there.’ Harry smiled widely. The bigger the beam, the better it transmitted to your voice. ‘I was in with you a couple of nights ago and I just wanted to say how helpful the girl behind the counter was. Really, she went to a lot of trouble and recommended a great movie.’
There was a pause while the teenager seemed to grope for a response. Satisfied customers probably weren’t covered in the training manual.
‘Right,’ he said eventually. ‘Well, glad we could help.’
Harry kept the smile going. ‘I just wondered, could I get her name so I can thank her, maybe write a nice letter to the manager?’
‘Uh, well, sure. But we’ve got two girls working here. What did she look like?’
Harry scrambled for something generic. ‘Oh, darkish hair, I think. Medium height. Slim.’
‘Slim?’ He sounded surprised, and Harry backpedalled fast.
‘Well, slim-ish.’ She laughed. ‘Anyone under fourteen stone looks slim to me.’
‘It might have been Lara.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Was she sort of, like, pale, dressed all in black in a big tent thing?’
Harry pictured an overweight, teenage Goth. Poor Lara. ‘Yes, that sounds like her. Could you tell me your store manager’s name so I can drop him a note?’
‘Sure, it’s Greg Chaney, you can send it here to the store.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And my name’s Steve.’
‘Thanks, Steve, you’ve been a great help. I’ll be sure to mention you too.’ She hung up and scribbled the names on her pad, awarding herself a mental thumbs-up. Persuading people to part with information always made her day.
Next, she called the MaxVision store near Garvin Oliver’s home.
‘MaxVision Rentals, Jilly speaking.’ Another teenager, but chirpier this time.
‘Hi, Jilly, this is Lara from MaxVision in Malahide. Listen, are you guys having trouble with your computers today? Our stupid system has been down for the last two hours.’
‘Really? No, ours is fine. Did you try switching it off and on again?’
Harry snorted. ‘I suggested that, but who listens to me? Steve here reckons he’s some kind of computer genius, says he’s on the case. You know what guys are like.’
Jilly sniggered. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Anyway, I have a customer of yours here who wants to rent The Mona Lisa but she doesn’t have her card with her. Could you verify her information for me? Greg Chaney, our store manager, said it’d be okay to ask.’
‘Sure, that’s no problem. Greg calls us all the time. What’s her name?’
‘It’s Margot Cantwell, 90 Seapoint Avenue.’
‘Hang on.’
Harry crossed her fingers, trying to ward off the possibility that Ms Cantwell was a movie-phobe.
Jilly came back on the line. ‘Yep, she’s here. Do you want the account number?’
Harry let out a long breath. ‘Yes, please.’
She jotted down the number as Jilly called it out. She didn’t need it, but information was like currency: too valuable to be discarded. Then she closed her eyes, keeping her tone casual.
‘Is there a phone number next to that?’
‘Yeah, it’s 2834477.’
Harry’s eyes flared open. Bingo. She scribbled the number down. She had what she needed, but she played things out.
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘No late returns due, I hope?’
‘No.’
‘Or outstanding fines?’
‘No, she’s all clear.’
‘Great. I’ll set her up manually with an account here and enter it into the system when it’s back. I’m sure Whiz Kid Steve here will have us up and running in no time.’
They shared another snigger, then Harry thanked her and hung up. She stared at the phone number she’d just acquired. Some people made a living from scoring information they weren’t supposed to have. In the trade, they were known as information brokers. The key was to push for just a small piece at a time. Then you traded each nugget for something bigger at every stage of the scam. Harry’s biggest trade-up was yet to come. She dialled Margot Cantwell’s number.
‘Yes?’
The woman’s tone was snippy, and Harry pictured her with a ‘what-is-it-now’ look on her face. She beamed into the phone.
‘Hi, this is Catalina from Kay’s Florist in Blackrock. Is that Margot Cantwell?’
‘Yes.’ If she’d added What’s it to you? Harry wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘Great,’ Harry said. ‘I called to your house just now to deliver a bouquet of flowers, but there was no one home. Will you be there if I call again in half an hour?’
‘I’ve been here all day, I didn’t hear anyone. Who’re they from?’
‘Actually, there’s no card.’
‘I don’t want them. Never trust anyone who sends you flowers, that’s what I say.’
‘They’re really beautiful.’ Absurd to feel defensive about her imaginary flowers, but who got surly at an unexpected bouquet?
Margot snorted. ‘Flowers just give a person something to hide behind, if you ask me. Let the roses say it all so you don’t have to commit yourself in words. Saves the trouble of lying.’
Harry blinked. Whatever the world had done to Margot, she was having a hard time letting it go. Still, for all her crankiness, she seemed willing to stay on the line. Harry steered the conversation towards the Olivers.
‘I didn’t like to leave the bouquet next door,’ she said. ‘Not with all those policemen around. What happened in there?’
‘They won’t tell me. I heard some kind of commotion, then this young woman with wild dark hair came rushing out of the house. Looked odd to me, so I called the guards.’
Harry smoothed a hand over her tangled curls. ‘Isn’t that the Olivers’ house? I’m sure I’ve delivered flowers there.’
Margot sniffed. ‘You probably have. That’d be his style all right.’
‘Poor Mrs Oliver. We did the flowers for her funeral. It was a car accident, wasn’t it?’
‘So they said. The police were around a lot that time, too.’
‘I never met her husband.’ Harry crossed her fingers. ‘But I did meet her sister
