Page 32 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

‘It was your great-great-uncle,’ says Joyce. ‘Harry Ablett. He was a magician. He travelled round with circuses in Germany.’

‘I didn’t know any of this,’ says Jill Usher, a sniffling baby on her lap and two toddlers zooming around her sitting room.

‘People so often don’t know the first thing about their families,’ says Joyce. ‘Elizabeth will tell you the same. We uncover all sorts, and we come and tell lovely people like you and they’re amazed. Aren’t they, Elizabeth? Aren’t they amazed, some of them?’

Elizabeth nods. She has to accept that she’d been the one who had told Joyce to use her imagination. And use her imagination she had. Magicians, circuses. Normally the rule was to keep your cover story as simple as possible. But this was not a rule that Joyce chose to follow.

‘He died in a hot-air ballooning accident,’ says Joyce. ‘In Sweden.’

Jill shakes her head. ‘All news to me.’

Jill Usher. The woman Holly Lewis rang before she died. But why? What was the connection? Today’s job was to get as much information as possible.

‘Do you have relatives in the south of England, Mrs Usher?’ Elizabeth asks.

Jill shakes her head. ‘Worked down there for a few years, Brighton, but Manchester born and bred.’

Brighton. Possible connection there. Jill must be ten years younger than Holly Lewis, but that’s not unusual in friends.

Elizabeth would love just to say the name ‘Holly Lewis’, but what if the two aren’t, in fact, friends?

What if they were quite the opposite, and Jill was involved in Holly’s death?

The key thing for now is not to spook her.

Sometimes you have to unwrap the truth a layer at a time. Elizabeth will be patient.

‘So I don’t want you to get too excited,’ says Joyce. She really is loving this. ‘But he left no children, and his estate is unclaimed, so either it gets spread among his surviving relatives or it goes to the Crown.’

Joyce assured Elizabeth that she’d seen a programme about unclaimed estates and knows exactly what to say.

‘So we’d rather find those relatives,’ says Joyce, ‘than let the bloomin’ government get their hands on it.’

An awful lot of what Joyce says in situations of pressure comes from television.

‘And so,’ says Elizabeth, ‘the more details you can give us about yourself, the better. Family history and so on. Just helps us fill in the gaps, and makes sure the right money goes to the right people.’

Jill nods. ‘Of course. I’ll talk to Mum too – she’ll enjoy that.’

‘It isn’t much money,’ says Joyce. ‘Especially if we have to spread it around the different branches of the family, but, as I say, we’d rather the family had it than the government. Wasting it on … hospitals and what have you.’

‘Most of the family we’ve tracked so far are in Sussex,’ says Elizabeth. ‘So we might need you to head down at some point.’

‘That would be fun,’ says Jill. The baby is now asleep on her lap. A huge crash above their heads tells them the toddlers have gone upstairs.

‘Perhaps you still have friends you could stay with from your Brighton days?’ Elizabeth asks. Worth a shot.

‘One or two,’ says Jill. That’s encouraging. ‘Do you have any photos?’

‘I’m sorry?’ says Elizabeth.

‘Of my great-great-uncle?’

‘No, I’m sorry –’

‘Of course we have photos,’ says Joyce, reaching into her bag.

You never knew what was in Joyce’s bag. She pulls out a manila folder, instantly recognizable as one of Ibrahim’s, and opens it to reveal a series of photocopied pictures of a gentleman in a top hat and Victorian dress standing next to an assistant cut in half in two cabinets.

Elizabeth can see Joyce and Ibrahim now, going through the internet to find pictures of Victorian magicians.

In the old days at MI6 you could walk down any given corridor and peek in through open doors and see people up to all sorts of things. A sudden image comes to Elizabeth’s mind: Joyce and Ibrahim huddled over one of the old desks, sucking pencils and starting wars.

‘How wonderful,’ says Jill, looking at the photos. ‘Harry Ablett’ is on the same stage each time.

‘May I keep these?’ Jill asks.

‘Of course,’ beams Joyce. Joyce will tell Ibrahim all about this when she gets home, Elizabeth knows that. ‘Job done,’ she’ll say.

As Jill looks through the photographs again, a gentle smile on her lips, Elizabeth begins to fear the worst. She’s seen criminals of pretty much every size, shape and colour over the years, but nothing about Jill is suggesting anything other than quiet Manchester teacher.

Which can only mean one thing. Jill Usher and Holly Lewis were good friends, and Elizabeth isn’t desperate to be the one to break difficult news.

But she has to. Because at least then she can ask a few useful questions, and come back from Manchester with a lead.

Had Jill been expecting a call from her friend?

Would Holly call Jill if she were in trouble?

It must be something .

Elizabeth hasn’t heard from Ron yet, but hopes he’s having more luck with Bill Benson.

As she prepares to mention Holly’s name, they hear the front door of Jill’s home open. The baby opens her eyes. Or his. Joyce had asked, but Elizabeth hadn’t really been listening.

‘That’ll be Jamie,’ says Jill. Then she says, leaning into Joyce, ‘The better half.’

A tall man in a faded rugby shirt appears in the room. He looks at Elizabeth and Joyce, and then at his wife.

‘They’re from the Heir Hunters company,’ says Jill. ‘I told you about them.’

‘Like you see on television,’ says Joyce.

Her husband nods. ‘Kids upstairs?’

‘In their room,’ says Jill, then turns to Joyce. ‘This is Joyce.’

You shouldn’t give your real name, but Joyce really has a blind spot about remembering what she’s supposed to be called, so Elizabeth usually keeps it simple for her.

Joyce smiles, but Jamie Usher does not smile back. ‘You got cards? Identification?’

‘We freelance,’ says Elizabeth, and extends her hand. Jamie shakes it. She gives him a card. ‘Let’s not disturb the Ushers’ Sunday any more than we have already, Joyce.’

‘It was lovely to meet you,’ says Jill. ‘I look forward to hearing from you.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ says Jamie, and steers Joyce and Elizabeth into the hallway.

Once out of earshot of his wife, he says, ‘If this is a scam, I’ll find out about it, and you’ll regret it.’

Joyce is slipping on a summer jacket. ‘Does it look like a scam?’

Jamie looks from Joyce to Elizabeth and has to admit that it doesn’t.

‘Are you a teacher too, Mr Usher?’

‘I’m not,’ says Jamie, opening the front door.

Elizabeth pauses on the threshold. ‘May I ask what you do?’

‘No,’ says Jamie. ‘You may not.’

The door shuts behind them.