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“Of course. And it’s not a hospice,” Summer said defensively. “It’s a long-term care facility. He hasn’t gone there to die.”
Oh, yes he has, thought Tommy. But he didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for months,” said Summer, “but what with Michael getting moved down to London, and me having to find a flat and a job and everything, it’s been crazy. You know I’ve been researching his accident.”
“I didn’t know that.” Tommy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Is there much to research? Wasn’t it . . . well, an accident?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Summer told him about her trip to the Ducati mechanic in East London, and her suspicions that Michael’s bike might have been deliberately sabotaged.
Tommy asked the obvious question. “Why would anybody do that?”
“That’s what I was hoping you might be able to tell me,” said Summer. “You know about Teddy, of course?”
“The body in the garden, you mean? Sure,” said Tommy. “He’ll go down for life, I reckon. Still find it hard to believe, though. Teddy always seemed so . . . soft.”
“I know,” Summer agreed. “Anyway, it looks likely that Michael found the body when he was excavating the pagoda and reburied it.”
“Christ.” Tommy blew out air through his teeth. “Really?”
“Yeah. And I’m wondering, if Michael knew about Andrew Beesley’s murder, perhaps there was some connection between that and what happened to him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you might.”
Tommy looked blank.
“Was there anything unusual, anything at all that happened in the days leading up to the party that struck you as strange? Did Michael meet anyone new?”
“No one sinister,” said Tommy. “Suppliers, caterers, bar staff. It was a crazy time . . . we were run off our feet.”
Ignoring Summer’s protests, Tommy bought another round of drinks and ordered some bar snacks. Privately he thought her theories about foul play were nonsense, a fantasy she’d created to prevent her having to deal with the loss of Michael. But she was a stunning girl, so sexy and sensual with that silken mane of hair and those long, long legs. He didn’t want her to leave.
She resumed her questioning while Tommy shelled pistachios.
“Did Michael ever talk to you about being threatened?”
“
No. Never.”
“And he never confided in you about the body?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m not likely to forget something like that.”
“Did he have any enemies that you knew of?”
“You know Michael. Everybody loved him.”
“Not everybody, it appears. Someone wanted him dead. Or at the very least silenced. And they got what they wanted.”
“Look,” said Tommy. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, I really do. But if it’s enemies you’re looking for, you should focus on Michael’s mother. Alexia had plenty of nutters out to get her. Like those Patel people. That was the nature of her job.”
