Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective Read online

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” It seemed an inadequate comment.

  “That’s all right. It seems a long time ago, now. It’s a part of my life I’ve tried to forget, except for these two weeks each year.”

  “What do you mean?” Now he had her interested.

  “I suppose you’ll think it strange.” He continued gazing out of the window at the boats which swayed and bobbed restlessly on the wavelets. “I’ve sort of turned my holiday into an annual pilgrimage. I come back and visit the places we used to know and enjoy doing the things we used to do.”

  “You used to spend your holidays together here?”

  He turned to look at her. “We used to live here. She loved it. She came from London, and she thought it was so much fun to be able to walk beside the sea, or go up on the moor, or take a boat up the Dart to Totnes. I used to enjoy watching the fun she got from it all.”

  “She died very young?” Susannah felt the question being dragged out of her, even though she knew it was an intrusion.

  “Yes.” His eyes seemed to beg her to ask no more but she felt compelled to continue.

  “What was it? Cancer?”

  “No.” He looked down at the table and said very carefully. “It was suicide.”

  She was startled, not sure that she had heard. “Suicide? But you said she was so happy.”

  “She was - most of the time. But she had a tough life when she was young. She was very easily upset by other people’s attitudes.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to talk any more about her death. It’s not that side of her which I want to remember.” He smiled bleakly and made a little bow. “Thank you for letting me share your table.”

  He turned and made blindly for the door, pulled it open and walked out. He crossed the pavement and the road without looking to right or left. Susannah’s heart was in her mouth in case he should walk under a passing car, but he reached the other side safely. He leaned against the rail, looking down into the harbour.

  She felt awful. It was her prying questions which had upset him and brought back the bitter memories of his much-loved wife’s unhappy death. She should have continued to be withdrawn and not allowed him to engage her in conversation.

  The young waitress came over to collect his cup and check the table. “Oh,” she said, “he’s forgotten to leave his money.” She looked across the road and Susannah could envisage her going out to trouble him for it.

  “Don’t worry. Put it on my bill.” She drained her cup. “I might as well pay now in any case.”

  When she had settled Susannah rose to her feet and pulled her cardigan around her shoulders. She went out and paused in the bright sun. He was still standing immobile against the rail, staring down at the restless water. She couldn’t resist crossing the road to his side.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said. “Please accept my apologies.”

  He turned to face her. For a second he appeared not to recognize her. Then the dark misery in his eyes faded and he gave a weak smile. “That’s all right. You’d think that I would have more sense than to let a casual question upset me after all these years. Most of the time I’m fine. It’s not very often I let it get through to me.”

  Susannah thought of how few real tragedies had afflicted her sheltered life. Even her divorce had been more of a relief than a pain. What would she have felt like if such a thing had happened to her? “You don’t have anyone you can share it with?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “All we had was each other.” He smiled to himself. “It’s not easy for a man to find someone to confess to.”

  Without conscious volition, Susannah realised they were walking along the promenade above the harbour. When they reached Haldon Pier they turned along it, strolling in the bright, fresh sun with the harbour on one side and the open sea on the other.

  “Where did you live in Torquay?” she asked.

  “We had a small house the other side of Brixham,” he explained. “It was nothing special, but Sandra liked it. We could walk along footpaths onto the cliffs above the sea and she said it felt as though we were on the edge of the world.”

  “And you sold up and moved away after she died?”

  He half turned to face her. “That’s right. In fact I always had trouble in finding well-paid work in the area. I was having to travel to Plymouth every day as it was. That may have been part of the problem.” He shrugged. “Anyway there seemed to be no point in staying here on my own.” He turned and smiled at her. “But I still like the area a lot. I feel as though I really only come alive when I return to it.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “I wouldn’t like to leave Torquay now. I have often regarded it as a prison. But I suppose no-one could ask for a nicer place to be shut up.”

  “You think of it as a prison?” He looked at her in surprise.

  She nodded, at the same time wondering why she was telling him so much, which she would never have revealed to her family or friends. “Strange, isn’t it? My husband would be horrified to hear me say it. I live in a beautiful house. I have no doubt that, if I told him I thought of it as a prison, he would buy somewhere else that I wanted - perhaps in London, or the South of France. But it wouldn’t be any different. Besides I couldn’t do that to him. It was the house where his parents lived in their retirement. It means a lot to him. The only trouble is,” she shook her head, “he is hardly ever here. He is too busy to retire himself.” She paused and looked out to sea. “And I suppose, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t know how to live with him now, if he was here all the time.”

  She was astonished at herself. This was the first time she had ever thought such a thing in so many words, and yet she had gabbled it out to a complete stranger - and a man at that. What was worse - she realised every word she had said was absolutely true. It was as though she was cutting herself off from love and companionship for the remainder of her life.

  “I don’t understand him.” He was standing close by her elbow. “I assume he has all the money he could want, isn’t that so?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “And here he is, married to one of the most beautiful women of his generation, and he doesn’t want to spend every available minute with you.”

  She looked at him sceptically but, as far as she could see, he was completely sincere. “He is not of my generation,” she said. “He is nearly twenty years older. He was already approaching sixty when we married. Perhaps that is the problem.”

  “I don’t think age is a problem, particularly when you have reached maturity.” He leaned on the wall beside her. “There is so much more to life than making money.”

  “Not to my husband.” Her smile hid the pain.

  He raised his head and looked out to sea, as though breathing in the fresh water-cooled air. “I assume he works in London during the week and comes back here at weekends.”

  “Normally every other weekend. He is too busy to travel all this way every week.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  “What about holidays?”

  “We usually have a couple of weeks away at some fashionable resort. If you’re a top businessman there’s always some important annual conference in a beautiful part of the world. The men spend the mornings in the conference-room and the afternoons on the golf course. The wives laze around the pool and gossip.” She lifted her head and said derisively, “I’m good at that.”

  He was astonished. “You mean you never go anywhere new and explore it together?”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t refuse if I asked him.” She gave a brittle little laugh. “He would never refuse me anything. But I know what would happen. He would have a pile of work with him which he would carry everywhere. He would open his briefcase as soon as we sat down. He would be on the phone for an hour or two every day. And within five days a crisis would have arisen back in London which would demand his immediate return. Of course I would be welcome to stay on or go back with him - whichever I chose. B
ut the holiday would have been finished either way.”

  “What a strange man,” he said. “He could have anything he wanted in the world. Yet all he does is work.”

  “That is your top businessman, for you. All he ever wants to do is work.” She shook her head.” I didn’t understand that when I married him.”

  She stepped back from the wall and they resumed their walk towards the end of the pier. For a while they were both silent. She was wondering why she had so exposed her thoughts to this man who she had known for less than half an hour. Was it just because she had upset him with her thoughtless questions about his wife? Or was it because of her suddenly recognized loneliness?

  “I’m sorry to have prattled on like that,” she said. “I hope you’ll forget it.”

  “I found it very interesting.” She saw that he was looking straight at her, observing her closely. “I feel as though I’ve seen into a corner of a world that I had never seen before. It’s easy for we everyday working types to envy the comfort and leisure of those who don’t need to work. I can see it’s not necessarily all fun.”

  At that moment he walked into a large concrete bollard. She actually heard the impact, it was so violent. He let out a grunt and began to hop around clutching his damaged right knee and cursing under his breath. She could tell he had seriously hurt himself but he was so suddenly incapacitated that Susannah found it rather amusing.

  “Come and sit down,” she said, trying not to laugh. She led him to a seat beside the wall.

  He sat with her and rubbed his damaged joint. “What a daft thing to do.” He chuckled painfully. “At least it testifies to my interest in your story.”

  She grinned at him. “I expect you’ve got the message that I’m a dangerous woman to tangle with.”

  “That’s right,” he quipped. “You probably ought to carry a government health warning?”

  It was the rueful look on his face which amused her the most. She couldn’t prevent herself from laughing out loud and he pulled on a look of injured innocence as she rocked with mirth.

  “Well. That’s great, isn’t it,” he complained. “I injure myself in the cause of listening to your problems, and this is all the sympathy I get.” He got to his feet and hobbled round, flexing his leg.

  “Oh dear,” laughed Susannah, “I’m sorry. It looks as though you’ve really hurt yourself. We’d better get you back to your hotel and you can rest it and rub in some liniment or something. Here.” She offered her shoulder. “Support yourself on me until we get back to the road. Where have you left your car?”

  “It’s back at the bed and breakfast in Paignton. It was such a nice morning that I decided to walk over.”

  He accepted her offer and looped his arm about her shoulders and they set off back along the pier. Susannah had to admit that she enjoyed the experience. She allowed herself to inhale the pleasant odour of a man. There were no added perfumes - just clean, well-washed maleness. And she could feel the hard, fit muscles of an active man - so different from the sagging overweight of the inactive Stephen. That thought made her wonder how she would be able to explain her actions to her husband if she ever needed to. And what would she do if they suddenly bumped into one of her friends? She shrugged mentally. Well, they would just have to accept that she was helping a fellow human in trouble, no matter that it was out of character for her.

  Neither of them spoke much as they struggled back to the promenade. He was concentrating on keeping moving. It was clear he was in quite a lot of pain.

  “Do you think you ought to go and see a doctor?” she asked. “You might have broken something.”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m sure it’s only bruised. I can move it and flex it, you see. I can even put my weight on it. It’s just painful when I walk.”

  “Nevertheless I think it needs some treatment.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I’ll have a bath back at my lodgings and rub some liniment on it, as you suggested.”

  “I’ll give you a lift home,” she decided. “When we get to the road, I’ll leave you by the wall and go to get my car.”

  “It’s all right. You really don’t need to worry. The buses go right past the end of the road.”

  But Susannah wouldn’t hear of it. She left him on a convenient seat and went to the car park. She was back within five minutes and helped him into the front passenger seat, fussing round him to make him feel comfortable. Strangely enough, she found she was enjoying herself. She even stopped at a chemist’s to get him some liniment on the way back to Paignton. His lodgings were in one of the small, cheap guest houses in a street which led back from the sea front into the town.

  He climbed out of the car and hobbled up the short path to the front door, effusive with thanks. Susannah shepherded him conscientiously.

  “I hope it soon recovers and doesn’t spoil your holiday,” she smiled.

  “I’m sure it will. Thank you very much.” He paused and looked at her. “Thank you, Susannah.”

  “I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out.

  “It’s Richard. Richard Harris.”

  “Well, Richard, goodbye. Have a nice holiday.”

  “I’ll try,” he said and winked at her. “Who knows - we may meet again.” Then he was gone through the front door.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was the first time Inspector Paulson had actually been in the big office on the top floor. Deputy Chief Constable “Lord Harry” Corbett was slumped in the plush leather executive swivel chair behind the huge desk. To the left of the desk a strikingly good-looking young woman was sitting. Her glossy dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple pony-tail. Her high cheek-bones were flushed with just a touch of pink. Her bright lips were curved into a hint of a smile. She was wearing a well-cut suit over a white linen shirt. One leg was crossed over the other, as she sipped her tea from a delicate china cup. To Paulson’s eyes she didn’t look at all the typical picture of a working police detective.

  Lord Harry rose ponderously to his feet as they entered. “Hello, Mark - come in. Nice to see you, Stafford.” He liked to perpetuate the myth that they were one big, happy family in the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary. “Come and meet Charlotte Faraday - your new colleague.”

  She rose elegantly to her feet and Paulson noticed she was a good inch taller than he was. But she wasn’t quite as slim and vulnerable as she had at first seemed. He received the impression that nobody was going to find her easy to push around.

  “My new colleague, sir?” asked Paulson, “or is this my new boss?”

  The sharp intake of breath from Lasham told him that comment hadn’t done his promotion prospects any good. He noticed a glint had appeared in Faraday’s eye. But Stafford felt he had to know exactly what their relative positions were going to be.

  “Well, of course Chief Inspector Faraday outranks you.” The DCC smiled mirthlessly. “But she’s only here on a temporary three months’ posting to deal with the Cynthia Adams case. She’s going to use her special computer skills to see if she can come up with something that we’ve missed. She will of course be in charge of that one.” Corbett knew how to lay down the law. “And you, Paulson, will give her every assistance that she needs in her investigations. That case is of absolute priority to the whole division.” His smile softened a little. “But elsewhere nothing will change. You’ll continue to be in charge of your own patch.”

  Paulson nodded, as was expected of him. But he wasn’t happy with the arrangement. He was clear-headed enough to know that this was a recipe for personal disaster. Faraday would have the right to order him around as she wished, to take his staff away from any other investigations which might be in progress, to undermine his authority in any way she chose. But it would do him no good to voice any of these doubts. He just had to grin and bear it for the next three months.

  He became aware that everybody was watching him. A correct gesture was expected. He stepped forward and shook her hand. “Welcome to South Devon,” he mumbled.


  “Thank you.” She smiled. It was nice smile, from sparkling blue eyes. It suggested she could be very pleasant to those she decided were on her side. Then Stafford realised she had seen the conflicting emotions which were crossing his face, and had understood them. Maybe she appreciated his problems. Maybe there was a chance she would try to prevent the next three months from being such a living hell as he had imagined.

  “It’s going to be vital that you two work closely together on this one,” said the DCC. “You have all the local knowledge, Stafford, plus a year of investigation on the Adams case under your belt. You are to give Charlotte everything she asks for in both manpower and information. That will give her a flying start.” He came round the desk to be close enough to drive his point home. “It is essential that we make rapid progress on this one. The holiday season is nearly on us again.”

  “Surely, sir, you aren’t taking any notice of that bloody journalist,” Lasham burst out intemperately.

  He received a withering glance from Corbett.

  “There’s no mention of any journalist in my briefing notes.” Charlotte Faraday’s voice had a hard edge as she looked up at the towering presence of the DCC.

  “It’s only come up in the last few days” Lord Harry explained. “As Mark suggests, there may be nothing in it. I haven’t even read the article myself. But, as I understand it, some local journalist has been researching through back copies of his paper and has come up with the theory that Cynthia Adams is the fifth in the series.”

  “The fifth in the series?” asked Faraday. “What does that mean?”

  “Every year,” interrupted Lasham, “for the last five years, some rich bitch has died in Torbay at about the same time of year. Our Cynthia was the fifth.”

  The DCC shook his head sorrowfully. “More than half the multi-millionaires on our patch live within a mile of each other just to the East of Torquay. This article has got them into a right panic, I can tell you. I’ve been having phone calls from them all week, demanding personal protection. We’ve instituted hourly car patrols around the neighbourhood. But you can’t protect every yard of an area of over a square mile with three main tourist routes running through it.”