"I'll say this for them," observed Danny, "they don't give up easy – Back already?"
This last comment was addressed to Kelly, who had just returned to the apartment. He'd gone out in search of dinner, since his culinary skills had been so poorly received, and since Foley had none and Danny's were extremely basic. Brett, the only truly competent cook amongst them, was still deemed convalescent, and nobody would let him do anything.
Kelly dumped several newspaper-wrapped parcels on the dining table. "It took me ages to find a chippy."
"Oh, for goodness sake, Sergeant," Brett expostulated. "Not directly on the table top. You'll ruin the surface."
"Sorry." Kelly hastily gathered everything up and scuttled off to the kitchen to find some plates.
Over half-cold chips and limp battered fish, Danny pursued his theory. "One thing's for sure, they really don't like loose ends. Look at what happened today. Pargeter and Flynn chased us halfway round London before we managed to shake 'em off. And if they're that determined to get to Ricky, then they gotta have a real good reason for letting Brett off the hook."
"And you think it's because he's still the only one who knows where the watch is hidden," added Foley.
"Which would be all very well, if I could remember," Brett concluded. "I suppose, if I hid it somewhere here, as everyone seems to think, it would be reasonable to hope that coming back might prompt some kind of recollection."
"Perhaps." Foley frowned in thought as she picked the batter off her portion of fish. "Although what good does it do them if you remember where it is, and we find the watch before they do?"
"Well, anyway, it's working," said Kelly. "At least, you're starting to remember, right?"
Brett would have preferred to avoid the question. Rarely in his life had he felt so vulnerable, and acknowledging any part of it was almost unbearable. All the same, he swallowed his humiliation, and did his best to answer "I don't think it's that simple. Admittedly, it seems at least some part of the last few days is still buried somewhere in my memory, but the fact is – "
He broke off, unwilling to admit what they all knew, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, Foley finished for him: "You can't find it."
"Believe me, it's not for want of trying."
If she noticed the icy hauteur behind which he'd retreated, she didn't show it. "I'm not sure it's something you can force. It's only twenty-four hours since you were released. Maybe it will come back in its own time."
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but I don't think we can wait that long," Kelly interjected.
Foley held out her hands in a gesture of frustration."I agree, but what choice do we have?"
"Well, how about if we wait till he's asleep and then wake him up? It worked when Mr Wilde did it."
Danny uttered a snort. "Yeah, great idea. Hey, Brett, how many times do you think we can get away with that before you fling us all out into the street?"
"Not many," replied Brett, still with the chill of disdain in his tone.
"All right, that might not work," Kelly admitted, "but someone should keep an eye on you while you're sleeping, in case you say anything. I'll do it, if you want."
"I'd very much rather you didn't." Brett pushed his plate to one side. He'd hardly touched it, and the smell had started to make him feel ill.
Danny took the hint. "If everyone's done, I'll clear up. Kelly, you want to give me a hand? And then I could use a drink, after the day I've had."
"His Lordship had better stick to tea," said Foley.
Brett gave her a long, hostile look, before leaving the table and walking across to the liquor cabinet. With deliberate care, he poured himself a glass of straight tonic water, then turned to Foley, who had followed him. "What would you like, Inspector?" he asked politely.
"She doesn't drink on duty," Danny answered from the kitchen.
"A glass of Madeira, then?"
Foley's lips twitched. "If you don't mind, I'll pass."
"As you wish." Brett turned away from the cabinet to look out of the window. There was little to see in the street below, and he had no way of knowing what he was looking for.
"I beg your pardon, Inspector," he said. "I'm afraid I allowed my temper to get the better of me. "
"It's not an easy situation for you, sir."
"That is no excuse for bad manners. Are you sure you wouldn't care for something?"
She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "I'll have the same as you. You can save the Madeira for a special occasion."
Brett glanced towards the kitchen door. "Daniel, what will you have?"
"Well, if we're all going on to the soft stuff," replied Danny, "I'll have Scotch. How about you, Kelly? ...Kelly doesn't want anything."
"How very professional of him," murmured Brett, as he offered Foley his own glass and turned back to the cabinet. "You're probably wise to decline the Madeira. My uncle Rupert – my mother's youngest brother – had a very unfortunate experience last year with a particularly fine old Malvasia."
"I'm pretty sure nobody wants to hear about it," observed Danny, coming out of the kitchen in search of his whisky.
Brett brushed the comment aside. "You see, Rupert has a regrettably weak head for wine, especially if it's fortified. Of course, he had nobody to blame but himself. He really should have known better. But it was his birthday, so one must make allowances."
He went over to the fireplace, and stirred up the embers with the poker. Danny, eyeing him with every sign of exasperation, waited for a few seconds, then broke out: "All right, I'll bite. What happened?"
"Well, when he woke up, two days later..." Brett paused, studying the fire. "I should have mentioned that Rupert is something of an art connoisseur. His collection of Renaissance masterpieces is generally considered one of the finest in the country. Well, when he recovered from his birthday celebrations, he discovered one of his most valuable paintings was missing. 'The Tavern Players', an early Caravaggio. And he had no idea what he'd done with it. He..." He trailed off again, then drew a deep breath. "He couldn't remember."
There, he'd said it.
"Did you ever work out what happened to it?" asked Danny.
"Yes, it turned out he'd had given it to the proprietor of a Spanish restaurant in exchange for a recipe for paella. Of course, the family sought legal advice, but the lawyer told them there was nothing to be done. The deal, though unconventional, was perfectly legitimate. So somewhere in Soho there is a restaurant kitchen with two hundred thousand pounds' worth of Caravaggio on the wall."
Danny almost choked on his whisky. "Two hundred thousand – boy, that better be a real good recipe."
"Oh, it is. Quite excellent, in fact," replied Brett, a little absently.
A brief silence followed. Brett continued to stare at the flames, waiting for someone to ask the obvious question. It was Foley who finally did so: "How did you find out about all of this?"
Brett took a mouthful of tonic water, grimacing slightly at the bitterness. "This is where it becomes a little uncertain. Rupert wasn't particularly concerned about having lost an entire day, he was quite used to that. However, he was worried about the painting. His daughter – my cousin Juliet – contacted someone she knew, an old friend from her days at Cambridge, who she thought might be able to help. Apparently this person is some kind of expert in enhancing and recovering memories. I don't know what she does, or whether it had any effect. All I know is that, after consulting her, Rupert finally remembered where his Caravaggio had gone."
"Hypnosis, maybe?" said Kelly. He'd followed Danny out of the kitchen, and had a plate in one hand and a tea towel in the other. It seemed a little beneath his rank, but at least he was making himself useful.
"I didn't enquire too closely," replied Brett, "but I understand it was something along those lines."
"We tried it on a case when I was with the Fraud Squad," Kelly went on. "Got a result.
Danny finished his whisky and put the glass down. "What do you think, Foley?"
She was watching Brett, her expression completely neutral. "I've seen it used."
"You don't like it."
"I don't recommend it."
"Would you care to elaborate?" asked Brett.
She looked him straight in the eye. "I once saw a competent and well-meaning hypnotist help a witness to remember details that had never actually happened."
"That must have been awkward."
She gave a mordant laugh. "The prosecutor wasn't best pleased about it."
"It works sometimes, though," said Kelly.
"And sometimes it goes wrong and does more harm than good," Foley shot back. "If there's no progress in a few days, I might consider it as a last resort, but it's much too early to try for a quick fix."
It was getting very warm so near to the fireplace. Brett moved away, and sat down on one of the armchairs. He turned the matter over in his mind for a minute or so before he spoke again: "I have to say I have serious doubts about the idea. I'm not at all comfortable with it. Nor, however, am I happy with the status quo. I'm going to call my cousin Juliet and ask her to put me in touch with her friend."
Foley sat up straight. "Oh, no. I'm not having that."
"With all due respect, Inspector," he answered coolly, "I don't need your permission. If I wish to make a private visit to a friend of the family, I am quite at liberty to do so. Unless you are placing me under arrest, that is. Do you have any such intention?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Not yet."
"In that case, I see no reason not to get things started at once." Brett stood up. "Daniel, you don't have anything to say?"
Danny shrugged. "I think you're gonna do whatever you want to do, so there ain't much point in me telling you what a dumb idea it is."
"Thank you. You know how I value your approval."
"Yeah, sure. You go call your cousin and find out about this hypnotist. But if you're hoping for a one-on-one visit, then you better think again." Danny seemed relaxed, but there was a hint of steel in his eye as he met Brett's inquiring look. "It's not up for discussion, Brett. If you're gonna let someone go poking round inside your head, you need me to tell 'em what they're looking for."
"I wish I could believe that was your true reason," murmured Brett, "but I suspect you have some kind of ulterior motive."
"Are you kidding?" Danny broke into a grin. "How often does a chance like this come along? Believe me, pal, I wouldn't miss it for the world."