Chapter 11

"So who was that gorgeous bit of stuff you were out with on Saturday?" Colin asked as we finally hit the M62 after a tortuous rush hour drive through the Manchester suburbs. "You're not wasting any time, are you? A nurse in Newcastle and now this fantastic blonde bird as well. Do the scars and the shaven head attract them?" he laughed.

"Seems like it," I replied smugly, "Actually, she's my PA and it was a 'getting to know you' evening."

"Lucky bastard!" he smirked.

"Anyway, how do you know who I was out with?"

"I have my methods," It was his turn to be smug, and the conversation moved on to the coming day.

The meeting with York police was brief. There was no new information. They had already forwarded everything they knew to Colin. The CCTV recordings were long gone, so the PI was the only hope for more evidence. They had decided not to alert him to our impending arrival, in case there was illegality and he had time to destroy evidence that would be useful to us. What they had done, and I do not know how they swung it, was to get a search warrant for his house. They gave us his address and phone number, and a Detective Constable Harrop was assigned to come with us.

Neil Holt was out, but a helpful neighbour informed us that he would be back the next morning. He was visiting his daughter for the day. We spent the day booking in at the same hotel I'd stayed in, and then retracing my steps as told by Felicia and Lorenz to the station. It did no good. So we went back to the hotel and ate and spent the evening in the bar.

At seven the next rain-soaked morning, we were sitting in Colin's car with our tame DC outside Neil Holt's house. It was a large, nineteen-thirties detached. He had done well for himself. We listened to the radio and the drumming of the rain on the roof, and at ten our Mr Holt arrived with a woman who we assumed rightly was his wife. We let him get inside and gave him another ten minutes before knocking on the door.

"Here we go," said Harrop. "We knock, he answers. We ask about the case, he denies any records of it. I show the warrant and remind him of what a police search does to a house, and that they tend to find illegal things they weren't looking for. He lets us in and gives us some stuff. Want to bet?"

We didn't. Just as well, because it played out exactly as he had predicted.

Like our Keith Cuthberston, Neil Holt was a nondescript man; he was the sort of man people describe as 'average height, average weight, an ordinary coat, no unusual features. His face was round and innocent-looking, but this was belied by his attitude. He would never be noticed or remembered.

He stood back to let us through. The house was well kept, tidy and clean. It was clear that Neil Holt, or his wife, was fastidious. He led us into the kitchen and thence out to an outhouse. We exchanged glances. An outhouse would be damp. Evidence would decay. But the room was dry and carpeted and there was an array of filing cabinets along one wall and a narrow table in the centre. We stood in a line against the other wall. Neil Holt stood by the cabinets.

"We believe you took these photos from CCTV tapes." Colin began, pulling the photos out of his briefcase, and placing them on the table. Holt examined them.

"I paid for the use of the tapes and copied them," Holt protested.

Abruptly he seemed to decide there was no point in prevaricating any longer and took out a folder from one of the cabinets. "This is the Jonsson file," he said, "It's got the tape inside but the correspondence is long gone. I think the original letter from Mrs Jonsson is there."

"It has all the footage I thought I needed," he added almost as an afterthought...

We examined the folder. Sure enough there was a tape, and one letter.

The letter went on to give my itinerary in detail, giving the hotel and the times and dates.

He has disappeared from the time he left the hotel, and we are worried about his state of mind. Any information would be greatly appreciated.

The letter finished in the usual way, signed by both Derek and Ann.

"So what did you do?" asked Colin.

"Got in touch and agreed terms, very generous they were too. I think the hotel receptionist said that Mr Jonsson and the woman were, shall we say, very close. Well, you can see that from the pictures."

"You want us to make a copy of this?" asked Colin, ignoring the comment.

"No. Take it."

"What did you put in your report?" asked Harrop.

"Can't remember. I think it was a standard report. You know, husband seen with other woman, incriminating photos, it's usually what people want. I assumed the man who signed the letter was likely to be her lover, and they were looking for evidence against the husband. Saw a lot of that in my job."

So we left. The rain had mercifully stopped and a watery sun was attempting to make its presence felt. We returned to the police station and watched the video. It was typical CCTV footage, a frame taken every five to fifteen seconds or so. I saw Felicia and myself at reception then leaving the hotel with baggage, then a different camera shot of us in the lounge hugging and kissing, then drinking coffee together. The third camera was at the Station, where I was with her alone at the booking office, then with Felicia and Lorenz, then the three of us going onto the platforms. The final frame showed me leaving the station with a man. All in all they showed very little more than the photos Holt had sent to Ann and Derek, except for the last frames. Why hadn't he sent those as well?

"Probably thought it wasn't wanted," said Harrop. "If he thought they wanted evidence of your adultery that picture wouldn't have helped. We'll go back and find out and let you know."

We thanked the folk at the police station, returned to the hotel, collected our baggage and were soon on our way home. Colin took the evidence with him, and suggested 'the four' should meet to examine it on Friday. I suggested my flat, and he promised to set it up with the others if I provided the beer.

Wednesday was to be full of sunshine. The night had been clear and the morning was frosty, but the sun shone strongly for a late winter's day. It lifted my spirits.

When I arrived at my office, I stopped at the door, wondering if I'd come to the wrong room. It was somehow homely. There was a vase of fresh flowers, and abstract paintings on the walls. The paintings were relaxing but I couldn't place the artist.

Jenny regarded me, a huge smile on her pretty face which lit up the room. There was a sofa and an armchair in leather to one side and our two desks at the other at a decorative angle. The filing cabinets were unobtrusive against the far wall, and the sun was shining through the windows. She looked very self-satisfied She searched my face for a reaction and I had to smile.

"Your work?" I asked needlessly. She nodded. "It's beautiful Jenny," I enthused. "So comfortable and peaceful. Thank you. I could never have thought of this. Whose are the paintings?"

"Mine."

"I mean who painted them?"

"I did."

I was staggered. She was so talented; what was she doing as a secretary in a medium sized company? I resolved to ask her at a suitable moment. There was more to this complex person than met the eye.

"What talent!" I exclaimed, and she beamed with pleasure.

"I think that if your surroundings are peaceful and beautiful," she said quietly, "it makes work easier. There's enough stress in our lives. I hoped this might be healing."

"I can see you are a treasure. I wonder what other talents you are hiding ready to be unleashed. I know I'm going to enjoy working with you. You've brought sunshine into my life!"

"Well, how did your trip go?"

I gave her a run down of the visit, and the evidence we had seen in its original form.

"Good," she said, that smile lighting her face again. "You're making progress."

The office was not just decorated. She had sorted out a filing system and I found the office tidy and everything filed perfectly. We got down to business and discussed the up-coming meetings with customers and suppliers and it was clear that she had done her homework on it all.

I called in on Geoff at lunchtime and filled him in on my trip.

"What do you think of your office?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

I spread my arms and hands, "I'm speechless!"

"And I'm jealous! If I didn't have Judy, I'd be scheming to take her from you."

"Don't even think about it! She's mine!"

"I think she could be. She's your type."

"Professional, Geoff, professional. Let's keep it that way."

David phoned me at work to tell me the meeting at my place for the 'four' was set up, and also that he had submitted my finances to the court.

The rest of the week was full of hard work, intellectually at work, and physically out of it. I punished myself at the gym on Wednesday afternoon, and was punished in my turn by my physiotherapist, who once again complimented me on my progress. Friday afternoon, I noticed Jenny was a little preoccupied,

"What's up, Jenny?" I asked out of the blue. She looked disconcerted, but recovered quickly.

"Are you seeing Patricia this weekend?"

"No, probably next week – she's working the whole weekend."

"Well, if you've not got anything on on Sunday night, I'm going to a concert and I've an extra ticket. Would you like to come?"

"What sort of concert?"

"Hallé Orchestra at the Bridgewater Hall. It's an 'Opus One ' concert, so it'll be well-known pieces."

"Well..." I hesitated. Was she asking me out on a date? She read my mind.

"You were nice enough to take me out to dinner, and you said you thought you would enjoy concerts, so I thought I'd like to repay you. No hidden agenda!"

I had no choice! "Thanks Jenny, I'd love to come."

"Good, I'll pick you up at six forty."

"Do you–"

"Yes, I know where you live," she laughed, and so it was agreed.

By eight that evening there were three of my friends round my table with a selection of bottled beer from all sorts of breweries. Drinking was under way.

Colin and I had told the group that there didn't seem to be anything new to be learned from the film, apart from the final frames which only established I did not go off with Felicia.

"Show us anyway," said Keith.

"I put it on DVD." said Colin.

I put it in the player and started it. We watched in silence as it played out.

The three agreed that the final frames would have altered the perception of the events, and that the PI had withheld them, either of his own accord or because he was told to.

When it finished, Keith said, "Go back to the station." I did, it played through again.

"Stop there!" cried Keith. The frame froze. We looked at it. There were Felicia and I booking a ticket, and a few other travellers standing around. "See that bloke bottom left? I'm sure I've seen him around here; I've a good memory for faces, it helps in my job. I just can't place him."

"Wait a minute," interjected David. "He's the same man you're leaving the station with, Allan. Go back to the hotel foyer, that bit where you're both leaving."

I obeyed.

"There!" said David, "that's the same man isn't it, Keith?"

Keith agreed. "Yes, that's him. Now that's a coincidence I'd like to follow up. it looks to me as if he was watching you to intercept you at the station. It may be nothing; there were plenty of people from round here at York races that week. He could just have been staying at the same hotel. it could be a coincidence but I doubt it. Leave it with me. I'm sure it will come to me in time."

David waited until the other two had gone home before bringing me up to date with the divorce.

"I submitted the affidavit of means at the end of last week, but didn't get anything from Ann's man, I'm still waiting. Even though it goes to the court, I should have a copy.

"I did get another suggested settlement, but it involved Ann getting half the company as well as half your whole assets. Then there was maintenance for the children to be doubled! I suggested in reply that when I received her affidavit, I could start to negotiate, but her offer was totally unacceptable.