Time to Pay by Lyndon Stacey

they said you were looking for the drivers of a white van and a red hatchback . . .’
    â€˜Only to eliminate them from the investigation. We made a list of vehicles that peopleremembered seeing in the lay-by on the main road, and so far those are the only two we haven’t traced, but to be honest, if the owners don’t choose to come forward, there’s not much we can do. It won’t necessarily be important.’
    â€˜So, do you think this is related?’ Gideon waved a hand towards the house.
    Rockley pursed his lips. ‘Can’t say for sure, at this point, but the possibility can’t be ignored. Unfortunately this kind of burglary is all too common, as you probably know, targeting a house when the family are at a funeral. The Danielses did the right thing in leaving someone to keep an eye on the house but it seems, in this case, that the thieves were prepared for that.’
    â€˜So, does that make a connection more likely?’
    Rockley shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll know more in a day or two.’

3
    GIDEON LEFT PUDDLESTONE Farm as the rest of the family and staff began to return from the reception. It was late afternoon, and he called Giles on his mobile to reassure him that he hadn’t driven the Merc into a ditch – or anything else, for that matter.
    â€˜If you’re not doing anything, why don’t you come for supper?’ Giles was apparently none the worse for wear, which didn’t surprise Gideon. He seemed to have been born with an astoundingly hard head where alcohol was concerned, and had been notorious at university for being able to drink anyone under the table.
    â€˜I’d say yes but I’m not sure whether Eve’s coming over.’
    â€˜If she is, bring her along. I was going to show you the plans for the launch, and with her background she might have some useful suggestions.’
    Eve was very much her own woman, and Gideon hesitated to make plans on her behalf. He’d have liked to ask whether Lloyd would be there, but good manners forbade it.
    â€˜I’ll see, but I’ll get the Merc back to you, whatever.’
    â€˜OK, well let me know.’
    When Gideon finally turned between the stone gateposts at the end of the drive to Graylings Priory, the first thing he saw, parked outside the Gatehouse, was Eve Kirkpatrick’s cream-coloured Aston Martin. He stopped the Mercedes behind it, shaking his head in mild exasperation at the haphazard way she had parked. Never one to slot into one space if there were two available, she had left the rear end of her expensive sports car jutting some eighteen inches out into the lane, just asking to be hit by a careless driver. Admittedly, it was a private drive, but Gideon knew she’d have parked the same way anywhere. His own Land Rover was parked on the short drive in front of the shed-cum-garage.
    The lights were on in the Gatehouse, one burning in almost every room, as far as Gideon could see, and smoke curled from the central chimney pot.
    â€˜Hi,’ he called, opening the heavy oak front door.
    â€˜Hiyah.’ The response came from the kitchen, at the back of the house, and Eve came through to the hall, tall and stately, with a glass of red wine in her hand. Born of an English father and Jamaican mother, she was six feet tall and had olive skin and wavy black hair that, worn loose, reached the small of her back. More striking than beautiful, she was forty-two, the widow of a property developer, and had been left, by her own admission, quite disgustinglywell off. She worked from choice rather than need, and the small art gallery she ran had become one of the most prestigious on the south coast.
    â€˜This isn’t half bad,’ she said, holding the glass up. ‘Where did you get it?’
    â€˜Giles,’ Gideon said, putting a hand down to greet Zebedee who came, wagging delightedly, to meet him.
    â€˜You’ve been a long time.