She’d have dismissed the whole idea, only Deacon’s reaction made it impossible. Now she had to open the clattery cupboard and let the skeletons out because the alternative was to have him shoulder the door in.
This list was a record of the things that had gone awry since Looking For Something? opened for business. The jobs she’d got wrong, or taken when she shouldn’t have done, or gone on with after she should have stopped. The ones where people got hurt.
She looked at the first name on it: Trevor Parker, who lost a good job because of information Brodie provided to his employers. The information was correct: Parker was diverting company funds into another firm’s account. But after he was sacked it emerged the beneficiary was a key supplier: when it folded due to cash-flow problems, Parker’s successor had to spend even more money finding a new source of parts. The arrangement was unauthorised and
improper, but Parker had been acting in the best interests of his company. It was a gamble, and he should have come clean instead of trying to lie his way out of trouble, but perhaps he had a right to feel aggrieved that it had cost him his job.
Was that reason enough to want to hurt her? To destroy her property, endanger her life? For some people – for some people Brodie had known – perhaps it was. If Trevor Parker had been the man she initially believed, it might have been enough for him. But he wasn’t that man. He was a tolerably respectable businessman, and if he sailed close to the ethical wind at times, and took risks at times, and sometimes took short-cuts, he knew and ultimately respected the boundaries of legality. If he’d had a case he might have dropped his lawyers on her from a great height, but not half a brick.
Then what about the second name? David Ibbotsen. Ah, yes. Ibbotsen just might have resorted to physical attacks on her. His grudge was personal, and if he decided to repay it a brick off a bridge was just the sort of way he’d choose. But that was the problem with Ibbotsen as a suspect: he was too much of a coward to risk being caught and punished. Cowardice had got him into the difficulties Brodie had caught him cheating his way out of. On Saturday nights in a Rio bar he might dream – he might even talk – of killing her for wrecking his plans. But the lead would go out of his pencil long before he caught a plane home. Not so much from fear of her, or even Deacon, but because Dimmock was where his father lived, and what scared David Ibbotsen more than anything else was the old pirate who fathered him.
And third on the list was … actually, even less credible. This was getting her nowhere. She wasn’t going to confront any of these men. The ones who had cause to resent
her were too decent to drop bricks on her, the ones who’d like to were too scared. She’d annoyed a lot of people in her time, but this was too much: a malice born of fury and frustration. Whoever was doing it couldn’t find any other way to relieve his feelings, and she hadn’t caused that kind of hurt, either deliberately or unintentionally, to any of the men on her list.
Except that Deacon was saying the list wasn’t long enough. And while it might be ridiculous, she knew what he meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. She knew he was a man who bore grudges himself. He was full of flaws, she just liked him anyway. It had seemed in recent months that the enmity the detective bore the other man she cared for had begun to fade. But no; it was still there to be resurrected when he had a use for it. It wasn’t even Daniel he was angry with this time, it was her. Because when he’d said Jump she hadn’t asked, How high?
It was too laughable to be offensive. Daniel didn’t hurt people. Not her, not anyone; not ever. Daniel took punishment himself rather than see other people hurt. With Gandhi dead, no one on the planet made a less credible thug.
Which was perhaps as well, thought Brodie slowly,
This list was a record of the things that had gone awry since Looking For Something? opened for business. The jobs she’d got wrong, or taken when she shouldn’t have done, or gone on with after she should have stopped. The ones where people got hurt.
She looked at the first name on it: Trevor Parker, who lost a good job because of information Brodie provided to his employers. The information was correct: Parker was diverting company funds into another firm’s account. But after he was sacked it emerged the beneficiary was a key supplier: when it folded due to cash-flow problems, Parker’s successor had to spend even more money finding a new source of parts. The arrangement was unauthorised and
improper, but Parker had been acting in the best interests of his company. It was a gamble, and he should have come clean instead of trying to lie his way out of trouble, but perhaps he had a right to feel aggrieved that it had cost him his job.
Was that reason enough to want to hurt her? To destroy her property, endanger her life? For some people – for some people Brodie had known – perhaps it was. If Trevor Parker had been the man she initially believed, it might have been enough for him. But he wasn’t that man. He was a tolerably respectable businessman, and if he sailed close to the ethical wind at times, and took risks at times, and sometimes took short-cuts, he knew and ultimately respected the boundaries of legality. If he’d had a case he might have dropped his lawyers on her from a great height, but not half a brick.
Then what about the second name? David Ibbotsen. Ah, yes. Ibbotsen just might have resorted to physical attacks on her. His grudge was personal, and if he decided to repay it a brick off a bridge was just the sort of way he’d choose. But that was the problem with Ibbotsen as a suspect: he was too much of a coward to risk being caught and punished. Cowardice had got him into the difficulties Brodie had caught him cheating his way out of. On Saturday nights in a Rio bar he might dream – he might even talk – of killing her for wrecking his plans. But the lead would go out of his pencil long before he caught a plane home. Not so much from fear of her, or even Deacon, but because Dimmock was where his father lived, and what scared David Ibbotsen more than anything else was the old pirate who fathered him.
And third on the list was … actually, even less credible. This was getting her nowhere. She wasn’t going to confront any of these men. The ones who had cause to resent
her were too decent to drop bricks on her, the ones who’d like to were too scared. She’d annoyed a lot of people in her time, but this was too much: a malice born of fury and frustration. Whoever was doing it couldn’t find any other way to relieve his feelings, and she hadn’t caused that kind of hurt, either deliberately or unintentionally, to any of the men on her list.
Except that Deacon was saying the list wasn’t long enough. And while it might be ridiculous, she knew what he meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. She knew he was a man who bore grudges himself. He was full of flaws, she just liked him anyway. It had seemed in recent months that the enmity the detective bore the other man she cared for had begun to fade. But no; it was still there to be resurrected when he had a use for it. It wasn’t even Daniel he was angry with this time, it was her. Because when he’d said Jump she hadn’t asked, How high?
It was too laughable to be offensive. Daniel didn’t hurt people. Not her, not anyone; not ever. Daniel took punishment himself rather than see other people hurt. With Gandhi dead, no one on the planet made a less credible thug.
Which was perhaps as well, thought Brodie slowly,
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