Arrowood. Mick Finlay
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whoever he wants.’
‘We don’t know he was behind it.’
He cracked his walking stick hard against the kerb, a look of utmost misery on his face.
‘We’ve led that dear girl to her death. That cur from the Beef saw us at the house. We might as well have killed her ourselves.’
‘We didn’t know they all worked in the Beef.’
‘Damn it, Barnett. It’s starting again. The whole cursed Cream business.’
‘Perhaps we should leave it to the police,’ I suggested.
‘That idiot Petleigh will never find the killer.’
The guvnor glanced back at the church. When we’d turned the corner he held out a small, twisted handkerchief.
‘This was gripped in her hand,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she held it for us.’
He opened the handkerchief. Inside was a single brass bullet.
We arrived in Great Dover Street later that evening, where a row of milliners, dress shops and shoe shops all had their lights on for the evening trade. At the end was a coffee grinder, and the breeze carried the rich smells of the roasting beans. There was only one photographer’s studio, called ‘The Fontaine’. A man in a green velvet jacket with hair reaching his collar stood at the desk constructing a picture frame. He held a small hammer in his hand and a pin in his mouth.
‘Good day, sirs,’ he said with an insincere smile. ‘How may I help you? Is it a portrait you’re after?’
‘We’re looking for Miss Cousture,’ said the guvnor, glancing around at the photographic portraits on the walls. ‘Is she here?’
‘She’s at work,’ the man replied, pulling back his long head disdainfully. ‘I’m the proprietor, Mr Fontaine. Do you want to book a portrait?’
‘Did you take these?’ asked the guvnor, indicating the pictures. ‘They’re very good.’
‘Yes indeed. All my own work. I could make a fine image of you, sir, if you don’t mind me saying. Your profile is quite wonderful.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked the guvnor, his chest inflating. He smoothed the hair around his crown. ‘I’ve been thinking of commissioning a picture for some time. I think my sister would very much like a portrait above the fire.’
I looked at him, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of such a gift.
‘We can book it in now, sir. Shall we say Monday morning? Eleven o’clock?’
‘Yes . . . Ah. Wait. On second thoughts, I’d better wait until I’ve taken possession of my new suit. But might we speak to Miss Cousture now? On a personal matter.’
The artist looked down his long nose at us for some time.
‘It’s important, Mr Fontaine,’ I said, growing impatient. ‘Is she here?’
With a theatrical sigh and a shake of his lank black hair, he disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the store. A moment later Miss Cousture appeared.
‘Good day, Mr Arrowood,’ she said quietly as she swept through the curtains. She was wearing a high-waisted black skirt, a white blouse rolled to her sleeves, her hair pinned up on her head. She nodded at me. ‘Mr Barnett.’
Mr Fontaine appeared behind her and stood by the curtain, his arms crossed.
She flicked her eyes at her employer as if to warn us not to talk. There followed a silence. Her pale cheeks coloured. She looked at her boots.
‘Would you mind if we have a private moment with the lady, sir?’ asked the guvnor finally. Noticing that his tie had blown over his shoulder from the breezy street, I stepped forward and flipped it back. He took a quick backward swipe at me.
‘This is my studio, sir,’ said the man with a sniff. He rubbed his long nose quickly. ‘The name above the door is mine, not the lady’s. If you have something to say, get on and say it.’
‘Then will you come outside, madam?’
‘Oh, putain, Eric!’ she cursed, turning to her employer. ‘One moment, that is all!’
On the lips of this fine woman, the profanity turned the air cold. Fontaine threw his head back and ducked behind the curtain. We heard his angry footsteps on the stairs.
The guvnor pulled a chair from behind the counter and lowered himself down with a wince. He rubbed his feet through his tight boots. For some time he didn’t speak.
‘We need to ask you a few more questions, miss,’ he said at last.
‘Of course. But I tell you all I know.’
‘We must know what trouble your brother was in,’ he said, a pained smile on his red face. ‘Any small thing he might have said. Please be quite open with us.’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you know his friend Martha?’
She shook her head.
‘His sweetheart. You didn’t know about her?’
‘I never heard the name.’
‘Well, Miss Cousture, I’m afraid to say she was murdered this afternoon.’
We watched as her face turned from surprise to sadness. She gripped the counter and lowered herself onto the stool.
‘We had an appointment to meet but someone got to her first,’ explained the guvnor.
She nodded slowly.
‘We also discovered there was some trouble in the Barrel of Beef just before Thierry disappeared. The only clue we have is that it might involve an American. Did Thierry mention any such thing to you?’
‘An American?’ she said, a disappointed tone in her voice. ‘No, never. What is the name?’
‘We don’t have a name. All we know is that the day your brother disappeared there was an argument involving an American. We don’t even know for sure Thierry was involved. But please think again. Did anything happen before he disappeared? Was there any change in him?’
‘Only when he comes to me for money. The last time I see him, I tell you he’s scared.’ She paused, her eyes travelling quickly from the guvnor to me and back again. ‘Do you think he’s dead? Is that what you mean by “trouble”?’
The guvnor took her hand and held it.
‘It’s too early to think of that, miss.’
She was about to speak again when Mr Fontaine swept back through the curtain. This time he would not be budged.
We walked back towards Waterloo. The air was still and a fog had descended.
‘Barnett,’ said the guvnor at length. ‘Was there anything that struck you as odd about what we’ve just seen?’
I thought for a bit, trying to guess what he’d noticed.
‘Not as I could say,’ I said at last.
‘Tell me, if Mrs Barnett had disappeared without taking her clothes or her papers, and you’d appointed a detective, and let’s imagine that two days later the detective came to see you. You’re quite mad with worry, remember.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What would be the first thing you would say to him?’
‘I suppose I’d ask if he’d found her.’
‘Exactly, Barnett.’ His brow tensed. ‘Exactly.’
The guvnor continued home