Devil in the Detail A.J. Cross (read full novel .TXT) 📖

Watts gazed at him. ‘Was he, now? Very generous.’

Williams shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure about that. Mike would have had all the work and you can bet that Seb would have kept his eyes on everything he did. The way I see it, you can’t beat being your own boss.’

‘Mike wasn’t that keen on what his boss was proposing?’

‘I can’t really say, although I told him what I thought about it. Molly was probably keen, but I don’t know that for sure.’

‘Why would Mrs Lawrence have been keen?’

‘Mike told me she wanted him to strike out on his own.’ He shrugged again. ‘Mike was much too cautious for that. It sounded to me like taking over the running of the company from Seb might have appealed to both of them as an ideal compromise, but like I said, I can’t be sure of that.’

‘You know this Mr Engar?’

‘Only from what Mike said. He showed me a couple of photos of the people he worked with and Seb was in one of them.’

‘Anybody else you want to tell us about?’ Watts waited. ‘You’re looking uneasy, Mr Williams.’

‘Of course I am. You’re the police and it feels odd to give people’s names to you, even if they’re people I barely know.’ He looked up to find Watts waiting, his eyes fixed on him. ‘There is somebody else. My impression was that Mike was dubious about him, but I never actually met him. One of Mike’s colleagues. All I know is that Mike didn’t like him. There was some sort of issue between them. From the little Mike said, it could have been jealousy because Seb favoured Mike.’

‘Got a name?’

‘Damien Alphon.’

During a brief face-to-face conversation with Matthew Barnes at the clothes shop he owned, Barnes had supplied Watts with information about Mike Lawrence in terms similar to those provided by Williams. He confirmed some indirect awareness of Mike’s work colleagues, specifically that there was friction between Mike and a co-worker named Damien Alphon. Questions asked about Molly Lawrence hadn’t produced anything informative beyond Barnes’ confirmation that yes, he had very briefly dated Molly Lawrence some twelve months prior to her marrying Mike, and that neither of them had regarded the brief courtship as important.

‘A couple of dates for drinks, another for a meal and that was it. She was really good looking, you know, but not my type.’ Asked by Watts what his ‘type’ was, Barnes had grinned, eyeing Judd.

‘Oh, you know, somebody who’s up for some fun, who likes a good time. Molly struck me as way too serious.’ He grinned. ‘The old “ball-and-chain” type, but Mike seemed happy enough with it.’

By the time they left the shop, Watts’ head was pulsing from what passed for music playing non-stop inside it.

They were now in a coffee shop, Watts bringing drinks to the table. He sat heavily. ‘We’re risking pneumonia in this bloody weather. One caramel latte with marshmallows.’

He passed it to Judd, sat, took a quick gulp of his black Americano and glanced at the steamed-up windows, thinking that England was a great place between July and September. He looked back to Judd who was attacking the marshmallows and whipped cream.

‘Remind me what we’ve got.’

‘Hang on …’ Licking her spoon, she tracked her notes. ‘Simon Williams knew Mike Lawrence for several years, got on fine with him. Hardly knows Molly Lawrence. Doesn’t know current whereabouts of Benedict Sill. Mike was a valued employee of his boss, this Engar bloke. Bit of a “blue-eyes” by the sound of it, Sarge.’ She turned a page. ‘Matthew Barnes confirmed he dated Molly Lawrence before she married Mike. No surprise he didn’t get far with her, on account of his being a tosser.’

‘Judd—’

‘Trust me. According to Barnes, Sill is backpacking in Thailand.’ She let the pages fall back. ‘Both Williams and Barnes mentioned Damien Alphon, this work colleague of Lawrence’s. According to Barnes, there was friction between Lawrence and Alphon but he wasn’t specific.’

They sat in silence. Watts glanced at windows running with condensation as Judd finished the last of her drink.

‘Mmmm …’ She licked her lips. ‘What’s up, Sarge?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’ve been a bit narky since yesterday. If it’s Reynolds that’s still annoying you—’

‘Forget Reynolds.’ He sipped his coffee, gazed out of the window. ‘I hate winter.’

‘Right. You’re not that keen on summer, either, nor spr—’

‘Ever heard of SAD, Judd?’

‘No. What is it? A club for miserable gits?’

He got to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Where?’

‘To Mike Lawrence’s design company to see his boss, Sebastian Engar.’

‘I thought that was tomorrow?’

‘We’re going there now. I’m not warming to Engar and his “providing the police with all relevant information in due course”, or whatever he said.’

Watts brought the BMW to a halt. They looked across at the large, turn-of-the-century house now converted into business premises. They got out into icy bluster and headed across the parking area to the building. Watts spoke into the grille next to the front door and they were buzzed inside. He held up identification to the woman who approached them. ‘Detective Inspector Watts, PC Judd, police headquarters. We’re here to see Sebastian Engar.’

The woman gave him an all-business smile. ‘About?’

‘Tell Mr Engar we’re here, please.’

The woman’s face changed. ‘Mr Engar is just back from leave. He isn’t officially here—’

‘But we are. Tell Mr Engar we’d like a chat with him.’ They watched her hesitate, walk away. After several seconds, she reappeared, hand raised.

‘This way, please.’

She showed them into an ultra-modern office. A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties, silver-haired, with a neat grey beard was standing behind the glass and metal desk. He came to Watts, hand extended. Watts noted the subtle tan.

‘Detective Inspector.’ He did the same to Judd, his blue eyes crinkling. ‘What a charming hairstyle. Please, have seats.’

Watts gave him another once-over. No glasses. Contacts, probably. ‘Mr Engar, we appreciate your time. Tell us all you know about Michael Lawrence.’

Engar’s face became suitably downbeat. ‘I understand why you’re here. This whole company is bereft at what has happened. Michael was a