told Boon to get off the minibus because you didn’t want him playing with a white girl.’
‘Sergeant, that is totally unfair!’ Sheila protested behind me.
Ken went rigid, his fists balled, and his eyes screwed tightly shut, and I realized that I had made a bad misjudgement. This man was seriously outraged. I had seen it before, fury on the way to manifestation, and I prepared myself for an onslaught. But the moment passed. He opened his mouth; there was a slight gurgle before he spoke. ‘I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. I want you out of my house now. And I am going to report you for making that disgraceful accusation.’
I smiled at him, and shrugged just flippantly enough so that he couldn’t take it for an apology. Okay, I may have been wrong with the racist slant, but, in my book, the guy was still a liar. ‘Mrs McGuire?’ I turned to Zoë, pulling out my mobile phone. ‘What’s your husband’s work number?’
She gave me a puzzled scowl, but called out the number. I watched Ken as I tapped the digits in. He tensed when he realized my intention. I nodded slightly, the gesture just for him, thanking him for sharing his discomfort with me.
Sheila had seen it. ‘What do you want to talk to Gordon about?’ she asked, questioning Ken with her eyes.
‘I assume that he wants him to verify something,’ Ken told her.
I smiled happily at them both as my call was answered. ‘Good morning, Payne, Dyke and Thomas.’ The receptionist’s voice was chirpy.
‘Gordon McGuire, please.’
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Detective Sergeant Capaldi.’
‘Please hold, I’ll see if he’s available.’
Ken smiled at me. It was the wrong sort of smile. Suddenly he wasn’t nervous any more. I wheeled round. Zoë was holding her mobile phone.
Texting is silent.
‘Sergeant Capaldi?’ the receptionist came back on the line. ‘I’m afraid that Mr McGuire is in a meeting, but if you would like to leave a number he’ll call you back.’
‘Thank you very much, I’ll try again later.’ I cut the connection.
‘If there is some misunderstanding with our statement, Sergeant, I’ll get the others together and we can get in touch with Inspector Jones to rectify it,’ Ken offered helpfully, not a trace of malice or recrimination in the bastard’s understanding expression.
Zoë hunched her shoulder at me in lazy apology. For being part of a conspiracy? Or for just providing unconditional protection?
The bastards were playing a game with me. Ken McGuire had changed their story on the spur of the moment. Because he could. He had that power. He just had to call round the group with the amended version. The revised consensus became the new truth.
Where was Magda?
Where was Boon Paterson?
Did they connect?
Slamming Ken McGuire’s composure had been gratifying, but self-indulgent. Now I was going to pay for it. Because he was going to use his influence to get Inspector Morgan to cripple me. I was going to have to do something fast. To either find something concrete I could take to Jack Galbraith to get the investigation sanctioned, or to convince myself that I had been pursuing phantoms. What I didn’t have was time.
Trevor Vaughan was their soft spot. I needed to brace him hard. But they knew that he was their weakness; the defensive block would be in place. I had to try to persuade them that it was no longer required.
I found the Evans family builders team at work on a loft conversion in Dinas. Three men crammed into the cab of a white Ford Transit van drinking tea from thermos flasks. They stared at me as I approached. Paul in the passenger’s seat, with a skinny guy wedged between him and the driver, who shared the family likeness, older, but a little more hair, and marginally less bulk.
The driver got out of the van. I held up my warrant card and introduced myself pleasantly.
‘I know who you are. What do you want?’ he asked truculently.
‘I want to speak to Paul,’ I said, nodding towards the van.
‘I’m his father. He’s got nothing to say to you.’
‘It’s important.’
‘You’re wasting our time.’
‘I’m trying to help Paul.’
He shook his head. ‘Paul’s done nothing to need your help. So why don’t you just piss off now and leave us alone.’
‘I disagree.’ I took his sleeve between my fingers. The move surprised him, but he let me lead him away from the van. I lowered my voice. ‘It’s psychology, Mr Evans. Perception. It’s unfair, but it’s the way the world rolls.’
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