Honeytrap: Part 3 (4 page)

It wasn’t overly busy in Wilder’s but there were enough customers for the place to have a steady hum of conversation and a pleasant relaxed atmosphere. Bearing in mind that it was early evening on a Monday, the business seemed to be holding its own in the somewhat shaky economic climate. Jess quickly scanned the room before making a beeline for Guy Wilder, who was standing chatting to the two girls working behind the bar.

As she approached, she was struck by how good-looking he was – she’d been too preoccupied on Saturday to take much notice – and her eyes grazed over the fine sculpted features and smooth fair hair. He was dressed in a dark, well-cut suit, a white shirt and pale blue tie. There was something about him that was almost magnetic; he had a kind of pull, an aura that would draw any red-blooded woman’s gaze.

But that wasn’t why she was here. She had to stay focused.

Guy turned and smiled as she drew alongside him. ‘Still the same answer, I’m afraid,’ he said.

Jess frowned, confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Aren’t you here about the lost phone? I told Harry Lind it hadn’t shown up.’

‘Ah, no, thanks, but it wasn’t about that.’

‘So how can I help?’

Jess lowered her voice, not wanting the two girls to hear the conversation. ‘It’s to do with Saturday, with what happened at the reception. I was wondering if I could pick your brains.’

‘What’s left of them,’ he said. ‘Would you like a drink?’

Jess shook her head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. This won’t take long.’

‘Well, let’s sit down anyway.’ He touched her lightly on the elbow and led her to a table near the back, away from the other customers.

‘I owe you an apology,’ Jess said as they slid into a booth with plush red seats. Although she didn’t actually believe that she’d done anything wrong, it seemed smart to do a little grovelling. ‘We shouldn’t have been in your yard.’

‘Don’t worry about it. These evenings can be stressful; I probably overreacted. So did you catch up with your friend?’

‘Not exactly.’

Guy placed his elbows on the table and arched his pale eyebrows. ‘That sounds worrying.’

Jess, aware that she wasn’t supposed to be shouting about Sylvie being missing, attempted a casual shrug. ‘I think there must have been a misunderstanding, crossed wires and all that, and with her losing her phone …’

‘You’re concerned about her.’

‘A bit,’ she admitted. ‘I’m just trying to track her down, put my mind at rest, you know?’

‘I understand.’

‘And I get it about client confidentiality and the rest, but if I could just check a few things out with you – I promise I’ll be discreet.’

‘You make me sound like a doctor or a priest.’ This notion seemed to amuse him and he gave a light laugh, opening his mouth to reveal a row of perfect white teeth. ‘If I can help you, I will. But I’m not sure I can tell you any more than I did on Saturday.’

Jess nodded. ‘You mentioned that the staff saw her talking to a man at the bar?’ She got out her mobile, found the photo she had taken earlier and passed him the phone. ‘His name’s Joshua Keynes. Do you know him at all?’

‘The name’s not familiar.’ Guy studied the image for a moment and then raised a finger and wagged it in the air. ‘Ah, yes, I do remember him. Bit of a dick, as it happens. He asked me if there was anywhere safe to park round here. I got the impression he thought the East End was full of thieves.’

Jess, who hadn’t expected this, pulled in a breath and tried to keep her voice steady. ‘He had a car? Are you sure?’

‘Positive. I told him to park at the Fox – at his own risk, naturally.’

‘Did you see what he was driving?’

‘Sorry. It was busy and I wasn’t paying much attention. I remember him, though. Yes, it was definitely him.’

Jess took back the phone and slipped it into her pocket. She didn’t say anything for a minute; her thoughts were spinning as she tried to make sense of it all: if Keynes was driving, he could easily have followed Sylvie, abducted her from outside the Fox and forced her to make the phone call. So what did he do with the car? Parked it at the flats, perhaps, until he got the chance to give it a good clean, to scrub away any evidence of Sylvie having been in it, before hailing a black cab to take him home. And he didn’t use the Porsche; that had definitely been parked up on the drive at Hampstead. She would have to check if he owned another motor. Or could he have borrowed Sarah’s?

Guy Wilder leaned back and stared at her. ‘You want to tell me what’s really going on?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I mean, nothing more than what I’ve already told you.’

‘If this girl is missing, why haven’t you gone to the law?’

‘We have. Kind of. They’ve been told there might be something wrong but there’s no real evidence. And she called after she left here so …’

‘So no one believes she’s in trouble?’

‘Pretty much,’ Jess agreed. ‘And maybe there isn’t anything to worry about, but something just doesn’t feel right.’

‘Sometimes you’ve got to go with your gut.’

Jess gave him a grateful smile. It made a change to talk to someone who actually understood where she was coming from. Harry, she knew, didn’t really believe that Sylvie was in any kind of danger. ‘Even if you could be wrong?’

‘Especially then.’

‘Well, thanks for your time,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘And the information. I won’t keep you any longer.’

‘I hope you find her.’

It was only as she was walking out of the door that she wondered if Guy Wilder had been a bit too helpful, a bit too charming. She was not entirely sure if she could trust him; sometimes good looks could put you off your guard. But she had enough to worry about without adding that to the list.

Harry had spent the afternoon following Brett Rush around, a tedious exercise from which he had learned very little. The boy had finished college at four-thirty, gone to the library for an hour, drunk a pint in the college bar and then caught the bus home. The rather shabby house in Shoreditch – not far from Sylvie’s flat – was a large Victorian semi that had been converted into eight bedsits. His name was on one of the bells for the top floor.

If Brett was guilty of abduction, or worse, then he was a cool customer. There was nothing about him to suggest even a hint of anxiety. Harry, who didn’t relish the thought of continuing surveillance for the next few days, decided that the easiest thing was just to confront him. You could learn a lot about a suspect from how he responded and his body language.

At seven o’clock, Harry walked up the short path and rang the bell. From inside he heard the heavy sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Brett Rush opened the door and stared at him. ‘Yeah?’

‘My name’s Harry Lind,’ Harry said, proffering a card. ‘I’m a private detective. I’d like to talk to you about Sylvie Durand.’

Brett took the card and studied it for a moment. He looked up and said, ‘What’s going on? You’re the second person today who’s been asking about her.’

‘Would you mind if I came inside?’

Brett thought about it, frowned and then shrugged. ‘If you want, but I don’t know any more than I told the woman.’

Harry followed him up the two flights of stairs in silence. The house had a musty smell, as if the common parts hadn’t been cleaned in years. Brett’s room was at the front and was neater than he’d expected. Not that you could afford to be untidy in a place this size. His gaze quickly took in the sofa bed – folded now for seating purposes – the small table with a lamp and a laptop, the worn patterned carpet and a shelf with a row of business books, some science fiction novels and a heap of DVDs. There was a counter in the far corner with a tiny oven and two electric rings.

‘So what’s going on?’ Brett asked. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is that we’re having trouble contacting Sylvie.’ Harry sat down on the blue sofa, making it clear that he wasn’t leaving in a hurry. ‘Maybe you could help us out.’

‘I don’t know why everyone’s asking me,’ Brett replied peevishly. ‘Why should I know where she is? We’re not together any more.’

Harry gave him a thin smile. ‘But you still keep tabs on her.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that you like to know what she’s doing, where she is. Like on Saturday night for example.’

‘That was just a coincidence.’

‘Sure it was. So if I check the guest list your name will be on it, right?’

Brett, who was still standing up, pushed a hand through his hair and glared down at Harry. ‘Whatever.’

‘I take it you weren’t too happy about her choice of job.’

‘It’s none of my business. Why should I care?’

‘You gave the impression of being angry – this morning, when my colleague was talking to you.’

Brett looked like he was going to deny it, but then gave another of his careless shrugs. He folded his arms defensively across his chest. ‘Yeah, well, you’d be pissed off if your girlfriend spent half her evenings chatting up other men.’

‘Even though it’s only a job? Even though she’s not actually your girlfriend now?’

‘I don’t know anything, okay? So whatever you’re getting at, you can forget it.’

‘You probably know more than you think.’

Brett’s face tightened, a frown appearing on his forehead. ‘You’ve lost me, mate. I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.’

‘Come on. We both know what you did on Saturday.’ Harry left a short pause before adding softly, ‘Didn’t you think there’d be consequences when you told the target what Sylvie was up to, when you told him about the honeytrap?’

‘I didn’t do that.’

‘You said you did.’

Brett wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. He looked away, staring at a poster of New York that was tacked to the wall. ‘Yeah, well, I was just sounding off. I was angry, wasn’t I? Fucked off. She was all over that guy like a rash. But I wouldn’t do that to her. I might have thought about it, but I’d never actually … I wouldn’t.’

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed him. The boy seemed the resentful type, the sort who’d hold on to grudges. ‘The trouble is, we can’t contact her. No one has seen her since Saturday and, as you’re aware, she didn’t turn up at college today.’

Brett gave a snort, his gaze finally returning to Harry. ‘So why don’t you ask
him
, the douchebag she left with?’

Harry started. ‘Who? Who do you mean?’

‘
Him
. The shit she was chatting up at the bar. Why do you think I was so pissed off? All those times she told me that it was strictly business, that she only ever gave them her phone number, that nothing else ever happened.’ Brett’s mouth twisted with anger and disgust. ‘I always knew the cow was lying.’

‘You actually saw them leave together?’

‘Yeah, they were standing talking in the corridor near the bogs. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but a couple of minutes later they went out through the fire exit.’

Harry dug into his inside jacket pocket and took out the head-and-shoulders photograph of Joshua Keynes that Sarah Thorne had provided when she’d originally booked the honeytrap. He stood up and passed the photo to Brett. ‘Is this the guy?’

‘Yeah, that’s him.’

‘Did you follow them?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

Brett thrust the photo back into his hand. ‘Why would I bother?’

‘To find out where they were going, what they were doing.’

‘That was obvious.’

Harry gave him a hard look. He didn’t want to believe that Sylvie had broken all the rules, behaved so recklessly. It didn’t sound like the girl he knew. ‘Maybe they were just leaving at the same time.’

‘By the back door? No, they didn’t want to be seen. And you don’t know what she’s like. All she’s interested in is money. It was obvious the guy was loaded, the way he was flashing the cash, giving it large. She thought she was on to a good thing; that’s why she left with him.’

‘Are you sure she went voluntarily?’

‘What do you think? It was a crowded bar. If she hadn’t wanted to go, he couldn’t have made her. Anyway, she was all smiles, mate, she was all over him.’ Brett pulled a face, but then his expression suddenly changed. ‘Shit, you think that guy’s done something to her, don’t you?’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘We’re just trying to trace her movements.’

‘That’s crap. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t reckon she was in bother.’

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s just procedure,’ he said as if he was still a cop. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. She’ll probably turn up tomorrow.’ He tucked the photo back into his pocket and nodded at Brett. ‘Thanks for your help.’

Brett opened his mouth as though about to protest, but then quickly closed it again as if he suspected – quite rightly – that the more he said, the bigger hole he could be digging for himself.

Back in the car, Harry checked his phone and saw that he had two missed calls and a voicemail message from Jess.

‘I’ve got news,’ she said as soon as she picked up. ‘Keynes
was
driving on Saturday night. He asked Guy Wilder where he could park.’

‘And he left the bar with Sylvie.’

‘What? You’re kidding!’

‘According to Brett. He says he saw them leave together through the fire exit.’

‘But she wouldn’t have done that, not unless Keynes made her.’

‘Brett reckons there wasn’t any force. He also claims he didn’t tell Keynes about the honeytrap.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘I don’t know, but you’d have to be a complete bastard – or a psychopath – to stand back and watch while your ex-girlfriend swans off with a man who you’ve just told is the target of a set-up.’

‘Or young and stupid … and wanting revenge. Either way, it’s not looking good. I think we should call the police again, don’t you?’

‘Where are you at the moment?’

‘Home,’ she said. ‘I just came to grab something to eat. I was going to go back to Swiss Cottage.’

‘Huh?’

‘Swiss Cottage. Didn’t you listen to my message?’

‘No, not yet. Look, why don’t we meet up at the office in an hour and we’ll go through everything and decide what to do next.’

Jess breathed a soft sigh down the line. ‘Okay, but I don’t think we should hang about. We’ve got to move on this before it’s too late. If anything happens to Sylvie—’