, and he rushed around.

Within forty-five seconds or so they were inside.

‘The question is,’ says Elizabeth, ‘was this a burglary or was this a kidnapping?’

Had the violence unleashed on the room also been unleashed on Nick Silver?

Elizabeth scans the room. ‘Look for signs of a struggle.’

‘There’s a broken lamp,’ says Joyce.

Elizabeth considers the lamp. ‘That might have been disturbed by flying files and drawers.’

Joyce tries again. ‘The rug? It’s covered in glass?’

‘That comes from the skylight,’ says Bogdan, looking up.

‘Presumably where someone entered the room,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Can I ask what’s going on?’ says Donna.

‘Oh, goodness,’ says Elizabeth. ‘You’re so impatient.’

Donna looks at Bogdan.

‘Don’t speak to Donna like that,’ says Bogdan, apologetically.

‘Stop simpering, Bogdan,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘This feels like something the police should be getting involved with,’ says Donna, looking around her.

‘No police,’ says Elizabeth. ‘You’re lucky you’re here at all. If I’d thought about it, I would have just called Bogdan directly, so don’t push it.’

‘Surely she can tell Chris?’ Joyce says.

‘Yes, Chris is fine,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Just not normal police – we’ve got too much thinking to do.

Two possible scenarios present themselves.

Either a simple burglary, perhaps looking for the code.

Or someone was following Nick Silver, he led them here, and they took their shot, killing or kidnapping him?

Annoyed that their bomb had somehow failed to go off? ’

‘You would be annoyed,’ nods Joyce. ‘I had to send my air fryer back because of the thermostat. They were very good about it.’

Donna says, ‘May I just ask three questions?’

‘You may ask one question, dear,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I don’t need to hear endless bleating from police officers.’

‘Don’t speak t–’ starts Bogdan, before Donna lets him know it’s okay to leave this one.

‘Okay, well, I’m going to ask three but very quickly,’ says Donna.

‘That’s clever,’ says Bogdan.

‘What code?’ says Donna, counting the questions down on her fingers. ‘What bomb? And who’s Nick Silver?’

‘And also is he dead?’ Bogdan asks.

‘Codes are codes, and bombs are bombs,’ says Elizabeth.

‘And Nick Silver was my son-in-law Paul’s best man,’ says Joyce.

‘The puker?’ says Donna.

‘And perhaps he is dead, Bogdan, yes,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Who’s to say?’

‘He did say he’d be here to meet you,’ says Joyce. ‘And he wasn’t.’

Precisely what Elizabeth is thinking.

‘What does he do, this guy?’ asks Donna.

‘Cold storage,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Like fridge-freezers?’

‘Of course not like fridge-freezers,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Then what?’

‘Storage,’ says Elizabeth. ‘A storage system but an unusual one. Non-traditional.’

‘Ah, you don’t know,’ says Donna. ‘You know it’s okay just to admit you don’t know sometimes?’

‘Donna,’ says Elizabeth, ‘I do know – I just don’t know yet .’

‘Oh, that’s good,’ says Joyce.

Elizabeth regroups. ‘Joyce, we have to talk to Holly Lewis.’

‘As I say,’ says Joyce, ‘I haven’t met her, but –’

‘Where can we find her?’ Elizabeth asks.

‘I’ll ask Paul,’ says Joyce, then turns to Donna. ‘My son-in-law.’

‘Can I go now?’ Bogdan asks. ‘I left a Lithuanian to do the plastering.’

Elizabeth waves this away and turns back to Joyce. ‘Ask Paul if Holly might like to visit us for dinner this evening. And tell him to let you know if Nick Silver contacts him. If he does, we’ll know he’s gone into hiding, and if he doesn’t –’

‘Then he’s dead,’ says Joyce.

There is a beat.

‘You know,’ says Donna, ‘this really does feel like a police matter.’

‘It does a bit,’ agrees Bogdan. ‘Even I think.’

‘Donna, we don’t need you running around the county solving murders when you could be protecting Prince Edward,’ says Elizabeth.

‘And, Bogdan, you have a roof to fix, so we all have jobs to do, don’t we?

If someone has been murdered, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Until then, we have a minibus to catch.’

Among the chaos of the room, Elizabeth sees a file tucked neatly behind a radiator. Lifting it out, she sees that it is not just a file: it is a file with her name written on the front of it. She slips it into her bag.

Elizabeth leads Joyce, Donna and Bogdan down the stairs. Is there any sign that someone has been dragged down here? Any blood on the banister? Handprints smeared on the wall? Nothing that Elizabeth can see at first glance.

Perhaps he was waiting in his office, heard noises on the roof and, spooked, ran for safety? That would explain his leaving the file. And, if so, surely he will contact Paul? Or perhaps even her?

Out of Donna’s line of sight, Elizabeth takes the file from her bag. Inside is a single Post-it note.

Help me, Elizabeth. You’ll work out how.

She flashes it to Joyce and places a finger to her lips.

Joyce whispers, ‘So he’s alive?’

Elizabeth whispers back, ‘Joyce, this doesn’t tell us he’s alive. Just that he was alive when he wrote it.’

‘Of course, sorry,’ says Joyce.

Elizabeth leads them back out onto Templar Street, and realizes, to her shock, that she is hungry. When was the last time she was hungry? These days she has to force herself to eat, and yet here she is, suddenly ravenous.

The return of her appetite. Who would have seen that coming?

‘Before we get on the bus,’ says Joyce, reaching into her bag, ‘I thought you might like your flapjack. It’s cherry Bakewell.’

Who would have seen that coming, indeed?

Elizabeth takes the flapjack from her friend.

Joyce stops. ‘Do we know who planted a bomb under his car?’

‘We don’t,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Though our current suspect list consists of an online fraudster named Davey Noakes, a banker called Lord Townes and Nick’s partner, Holly Lewis.’

‘A lord wouldn’t kill anybody,’ says Joyce. ‘Honestly, Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth takes a bite of her flapjack.

‘Tell me, Joyce,’ says Elizabeth, ‘have you ever seen a bomb before?’

‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘I once saw someone with a Hoover attachment up his backside though.’

Elizabeth nods. ‘Thank you for that, Joyce. Tell Ron to come and pick us up from Hampton Road. We have a car to look under.’