‘I don’t think we’ve got time for a class war, Stevie.’
‘Some of them do loads for charity,’ said Kim vaguely.
Edward had already looked at the document in Stevie’s hands. She held it unnaturally close to her face, a reminder that her eyesight had been damaged by the acid. The front page said: ASSURED SHORTHOLD TENANCY AGREEMENT; there was an index showing seven different headings for seven sections. 1. Parties Involved, 2. Property Description, 3. Term of Tenancy, 4. Rules regarding smoking, pets, and guests, 5. Deposit Information, 6. Termination Procedures, 7. Signatures as to Agreement.
‘It’s all on the front page,’ said Edward. ‘I printed out the whole thing, ten pages. But the name of the tenant and the name of the landlord are on page one.’
‘This is probably printed off ChatGPT or some other AI service,’ Kim said, leaning over Stevie’s shoulder. ‘It’s the most generic tenancy I’ve ever seen.’
‘JC gave me the whole thing, but – as you say – it’s standard.’
‘Richard Cammell-Curzon,’ Kim read, still on page one. The address was in Beer, a pretty spot ten miles east where young families went to a resort called Pecorama and rode a model train at the top of a cliff. On a good day a warm breeze blew in from the sea. ‘So, a Londoner,’ she said.
‘How do you work that out?’ asked Stevie.
‘Look at the house name,’ Kim said, holding up the agreement with her finger against the address: The Old Rectory. ‘Londoners always call things “old this, old that” to show off.’
‘Wanker,’ said Stevie. ‘That’s why I’m living with my mum and dad.’
‘I’m guessing he has a dozen properties,’ said Kim, always the estate agent. ‘He’s never lived in any of them himself.’
‘This sounds like a nice place.’ Edward took the first page and looked at the text below the signature. ‘Why does that trigger you, Stevie? You live in a rectory yourself.’
‘A new one,’ bristled Stevie.
‘Wait. Show me the other pages,’ said Kim when they had all calmed down. She took them from Stevie and leafed through them. ‘These things are always a mess. Meaningless. Non-smoking clauses and anti-dog clauses when the tenant doesn’t smoke and has a pet snake.’
‘Are you seeing something I didn’t see?’ asked Edward. ‘I skimmed the rest of it.’
‘Here.’ Kim slid the paper back across the table so they could all see it. Edward heard his hearing aid whistle and turned it down.
‘What am I looking at?’ asked Stevie, craning her neck.
‘Page eight. You have to list referees. Those signatures, see? May not matter, but useful. The names – they’re alwayssuch a mess – not printed, just handwritten. Can you make them out?’
Stevie tried. ‘One is Mettles.’
Kim put in, ‘Nettles. And I think the other one is Hearts.’
‘Victor Nettles?’ Edward peered at the page himself. ‘I missed that. Isn’t one of them supposed to be vouching for the tenant?’
Kim shrugged. ‘The way it works normally is that the landlord does the contract, gets a couple of his mates to sign – Mr Hearts is supposedly signing for Lev, as you can see – but all the landlord wants is his deposit. So he’ll get the whole form ready and he just wants cash, Lev’s signature, and that’s it.’
‘So we have three people to find – Nettles, Hearts, and the landlord himself.’ Edward gathered up the various pages and shuffled the document into an orderly block. His phone pinged with a text which he ignored. He was on the first page of the rental agreement again. ‘Lev Malnyk, Ukrainian address. I thought “Lev” was short for something—’
‘Wouldn’t the Met go and visit his home address?’ asked Kim.
Edward queried, ‘On the eastern side of Ukraine?’
‘Good point. They might not come back.’ Kim continued, ‘Regarding “Lev”, theoretically you always sign your full name.’
Edward blew his nose loudly. The curry had been strong and his eyes were watering. ‘Our Lev has caused total chaos, that’s for sure. I had a call this week from the tourist office saying they’d had forty per cent cancellations on boat trips. That’s the main measure for how busy we are in summer.’
Stevie took the document back. She went to page eight again. ‘Hearts is a doctor. At least, that’s a surgery address. What if he really was Lev’s referee? Bloody shit, he’d be the only one who knew him in this country. Excuse my—’
‘Lots of people have doctors who don’t know them,’ Kim cut in. ‘I heard there was once an era where you could go to see your doctor in person, but I don’t believe that’s true.’
Edward was staring at his phone, eyebrows raised. ‘Wow. I never expected that.’
