There were only two people who had cleaned up the Jones file and left it sitting on a clean part of the desk.
Corinne, Felicity, or both. There were two distinct types of handwriting on various pages of notes that had been added to those he’d made.
As for the other files, some were still on the desk, but the rest were in the filing cabinet, some looking as though they’d been thrown there, an indication either or both either left in a hurry or lost interest.
Stop analysing, Harry told himself.
Of course, there was no doubt both of them had a tidy streak in them and had rearranged the file in a different order than he had left it. That, he guessed, had more to do with the fact it had probably been scattered amongst the other paper still on the floor, and on first examination, he considered the file had been re-assembled in much the same methodical way in which Corinne’s mind worked. He also recognised her handwriting. It was, he had to admit, more organised, and importantly, more intuitive than he had ever been.
So much for that run through he was going to make, now his father was coming.
It was a moot point whether he’d clean the office up properly before his father arrived. His father was the one person Harry knew who would look very disdainfully at the office, and more likely than not to blame him for the mess rather than the true culprits.
Somehow his father always managed to turn an argument around and dump the blame on his son. Perhaps he should not have tried to strike out on his own, and, in his father’s eyes, fail. And that in itself was an interesting question. When the going got tough, did Harry get going, or stall?
Would he be any further with the Jones case if he had not been attacked? It seemed from what Corinne said after her meeting with Sykes, that even the detective was no further advanced made him think that the case, or cases, were stalling.
Had Sykes interviewed Angela?
It was becoming clear that Sykes needed to interview her as soon as possible.
It had been a mistake on her part to come to pick him up from the hospital, and a worse mistake to take him to her place. Sick or not, it seemed she might not be so interested in his welfare, but in where he was in terms of his investigation.
Was it a case of keeping the enemy closer?
Surely now, after their discussion this morning, she had given him a reason to suspect her of more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be interesting to see if she was still available at the end of the day.
Then, on the other hand, Corinne was right that he should start talking to Sykes, and even more so now that he had more information. For one thing, Sykes needed to know that Angela was in the building the same time as he was, and she had seen the body.
The thing was, Sykes had not taken his claims that he’s actually seen Al’s body seriously, and, for Sykes point of view, for good reason. There was no evidence there had been a body. So, what should Harry infer from that?
There was one explanation; Al was trying to hamper Harry’s investigation, which would be very easy, if Harry couldn’t find him. And if Harry spun the tale of the disappearing body, then that would confound the police investigation too.
It had certainly worked.
And Angela was his cohort in whatever game he was playing, feeding him information when it suited her, and only where it suited whatever game she was playing.
But, given the number of deaths to the various players who could have been suspects, and were now dead, it seemed to me that she would be joining that list sooner rather than later. Especially if she was aiding and abetting Al, which, now, given his last discussion with her, Harry thought was a distinct possibility.
But it was the one line written on the last page by Corinne, “Al is still alive,” that made him sit up and take notice. She, too, thought it was possible, and all she had read was the file. How come he hadn’t seen it written between the lines as she had?
There was only one reason, and he wasn’t going there. Not right then.
An impatient rapping on the outside door interrupted that thought.
Harry put the file away, stacking several others on top of it, and went out to the front door.
No mistaking the figure outlined through the window.
© Charles Heath 2016
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