Keep Her Close. M.J. Ford

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СКАЧАТЬ her to listen. If he’d gone already just to avoid them, that might make everything look a little clearer. Jo lifted her hand to bang again, when she heard footsteps from the other side of the door, then a bar mechanism being drawn.

      It opened to reveal a man in a pale grey suit, and open-necked white shirt, brogues on his feet. His hair was moulded into tight waves that came just to his collar, and his skin carried the bronze tones of a natural tan. He was clean-shaven and his startling blue eyes latched onto Jo’s.

      ‘You must be Detectives Masters and Pryce,’ he said. ‘I was in a meeting, but my secretary told me to expect you. Want to come up?’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Jo. First impressions were that he was cool, affable, and confident. Too suave, maybe? He wore a lightly spiced scent that shouted quality. Jo and Pryce followed him up the stairs and into the empty nightclub. It had undergone some major changes since Jo’s day, which was hardly surprising, and the layout was completely different to how she remembered. There were two bars and banquette seating. The dance floor remained in the same location, but looked less sticky. Maybe it was because it was illuminated by bright lights – it seemed a lot classier than she’d expected. There was another man behind the bar, holding an iPad and drinking a can of energy drink.

      ‘Can I get you something?’ asked Catskill. ‘Tea? Coffee?’ He waved at the optics. ‘Something stronger?’

      Jo shook her head. ‘We need to talk to you about Malin Sigurdsson.’

      He looked nonplussed. ‘Mally? Sure. She’s okay, right?’

      ‘Probably not,’ said Jo. She watched his face for any signs of guilt.

      Catskill looked at the other man. ‘Jav, we’re pretty much done. I’ll lock up if you want to go. Just forward the stocklist to my office.’

      The man nodded, closed the case of the tablet, and left.

      ‘This place yours, is it?’ asked Pryce.

      Ross sat down opposite them. ‘I have a stake,’ he said. ‘Been supplying it for a few years, and the chance came up to buy out one of the previous owners. It’s a bit of a dump, but it’s kind of a cultural icon in Oxford. Has something happened to Malin?’

      ‘We’re not sure,’ said Jo. ‘When did you last see her?’

      Catskill ran a hand through his locks. ‘Wait, do I need a lawyer?’ He was grinning as he said it.

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Jo. ‘Do you?’

      Catskill steepled his hands, elbows on knees, all seriousness. ‘I haven’t seen her for at least a week.’

      ‘Can you be more exact?’ said Pryce, making notes in his copybook.

      ‘Let me think.’ Catskill lifted his hands, fingertips on forehead almost like he was praying. ‘It would have been a couple of Fridays back. She came along to the opening night of a new cocktail place near the station. It’s called Quench.’

      ‘Anything since then?’ said Jo. ‘What about phone calls? Texts?’

      Catskill shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

      ‘But you’re her boyfriend?’ asked Pryce.

      Catskill smiled, a little coyly. ‘I wouldn’t say that. Malin’s a sweet girl, but we’re not that close.’

      ‘Your relationship is sexual, though?’ said Jo.

      Catskill nodded. ‘Er … it has been.’

      ‘How old are you?’ asked Jo.

      Catskill crossed his legs and leant back. ‘Is that relevant?’

      Jo didn’t reply. Let him sweat.

      ‘I’m forty-two,’ he said at last. ‘How old are you, Detective?’

      Jo would have guessed mid-thirties. ‘Quite an age-gap. Must’ve been gratifying to have a young woman like Malin on your arm.’

      Catskill looked unimpressed. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s happened?’

      ‘Soon,’ said Jo. ‘Can you remember where you were last night, between say, ten pm and this morning?’

      ‘I was in the office until about ten-thirty last night, then I drove home.’

      ‘Which is where?’ asked Pryce.

      ‘Goring,’ said Catskill.

      Jo was familiar with it. A small village by the Thames, and a good forty minutes away. Stockbroker country. Well-to-do families.

      ‘Strange place for a bachelor to live,’ said Jo.

      Catskill’s right hand moved towards his left, as if fiddling with an imaginary ring. The top of his chest, in the V of his open shirt, flushed.

      ‘You’re not a bachelor?’ said Jo.

      ‘Sorry,’ said Catskill. ‘I think I’ve told you everything I can.’

      He stood, but Jo remained seated. She was quite enjoying watching him squirm. ‘So is there anyone who can confirm what time you got home last night?’

      ‘My wife,’ said Catskill quietly. ‘No, wait – she was asleep. Maybe one of the neighbours would have seen me pull in?’ He looked faintly desperate. ‘Really, I don’t want her to be involved in all this. She’ll only worry. And the kids …’

      ‘I think you need to be straight with us,’ said Jo. ‘Let’s start with when you first met Malin …’

      * * *

      It had been two years ago, or thereabouts. Malin was looking for a job, which he’d found odd because he could tell from her clothing that she was well-off. He’d hooked her up working as a waitress at one of the college balls that year. Reports came back that she was a good worker, and soon she was a regular at more select bashes. She had a natural grace that let her fit into any sort of social milieu. When he found out later who her parents were, that made sense; step-dad a privately-educated English financier-then-MP, mum a Swedish socialite. She was beautiful, incredibly so, and he never thought she’d be interested in someone like him when she could have had any man she wanted. They first chatted properly after a party at Blenheim Palace. Some sheikh’s kid or other had hired out the grounds, so Catskill was there to ensure things went off without a hitch. Everyone was stressed, so they’d had a drink afterwards to celebrate and one thing led to another. He assumed she’d see it as a mistake, but in the coming weeks they’d met several times. Always in hotels outside the city centre, occasionally at premises he knew would be empty and where they could get together under the pretext of work. He didn’t tell her about his wife, because he assumed it would just fizzle out. But she was paranoid too, about her step-dad, mainly.

      ‘Why was that?’ asked Jo.

      ‘His line of work. He was happy not to be involved in her life much, as long as there was no scandal. She used to think he was spying on her.’

      Jo recalled Cranleigh’s anxiety about the СКАЧАТЬ