Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

glance was exchanged between the other two. Doughty said, “Yes, why not?” and led the way.
    His niece was packing up for her departure, a procedure that appeared to involve a magnifying mirror and a massive amount of cosmetics. Doughty made much of bidding her a fond farewell: hugs, kisses, and “best to Mum, darling,” and once she left them, he smiled and said, “Kids,” to no one’s agreement or reply.
    He then said to Lynley, “I’ve got hard copies of some of my cases, so I might have something . . . One plans to write one’s memoirs at some point . . . Memorable cases and the like, if you know what I mean.”
    “Certainly,” Lynley said. “It worked quite well for Dr. Watson, didn’t it?”
    Doughty did not look amused. He opened a filing drawer and riffled through it. He said, “Here. I think we’re in luck,” and he brought out a slim manila folder.
    He flipped from one page to another of the documents within. He pulled on his lower lip and frowned. He said, “Fairly interesting.”
    “Indeed?” Lynley queried.
    “Something apparently got the wind up for me. Couldn’t tell you now what it was, but I did a little looking into the woman—”
    “Barbara Havers, you mean?” Lynley clarified.
    “Turns out that, over time, some money passed from the Pakistani man to her and from her to Italy, to one Michelangelo Di Massimo.”
    “I think that was the name, Dwayne,” Em Cass said. “That’s the Italian detective.”
    Doughty glanced up from his paperwork, saying to Lynley, “It appears that a series of payments flowed from Azhar to Havers to this Di Massimo, so my guess is that she and the Pakistani employed him for quite some time.”
    “Extraordinary that you should know that, Mr. Doughty,” Lynley pointed out.
    “I’m merely deducing because of the payments.”
    “Actually, I’m not talking about Di Massimo’s employment. I’m talking about the payments themselves, money moving from Azhar to Barbara Havers to Di Massimo. Extraordinary work on your part, in the true sense of the word. May I ask how you uncovered this information?”
    Doughty waved the question aside. “Sorry. Trade secret. Perhaps of larger interest to Scotland Yard might be the fact that payments were made at all. What I can tell you about these two individuals—and this Barbara Havers in particular since she appears to be at the centre of your interest—is that they came to see me in the winter. I gave them what small help I could, I suggested they find an Italian detective, and the rest . . . Well, it is what it is.”
    “And you saw these two people—Taymullah Azhar and Barbara Havers—how many times?”
    He looked at Em Cass. “Was it twice, Em? Once when they came for help in locating the child and once when I had the facts to present to them. Yes?”
    “As far as I know, that was it,” she confirmed.
    “So you wouldn’t know, it seems,” Lynley said, “that Barbara Havers has for quite some time been followed by another detective from the Met.”
    Silence on their part. Clearly, they hadn’t considered this possibility. Lynley waited, a pleasant expression on his face. They said nothing. This being the case, he removed from the breast pocket of his jacket his reading glasses and from an interior pocket, he took out a set of documents that he’d folded and placed there. He unfolded them and began to read John Stewart’s report aloud to the private investigator and his cohort. John had been thorough, in keeping with his compulsive nature and with his animosity towards Barbara Havers. So he had dates, and he had times, and he had places. Lynley read them all.
    When he was finished, he glanced up at Doughty and Em Cass, over the top of his glasses. He said, “It tends to come down to trust in the end, Mr. Doughty. Trust always trumps money on the wrong side of the law.”
    Doughty said, “All right. Agreed. She came to see me more than once evidently. Which, obviously, is why I decided to look into her.”
    “Indeed. But I’m not talking about your trusting Barbara Havers. I’m talking about anyone trusting Di Massimo. Had he not subcontracted Hadiyyah’s kidnapping out to a bloke called Roberto Squali, had Squali not been photographed by a tourist, had he not driven an expensive convertible far too quickly up a mountain road, had he and Di Massimo not been in contact by mobile phone . . . Indeed, had the investigation in Italy not been handled by Salvatore Lo Bianco, who appears to