Like cordon bleu in a motorway service station, it was a hard one to get my head round. ‘So tell me about the conservatory.’
This time she did take a moment to think. ‘It must have been towards the end of July,’ she said slowly but without hesitation. ‘I was away on holiday from the first to the fifteenth of August. The conservatory went up a couple of days before I left. Then, when I came back from Italy, they’d all gone. The conservatory, Rachel Brown and her boyfriend. Six weeks ago, a new batch of tenants arrived. But I still don’t know if Rachel has let the house, or indeed if Rachel ever bought it in the first place. All I know is that the chaps in there now rented it through the same agency that Derek and Ro used, DKL Estates. They’ve got an office in Stretford, but I think their head office is in Warrington.’
I was impressed. ‘You’re very well informed,’ I said.
‘It’s my legs that don’t work, not my brain. I like to make sure it stays that way. Some people call me nosy. I prefer to think of it as a healthy curiosity. What are you, anyway? Some kind of bailiff? And don’t give me that stuff about being a representative of the conservatory company. You’re far too smart for that. Besides, there’s obviously been something very odd going on there. You’re not just following up who you’ve sold conservatories to.’
I could have carried on bluffing, but I couldn’t see the point. Diane deserved some kind of quid pro quo. ‘I’m a private investigator,’ I said. ‘My partner and I investigate white-collar crime.’
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