Page 26 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

From the window of Joyce’s flat, Ibrahim can see people heading towards the chapel for Saturday service.

Some in couples but most alone. Some hunched or stooped, some with walking frames, making slow progress towards hard seats and comforting words.

There are people who have been to church every weekend for over ninety years.

Today some of them walk past the site of the senseless murder of a young woman, yet still they walk.

Ibrahim has never found answers in a church, but perhaps these people are asking different questions?

We’re all just trying to make sense of things, and you must take meaning wherever you can find it.

Alan takes a Polo from Ibrahim’s hand and rolls on the floor in delight. We all have different needs.

They are enjoying tea and toast. Joanna had asked for coffee, but Joyce said she was making tea, and Joanna said surely it was all the same kettle for goodness’ sake, and Joyce said it was too fiddly to do both, so Joanna said she would come and make one herself, but then Paul said shall we talk about these text messages first, and Joyce said six teas, then, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Joanna forwarded them to Joyce when she arrived, and Joyce has now forwarded them to everyone else. They start to read. It is shoddy stuff. Ibrahim doesn’t like a job badly done, and this job is badly done.

Sorry mate, what is this? A test of our friendship? I’m letting you know I’m okay, and this is what I get?

Jesus Paul. When I need you most, you pull this? We both know the name of the car. Stop messing around and let people know I’m okay.

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you Paul. I thought we were friends, but I can’t trust you. Signing off for good now.

‘Even Alan could see these were fake,’ he says.

Alan, upon hearing his name, wags his tail and nods.

‘I got worried after the third message,’ says Paul. ‘It was Joanna’s idea to ask the question about the car.’

‘That was quick thinking,’ says Elizabeth. If Joanna catches the compliment, she doesn’t let it show. ‘It’s his phone. But it’s not him.’

‘So someone’s pretending to be Nick Silver,’ says Ron. ‘Does that mean they’ve killed him? Sorry, Paul.’

‘If you want my view …’ Joanna starts.

‘We do,’ says Joyce, from the kitchen.

‘… if he was alive, they could have just asked him what the name of his car was. Instead of picking a fight and disappearing. That says to me they’ve killed him. Sorry, Paul.’

Ibrahim sees Elizabeth nod. She had clearly been thinking that, but is glad that someone else has said it.

‘So what now?’ Paul asks.

‘I have a question for you, Paul,’ says Elizabeth. ‘If you don’t mind?’

‘Please,’ says Paul. ‘I’ve never been questioned by an ex-spy before.’

‘No such thing as an ex-spy,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Did you know that Holly and Nick have a safe in The Compound containing three hundred and fifty million pounds in Bitcoin?’

Paul looks at Joanna. ‘Three hundred and fifty million? Is that why they killed Holly?’

‘You had no idea?’ Elizabeth asks him.

Paul shakes his head. ‘I knew they were doing well – Nick had money – but I didn’t know about the Bitcoin.’

‘No idea they had hundreds of millions locked away?’ Elizabeth is pressing him. Paul will be too polite to push back, Ibrahim knows that, but if she goes too far Joanna will have something to say about it. ‘Nick never even hinted? Holly never mentioned it? To their old friend?’

‘Not a word,’ says Paul.

‘I find that terrifically hard to believe,’ says Elizabeth.

Joanna has a look on her face that reminds Ibrahim of something. He can’t quite place it, but he will.

She looks directly at Elizabeth. ‘Elizabeth, may I make an observation?’

‘Can I stop you?’ Elizabeth asks.

‘No,’ says Joanna.

‘Like mother like daughter,’ says Elizabeth.

That was the look. Joanna has the same look that Joyce has when another dog starts chasing Alan. A protective fury. A calm menace.

‘Not everyone spends their life needing to know everyone else’s business, Elizabeth.’ Joanna is very measured, as Joyce so often is.

‘Murder changes that, dear,’ says Elizabeth.

Oh, goodness, Elizabeth, don’t call her ‘dear’.

‘One of Paul’s oldest friends has just been killed,’ says Joanna. ‘And another one has gone missing. We’ve driven three hours to get here on a Saturday morning to come and help, to show you the texts we received and to give you all the information we have.’

Joyce walks back in with the teas, unaware of the heavyweight fight unfolding in front of her.

‘Now,’ says Joanna, ‘you’re in my mum’s flat, and my mum adores you, but, and listen to this carefully, Elizabeth. Are you listening?’

Elizabeth says nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Joanna, sitting forward. ‘I asked if you were listening?’

‘I’m listening,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Good,’ says Joanna. ‘I am not my mum. I swear if you talk to my husband like that again, we’re leaving. We should have taken these text messages to the police, but we’re showing them to you instead. And we’re showing them to you because we respect you. Please show us the same courtesy.’

Elizabeth gives perhaps the smallest nod in recorded human history.

Joanna sits back. ‘Thank you, Elizabeth. I trust you understand me.’

Ibrahim is so tempted to applaud that he has to start stroking Alan, to ensure he doesn’t have both hands available.

Joyce offers a cup of tea to Joanna. ‘You know, I probably could find some instant coffee if you really fancy it?’

Joanna shakes her head and winks at her mum, who winks back.

‘But you have money invested?’ Ibrahim asks. While another fight between Joanna and Elizabeth would be glorious to see, for Joyce’s sake he feels like he should start asking some of the questions too. ‘You never thought to get involved?’

Paul shrugs. ‘I gave them some money years ago, ten thousand I inherited from my grandad. Every now and again Nick would tell me things were going well. One day they’d sell and I’d do nicely out of it.’

‘How nicely?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘If you don’t mind my asking?’

‘Not interested,’ says Paul. ‘I lent them the money because they were friends and they needed it. If I get some money back, that’s okay; if I don’t, that’s okay too. I just liked seeing them do well. You can’t let money be your master.’

Joanna leans into Ibrahim. ‘When the hedge fund has social get-togethers, I don’t let him speak.’

‘Let’s control what we can,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We need to find The Compound, and I need to get Holly’s SIM card analysed. Find out if there’s anything on there about Davey Noakes or Lord Townes. I can do that this afternoon if anyone fancies a trip up to London. Joyce?’

‘Paul and Joanna have just arrived, so I might not –’ Joyce’s sentence is stopped by a look from Elizabeth. ‘But I’d love to, yes, London it is.’

‘We’ll look after Alan while you’re in London, Joycey,’ says Ron. ‘Kendrick’s desperate to take him for a walk.’

‘He’s staying today as well?’ Ibrahim asks. It is always a delight to spend time with Ron’s grandson, but something is amiss there.

‘I asked if he could stay until Sunday,’ says Ron. ‘Going home to his mum in the morning.’

Just his mum. Ibrahim tucks that observation away.

The meeting is at an end. Ibrahim flattens the creases on his trousers before getting up. Lots to think about.

What do they know? Holly Lewis is dead, and if Nick Silver isn’t dead too something very peculiar is happening with his phone. A huge sum of money is buried somewhere nearby, and there are two six-digit codes needed to claim it.

That should be enough to be getting on with, shouldn’t it? He’ll enjoy thinking about the codes, that’s for certain.

Still, Ibrahim feels at a slight loss. Elizabeth and Joyce are heading off together.

He could probably join them if he really wanted to, but one doesn’t like to ask.

Ron has Pauline, Joanna has Paul, even Alan has Kendrick.

Ibrahim feels a long day is stretching ahead of him, and wonders how he might fill the empty hours.

Murders are all well and good, but who does he have?