Name To a Face by Robert Goddard Page B

looks she and Kerry are. They could almost be twins. Sisters, at all events. Coincidence? I think not.”
    “Are you suggesting they’re related?”
    “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
    “Maybe I will.”
    “You could ask her what happened to my copy of Metherell’s video while you’re about it.”
    “You think Gabriel Tozer tricked you out of it?”
    “Somebody did.”
    “That lad who spilt his drink on me last time I was here.” Harding noted with grim satisfaction the confusion his sudden change of subject had clearly caused Trathen. “Darren Spargo.”
    “What about him?”
    “Do you know where he lives?”
    “No. I see him in here off and on. That’s it. What d’you want with him?”
    “It’s a-”
    “Did you say you’re looking for Darren Spargo?” put in a man standing next to them at the bar.
    “Er, yes.”
    “Can’t imagine why.” The man laughed. “Bit of a pillock, if you want my opinion.”
    “I wouldn’t disagree with you.”
    “He lives out at Treneere, if you want to know, next door to my aunt. Worse luck for her.”
    It was a cheerless walk out to Treneere, a large estate of council housing on the northern edge of the town. The Spargo residence blended drably but durably with its neighbours. There were lights at the windows. Rock music thumped from an upper room. Two bicycles lay where they had fallen next to the front path. Harding cast a leery eye about him before pressing the doorbell.
    A child with Marmite smeared round her lips opened the door and stared up at Harding. Then a bustling, broad-hipped woman with tired eyes and a wary expression took her place.
    “Can I help you?”
    “Is Darren in?”
    “No. He won’t be back for hours yet, I shouldn’t think.”
    Harding had half-expected something like this and was uncertain how to proceed. But he did not have to consider the problem for long.
    “Is your name Harding?”
    “Yes,” he cautiously admitted.
    “Darren said you might look round.”
    “He did?”
    “Left this for you.” She stepped briefly back, then reappeared… with Harding’s mobile phone. “Picked it up by mistake, he said. Is that right?”
    Harding smiled despite himself. “Sort of.”
    She handed him the phone. “No harm done, then.”

FOURTEEN
    Harding had been sitting at the top of the steps leading down to the basement flat at Heartsease for what felt like several hours, but was actually less than one, when he heard footsteps on the drive at the side of the house and the faint rattling of a bunch of keys.
    “Hayley,” he called, standing up and crossing the patio into the nearest shaft of lamplight. “It’s me.”
    “Tim.” She was wearing her short raincoat over jeans and trainers and had added a bandeau round her head that made her look younger and smaller than ever. She was carrying the canvas bag he had seen her with on Saturday and was leaning slightly to one side to bear the weight of whatever it contained. “Thank God it’s you.”
    “Sorry if I startled you.”
    “You didn’t. Not really. I guess I was expecting you.”
    “I heard about the burglary.”
    “But you’d have come anyway. Once you’d seen the video.”
    “Is the video why you put me off tonight?”
    “No. I’ve been to my judo class. I go every Monday.” She smiled uncertainly. “Come inside, Tim. We’ve a lot to talk about.”
    She offered him coffee and he accepted. They sat either side of the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil, staring at each other wordlessly, both equally unsure how to begin.
    Harding took his phone out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “I got this back,” he said quietly.
    “Good. Darren promised to return it. He’s got a part-time job at the snooker club now. Morrison’s sacked him for absenteeism, apparently. Anyway, I spoke to him at the club this afternoon. He seemed to see reason.”
    “Are you sure about that?” It had occurred to Harding that Spargo could easily have recorded the