‘Maybe it was one of these people who killed him,’ says Jonny. ‘But we don’t know who. We also don’t know whether Rob Wallace found out about the laundering and had Davy killed to shut it down. We haven’t nailed it. And if we go to the police with this list, they’ll take it off us, thank us, and then nick us.’
There’s a long silence as the other three of us absorb the implications of this.
‘Actually, while we’re on bad news, what about Davy’s fees for all this work?’ says Em. ‘There’s no sign of those anywhere.’
‘Ah,’ says Jonny. ‘There, we have a bit of good news.’
34
On the morning we’d left for Nevis, Jonny had taken Davy’s computer to his associate Nikola – the computer guy’s computer guy. It had taken two days, but Nikola had managed it, and the computer was now fully Open Sesame-d.
This is what Jonny found:
‘There’s a spreadsheet in here, containing—’
‘Oh, God, another spreadsheet?’ says Em.
Jonny says, rather stiffly, ‘I don’t have to show you if you don’t want to see it.’
‘Ignore her, Jonny,’ says Elle. ‘Go on.’
‘All right. Well, it’s more properties. But these are different, in a few interesting ways. Firstly, the list starts three years ago.’
‘So just as Davy’s last scam ends, or as he wraps it up, he starts this new one?’
‘Looks like. The second interesting thing is that the properties are very different. They’re nothing like this’ – Jonny gestures around at the mad tiled faux-harem we’re sitting in – ‘and there are loads more low-quality, low-budget lettings.’
‘Wouldn’t they be much less lucrative?’
Jonny looks like a proud teacher who is only slightly irritated that his top pupil has stuck their hand up before he’s finished writing on the whiteboard. ‘Well. Yes. But despite the properties being cheaper, the fees here are far bigger than in the first file. So Davy was doing something different.’
‘What?’
‘Not sure.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘He was a mentor. The colleague I met in his office – what was he called? Sami, I think – he said Davy ran a mentoring scheme. He had a network of young agents who he would help, then place at other agencies. Always low-rent ones. Not the kind of properties Harcourt and Wallace dealt with.’
‘That’s worth following up.’
‘I’ll get Sami’s number.’
Jonny continues. ‘OK, so there’s that. Have you got it pinned?’
We all mumble yes.
‘Right. Well, the last two things I found on here are super-interesting. Firstly, in the drafts folder, there’s a message that just sayshello.’ No recipient in the address line.
I pipe up. ‘Is that interesting? Sorry, but I’ve done that withemails before. Start it, don’t know what to say, give up, find email in drafts folder six years later, delete.’
‘It might be that,’ says Jonny, ‘except that it’s the only draft. If this computer is the centre of the new scam, it might be for a reason. Like: he shares the inbox with someone.’
‘Oh!’ Elle perks up. ‘I’ve seen a Netflix documentary about that. It was how a woman caught her husband having an affair. He kept all the messages to his mistress in his drafts folder, because he thought there’s no email trail that way, because the email has never actually been sent.’ She sits back. ‘He lost everything, but then he got famous because he wassucha love rat. He has a podcast now.’
‘Exactly,’ says Jonny. ‘Drafts that aren’t sent are much harder to trace than actual sent messages. So that might be what was going on here.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘What do we do with that?’
‘I think whoever Davy shared his inbox with might know who killed him. And I don’t think the message was outbound, either. I don’t think he wrote thathello. I think the person he shared the inbox with wrote it, as a test. So we should write back.’ Jonny swivels the screen. Beneath the first message, there is a secondHello.As you would expect of Jonny, he’s capitalised it and added a full stop. Never change, Jonny.
