“You pee on it, don’t you, Jyoti?” asks Tony. “A jellyfish sting?”
Dr. Jyoti Das, doctor of medieval history, nods. “Neutralizes the toxins.”
“Who shot him?” asks John.
Steve shrugs. “I’ll ask Amy about it. She’ll know.”
Amy will chat very happily about the killing. Too happily for Steve. Amy never talks about her childhood, but he picks up snatches here and there. It is clear that violence has been ever present in her life. She takes it in her stride in a way that makes Steve sad.
“How does Amy like Rosie D’Antonio?” John asks.
“Seems happy,” says Steve, glad to think of something more positive. “Good fun, apparently.”
“I’ll bet,” says Tony. “I’d love a crack at her, given the chance.”
“I’ll mention it to Amy,” says Steve. “See if Rosie’s in the market for a mechanic with kidney stones.”
“Did you ever interview her, John?” asks Jyoti. “Rosie D’Antonio?”
“No,” says John. “There was a bloke in Andover who wrote a book about horses once. I interviewed him. The author’s life and whatnot. They kept me away from interviews, by and large.”
“And this Andrew Fairbanks,” says Jyoti. “Our shark friend. He was famous too? Have I got that right, Steve?”
“I’d never heard of him,” says Steve. “But I’ve never heard of anyone these days.” Steve thinks about those 18K followers again. Something doesn’t sit right. Not his business, but he couldn’t help that little old alarm going off in his head. And Letchworth Garden City? Come on now. If murder was still his business, that’s where he’d start looking. But it’s not, so he won’t.
“Instagram,” says Tony, and they all nod.
Their food is brought out and placed in front of them. Two shepherd’s pies, a beer-battered fish and chips, and a lamb shank. Same as always. Tony collects the cutlery and napkins from the tin at the end of the bar and passes them round.
“Blue car in the car park last night, Steve,” says John, tucking his napkin into his shirt like a cravat. “Appeared from nowhere.”
“I’m across it,” says Steve, starting to make inroads into the shepherd’s pie.
“Greggs packet in the footwell too,” says Tony. “Must have come from somewhere. Have I told you about my recycling bins?”
“No,” says Steve, and signals for another pint.
“Someone’s putting stuff in them,” says Tony. “Like, I’ll leave my glass bin out, and I wake up in the morning, and there’re pizza boxes, all sorts in there. Anything you can do?”
Steve gives it some consideration. “Why don’t I bring my Corsa round to yours this afternoon? The clutch’s sticking. We can have a chat about the bins, while you take a look.”
“Thanks, Steve,” says Tony. “You’re a mate. You can catch people on your doorbell these days, can’t you? Could we try that?”
“That’d be perfect,” says Steve. “I can take a look through the footage for you.”
“What footage?” asks Tony.
“The footage from your doorbell,” says Steve. “From the camera—you can download it.”
“There’s a camera on my doorbell?”
“What sort of doorbell do you have, Tony?”
“I don’t know,” says Tony. “I’ve had the same one since 1985. It came with the house.”
“Okay,” says Steve. “How did you think people were catching criminals with their doorbell? Just out of interest?”
“Fingerprints,” says Tony.
Steve nods. Of the four of them, Tony is the one not on the quiz team.
“What was he doing there anyway?” says John.
“Who?” asks Steve. Sometimes this little lunchtime gang can lose focus.
“Fella on the boat,” says John. “Shark boy.”
“Advert,” says Steve. “Flew over there to film something. Krusher Energy Drink.”
“You’d solve it soon enough,” says Jyoti.
“Not anymore,” says Steve. “I don’t solve murders.”
Krusher Energy Drink, though. That’s another lead, surely? How did they get involved? Why did they choose Andrew Fairbanks for this particular campaign?
They get back to their food.
“No doorbells on a boat either,” says Tony.
