Read Online Kick Back by Val McDermid - Free Book Online

suspended from the side of a filing cabinet. He had dark, almost black hair, cut short but stylish, and soulful, liquid dark eyes. He had that skin that looks sallow and unhealthy if it goes without sun for more than a month or so, though right now he looked in the peak of health. He obviously lived on his nerves, for his neat, small feet and hands were twitching and tapping as he read the letter of authority. Eventually, he steepled his fingers and gave me a cautious smile. “I’m not exactly sure how you think I can help, Miss Brannigan,” he said.
    â€œI am,” I told him. “What I have to do in the first instance is to track down T. R. Harris, the builder. Now, it was through you that Miss Lee and Miss Appleby heard this land was available. So, I think you must know something about Mr. T. R. Harris. Also, I figure you must have an address for him since you handled the matter for Miss
Lee and Miss Appleby and presumably had some correspondence with him.”
    Cheetham’s smile flickered again. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I know very little about Mr. Harris. I knew about the land because I saw it advertised in one of the local papers. And before you ask, I’m sorry, I can’t remember which one. I see several every week and I don’t keep back numbers.” It looked like they were the only bits of pulped tree he didn’t keep. “I have a client who is looking for something similar,” he continued, “but when I made further inquiries, I realized this particular area was too large for him. I happened to mention it to Miss Lee’s colleague, and matters proceeded from there.”
    â€œSo you’d never met Harris before?”
    â€œI’ve never met Mr. Harris at all,” he corrected me. “I communicated with his solicitor, a Mr. Graves.” He got up and chose a pile of papers, seemingly at random. He riffled through them and extracted a bundle fastened with a paper clip. He dumped them in front of me, covering the body text of the letter with a blank sheet. “That’s Mr. Graves’ address and phone number.”
    I took out my pad and noted the details on the letterhead. “Had you actually exchanged contracts, then?”
    Cheetham’s eyes shifted away from mine. “Yes. That’s when the deposits were handed over, of course.”
    â€œAnd you were quite convinced that everything was above board?”
    He grabbed the papers back and headed for the haven behind his desk. “Of course. I mean, I wouldn’t have proceeded unless I had been. What are you getting at, exactly, Miss Brannigan?” His left leg was jittering like a jelly on a spindrier.
    I wasn’t entirely sure. But the feeling that Martin Cheetham wasn’t to be trusted was growing stronger by the minute. Maybe he was up to something, maybe he was just terrified I was going to make him look negligent, or maybe he just had the misfortune to be born looking shifty. “And you’ve no idea where I can find Mr. Harris?” I asked.
    He shook his head and said, “Absolutely not. No idea whatsoever.”

    â€œI’m a bit surprised,” I said. “I’d have thought that his address would have appeared on the contracts.”
    Cheetham’s fingers drummed that neat little riff from the “1812 Overture” on the bundle of papers. “Of course, of course, how stupid of me, I didn’t even think of that,” he gabbled. Again, he flicked through his papers. I waited patiently, saying nothing. “I’m sorry, this shocking business has really unsettled me. Here we are. How foolish of me. T. R. Harris, 134 Bolton High Road, Ramsbottom.”
    I wrote it down, then got to my feet. I didn’t feel like someone who’s had a full and frank exchange of views, but I could see I wasn’t going to get any further with Cheetham unless I had specific questions. And at least I could go for Harris