Page 71 of We Chase Shadows

‘Where would we find him?’ Rosie asks. ‘Do you have any idea?’

‘Yeah, I got an idea.’ Tommy sits back in his chair and undoes his belt a couple of notches. ‘Any of you guys in the market for some Viagra?’

‘No, thanks,’ says Steve.

‘I’ll take forty,’ says Rosie.

Amy looks at the steak on Tommy’s plate. ‘Are you eating the rest of that?’

Tommy roars with laughter. ‘All yours. I love that.’

‘You’ve got an idea,’ says Steve. ‘About where we might find Jakob Eriksson?’

‘Yeah,’ says Tommy. ‘As I say, I liked the dude. Found him calming. But …’

‘But?’ asks Amy.

‘But he sure as shoeshine ain’t Swedish.’

‘You’re certain?’ Steve asks. Amy looks at Rosie. First Sara Lindstrat, and now this.

‘He’d didn’t say much,’ says Tommy. ‘And whatever he said he kinda mumbled. But I spoke to him more than the others did, and I’ll tell you this: that dude was English. I’d bet my left ball.’

‘English?’ says Steve.

‘English, I guarantee it. So, if you don’t mind me saying,’ finishes Tommy, ‘it sounds like you don’t have the first clue who Jakob Eriksson is.’

35

‘Dorothy, you’re on mute,’ says Steve.

Steve is relieved to be out of the heat, although now the air conditioning on the plane is a tad too chilly. Steve longs to be back home, where he can have his thermostat exactly where he likes it at all times. Or, rather, about three degrees hotter than he actually likes it, because Trouble miaows incessantly unless the temperature is a steady twenty-four degrees.

‘You’re on mute, Dorothy,’ says Rosie, as the elderly woman on the jet’s big screen continues to talk.

It hasn’t been a wasted trip though. Tommy Griffin was a great help, if not a terrific conversationalist.

‘You need to press the microphone button,’ says Amy.

Sara Lindstrat believes that ‘Jakob Eriksson’ must be an alias. Tommy Griffin is sure that Jakob Eriksson has an English accent. Well, looking for English criminals is Steve’s speciality, and his first port of call was Dorothy Gunn, currently silently talking ten to the dozen. Dorothy had been the Met’s Chief Research Officer when Steve was serving. Dorothy knows everyone and everything. Except, it seems, how a Zoom call works.

On the screen a child walks into the room behind Dorothy. She taps Dorothy on the shoulder and reaches over her. The audio kicks in and the girl says, ‘Sorry, that’s my nana,’ and leaves the room.

‘How much did you get of that?’ Dorothy asks.

‘None of it, Dotty,’ says Steve.

‘Blast,’ says Dorothy. ‘It’s nice to see you, Steven, where are you?’

‘On a private jet,’ says Steve. ‘This is my daughter-in-law, Amy, and this is Rosie.’

‘Ah, the novelist,’ says Dorothy. ‘A novelist who, in Tick-Tock, Death O’Clock, thinks you can dig up a body after forty years and still determine an exact time of death. That novelist?’

‘That’s me,’ says Rosie. ‘How nice to talk to you, Dorothy.’

‘The novelist who,’ continues Dorothy, ‘in The Romulus and Remus Murders, thought that identical twins shared identical DNA. That novelist?’

‘Dorothy,’ says Rosie, ‘could you ask your granddaughter to put you back on mute?’