Blood Guilt. Lindy Cameron
Читать онлайн книгу.
order before choosing the clearest shots.
'Why are you leaving those out?' Del asked, picking up the discarded pile which included a photo of Del and Thistle and several of Ian Dalkeith surveying his wasteland property.
'As you say Del, Celia hired me to follow Geoffrey. I doubt she'd be interested in how Mr Dalkeith spends his afternoons.'
Kit selected the shots of Geoffrey's Wednesday meeting at the Regent Hotel with Dalkeith, the American and the other mystery man. She wrote the date, time and place on the back of each. The last photos were the seven Del had taken that evening. They were blurred but the identities of the three men standing in the foyer of the St Kilda house were still unmistakable. Geoffrey and Dalkeith stood to one side as the American leered in response to the attention being lavished on him by the same crimson tart Kit had seen Geoffrey with the first night she'd staked out the house.
'She looks familiar,' Del said looking over Kit's shoulder.
'She's in the earlier pics. She's also of a type,' Kit said indicating the top photo on one of the other piles. 'Our Geoffrey is obviously a legs man, although a well-endowed crutch seems to attract his attention too.'
'She's side-on, you can't see her face properly. And you criticise my photography,' Del said picking up the photo of the two blondes Geoffrey had played with on Tuesday.
'I gather this is the mysterious car that was lurking in the street with us tonight,' Kit said turning the photo around several times pretending she couldn't work out which way it went.
'Oh you're such a card O'Malley. You're...' Del was about to say something truly smart when something in the photos of Dalkeith she still had in her lap caught her attention. Kit didn't notice Del had stopped talking. She was too busy staring open-mouthed at the photograph of the car.
'I've seen this somewhere before Del,' she said reaching for the magnifying glass.
'Quite possibly, it's a fairly common make,' Del said absently, taking the magnifying glass from Kit's hand.
'No, I mean I've seen this one before. It was parked in the lane opposite the Patrician the other night.'
'Yeah? Well I think maybe it is following you then. Take a look at this.'
It was the last photo Kit had taken of Dalkeith on Tuesday, as he was leaving his riverfront investment. She snapped him as he'd turned his car left out through the old broken gateway heading away from where she had parked a short distance down the street. There in the background, parked an equal distance from the gate on the other side was the same beat-up brown station wagon.
'Shit! What's going on? Who the hell would be following me?'
'Beats me,' Del said. 'But I'd brush up on your techniques of observation if I were you, sweetheart. Fancy not noticing that old heap tailing you everywhere.'
Kit felt a chill up her spine. Maybe Celia had hired someone else to make sure she got the job done properly. That was unlikely.
'It could be Douglas,' she said aloud.
'Who the hell is Douglas?' Del asked.
'Celia's solicitor. I don't mean it's him. But maybe he hired someone else to dig into Geoffrey's financial dealings, while I'm running around sorting out Celia's suspicions of adultery.'
'Seems like a waste of money to hire two detectives for the same case.'
Kit stared at the two photos for a long time. She picked up the other piles and flipped through them.
'There it is again!' Kit said horrified. How the hell could I have missed this?'
'That's Dalkeith with that Yank again,' Del said. 'Who are you investigating here? Robinson or Dalkeith?'
'That was the day Geoffrey had the meeting with Dalkeith, the American and this bloke,' Kit said pointing to the next photo. 'But this is the shot with that bloody car in it.'
'So, what's the common denominator here O'Malley?' Del said, as if the answer was sitting right in front of them sharing the port.
'Geoffrey... or me,' Kit said.
'Or Dalkeith. Come on Miss Marple, this is your area of expertise not mine.'
'God, I think I need a holiday,' Kit groaned. 'Somewhere cold. I think this hot weather is making me stupid. The night I saw that car opposite The Patrician was the first time I saw Dalkeith, in the flesh I mean. You said you think the driver has a moustache?'
'Yeah, either a big bushy one or a beard as well. I only glimpsed him by match light remember.'
'Well maybe Douglas did hire him. If Geoffrey's in some sort of shonky business deal with Dalkeith it would be logical to have someone follow Dalkeith. Obviously I can't do everything. I'm sure Celia would have mentioned it to me though. This is very curious.'
'Curious indeed, my love. But I don't intend to lose any sleep over it. And neither should you. Speaking of which I am going home, and you should go to bed. You can ask your client all about it tomorrow.'
CHAPTER FIVE
'So what is he doing here?' Celia asked, in a tone that conveyed amused disbelief rather than disgust. She had flipped quickly through the photographs of the women her husband had picked up on the streets, saying nothing more than 'They're all tall. Typical!' before putting them to one side.
'At the time I thought he was paying the boy,' Kit answered. 'But when I developed the film I realised that it's an envelope he's handing over. It probably contains money but it could be anything I suppose.'
'And this house?' Celia asked, tapping the photograph with the stem of her champagne glass.
'According to the records the council rates are being paid by a company called Wellborn Enterprises which appears to be a subsidiary of another called Freyling Imports. '
'Wellborn indeed,' Celia snorted. 'That bastard's got delusions of grandeur.'
'Your husband may not have any involvement with Wellborn, Celia. I know that doesn't mean much when he obviously has such an interest in the place but, short of asking him outright, I doubt if you'd be able to trace the money he's been spending to that particular house. On the other hand, Douglas Scott may be in a better position than I am to get more detailed information on Wellborn, Freyling Imports and any other related companies. I am certain that Mr Robinson is involved in some sort of deal with Ian Dalkeith so even if your husband's name doesn't turn up on someone else's books I'm sure Dalkeith's name will. With all this evidence, though, you could just confront your husband and ask him.'
'Oh no. Not yet,' Celia said adamantly. 'I want to get the whole picture first. I plan to give him almost enough rope to hang himself before I throttle him with it. So, I shall pass the gist of what you have discovered on to Douglas so he can do a little digging within his field of expertise while you continue on in yours. You have done an excellent job so far Katherine, though I rather knew you would.'
'Thank you Celia, but it hasn't been a difficult task.'
'Only because my husband is so busy thinking with his you-know-what that there's no chance of his few remaining brain cells being able to draw his attention to the fact that he has lost all sense of propriety.'
Kit controlled the urge to laugh by making a fuss of moving her chair further into the shade of the umbrella under which they were sitting on the patio. It was still blisteringly hot but the hint of a southerly breeze brought some relief and was certainly a welcome change from the north wind which had been raging around the city for the last two days.
'Speaking of Mr Scott's field of expertise, do you know if he has hired anyone to investigate your husband's dealings with Ian Dalkeith?'
Celia looked quite taken aback. 'You mean another detective? I most certainly hope not. You know my ideas on the matter of hiring, er, outsiders. No, I feel sure he wouldn't have. Not without telling me. Why do you ask?'
Kit took a deep breath. She had already considered the possibility that