He gave a perfunctory knock and walked through into her kitchen. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and glass of white wine.
‘Gosh Alan, you look pale.’
‘It’s getting nippy outside.’
He handed her two bottles of red.
‘Oo,’ she muttered, looking at the French labels, ‘that’s generous.’
‘Yes, nearly fetched up in the dyke, just outside the village…’
‘What that patch of mist? It’s always there this time of year. Sorry, I should have warned you.’
Somehow he had expected a little more sympathy. But her mind was clearly on other things.
‘Do you have the bone samples?’
‘Yes, they’re in the van.’
‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘don’t stand there like an idiot. Get them!’
Alan jumped to it. He was amazed. He could only assume that Harriet’s visiting expert was somewhere else, maybe upstairs in the bathroom. Before he closed the front door he looked around for a car. But there wasn’t one. Just Harriet’s. Presumably, he thought, he’s come by train. He lifted the two boxes out of the PFC van and took them inside.
‘Right,’ she said, taking both the boxes off the kitchen table and placing them on the carpet. ‘Which one do you want to do first?’
Alan was at a loss. Where was the expert?
‘I don’t mind. I suspect they’re both the same.’
‘OK.’ She paused. ‘I tell you what. Let’s test the method properly.’
Alan looked puzzled.
‘These,’ she said, mimicking a Blue Peter presenter, ‘are some samples I prepared earlier.’
She reached into her rucksack and pulled out three small clear plastic bags.
Then she looked up.
‘Alaric!’ she called.
Her black Labrador, obedient to what he thought would be the call to dinner, came trotting in.
‘Stand there, Alan.’
She gestured him back, while keeping a firm grip on the dog’s collar.
‘I don’t want him put off. And he’s getting rather hungry. He should have been fed an hour ago.
She picked up a human lower jaw, rather like a stage conjuror. By now Alan knew what was coming. He felt a bit foolish; should have guessed earlier.
‘I borrowed these mandibles from my office. They all come from Simon Cox’s site and are guaranteed genuine fifteenth century.’
She laid them on the floor and gently drew Alaric’s attention to them. He wasn’t even slightly interested. Alan watched, fascinated.
‘And this…’ she paused and opened the box beside her. ‘Is what you brought back from Saltaire and is supposedly Saxon…’
She pushed the opened box towards the dog. Alaric’s nose shot towards it, twitching wildly. Then he licked the bone with his large and very pink tongue. Quickly she placed her hand over the box and removed it. Alan grabbed the dog’s collar.
‘OK, I’m convinced,’ he said, ‘but let’s just do the other one.’
‘OK.’
She only had to open the lid for Alaric’s nose to start vigourously twitching. He gave a small squeak of frustration. He was getting bored by this game and wanted to be fed.
‘Point made,’ Alan said. ‘I think you’d better feed him.’
‘There’s a good boy,’ she cooed, ‘there’s a good boy! Time for din-dins!’
She reached up to the worktop beside the Aga and took down a dish of dog food, which Alaric pounced on, as if starving.
‘That was impressive. But also a bit creepy,’ Alan said.
She refilled his wine, which he took and sipped, almost without thinking. Alaric’s display had unnerved him badly. It was now getting far, far too close to home.
‘I know,’ she said sympathetically, ‘it’s usually the bones of other animals, not us, isn’t it? It seems like a sort of cannibalism.’
Alan had got over his surprise and was back on the case.
‘What about those babies? Do you think he’d lick them?’ he asked.
‘I’ve already thought of that, but I don’t want to try it again, as they’re so fragile and Alaric’s famished.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What d’you mean nothing: he wasn’t interested?’
‘No. Not even slightly.’
‘But we’re pretty certain they’re late Victorian or early twentieth century. I’d be surprised if they were much more than a century old. And all the fat had already leached out…’ He paused. ‘So that proves those so-called Saxon and Medieval mandibles have to be very recent, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘ten, twenty years will dissolve fats in some soils. And of course neonate bones are so thin, there’s not much for the lipids to lock onto.’
‘So, what do you reckon: are they five years old?’
‘At the most, I’d say. But I’m no expert.’
‘No,’ he said thinking aloud, ‘we’re getting into forensics territory here.’
And if there are teeth, mandibles and jaws, Alan mused, then there’ll be the rest of the skeleton too. But where? Already smuggled out of PFC in other Out Store boxes?
Eventually Harriet broke the silence:
‘I think we’d better tell the police, don’t you?’
Alan was thinking hard. Tactically this was a crucial decision.
‘Yes, you’re right. But I don’t think a 999 call would work. Much better go in at the right level.’
‘What do you mean?’
Alan gave Harriet a brief résumé of his relationship with Lane. He also told her that it was Lane who had suggested that he got involved with The Lifers’ Club. It was a lie but, in the grand scheme of things, a lie so small that he didn’t even consider it.
‘A detective with archaeological training, sounds perfect.’
She handed him the phone handset.
‘I’ll get you a brandy – and I think I need one myself.’
‘To be honest, Harry, I think I’d better take this in my room, Richard’s a stickler for the whole confidentiality thing.’
* * *
When Lane answered he got straight to the point.
‘Good heavens, Alan, are you psychic? I’ve been trying to get you on your mobile. But it’s turned off.’
Alan pulled it out of his pocket. He was right, it was dead.
‘I’m sorry, Richard, the bloody batteries are flat. I’ll have to get a new one soon…’
Lane had no time for excuses, he pressed on – insistent.
‘I’m afraid it’s serious. The Drugs people are giving me loads of problems. But we’re not alone. I’ve spoken to people from other county forces: they’re all moaning like hell.’
‘Why?’
‘You probably can’t remember, but just before the last election the government pushed through a law, which promoted cannabis from Class C to Class B.’
‘Yes, I remember it well. They ignored the scientific advice and the chairman of the advisory committee, Professor Something-or-Other, resigned. And I think most of the academic world was behind him. Bloody outrageous political interference.’
‘Well,’ Lane continued, cutting short Alan’s outburst, ‘that’s had a big knock-on effect. The civil servants in their wisdom failed adequately to adjust the Class B targets for the next NiB Review.’
‘NiB?’
‘“Narcotics in Britain” Review.’
‘So what?’
‘I’d have thought it was obvious.’
There was a pause.
‘Oh,’ Alan replied, ‘I get it. With cannabis up a grade, the Drugs Squads are beating their Class B targets.’
‘And by a mile. To be honest they’ve gone on a feeding frenzy. My mate in the Yard says some a
re even talking about big bonuses for the best squads.’
‘So don’t tell me. They reckon that if indeed the Kabuls are running a major scam…’
‘Then it’s big bonuses for the lads. In reality, it’s all about jockeying for power in a police force that’s about to face major cuts. Anyone who’s up now is likely to be riding even higher when the spending axe falls.’
‘Pre-emptive strikes?’
‘Precisely. There’s a huge amount riding on all this, so I very much doubt whether I can do anything to stop them raiding the Kabuls before very long.’
‘What, weeks?’
‘No, days. If we’re lucky. Don’t forget, the NiB deadline is mid-May…’
‘Bloody hell, just two weeks.’ Alan paused. ‘And do they know about the grandiose plans to build the Kabul Centre at Impingham?’
‘No, I haven’t told them about it. But I bet somebody here will leak the news soon. Everyone’s trying to grease-up to the Drugs boys.’
Alan had heard enough. Time to cut to the chase.
‘To be honest, Richard, I think that’s the least of our worries.’
‘Have you been listening to a word I said?’
‘Of course, but…’
Alan took a large gulp of brandy and braced himself.
‘You remember we talked about the Kabuls’ family background?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you know that Sofia spent her childhood in Turkey?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Lane was growing impatient, ‘Get to the point.’
‘Then I think we’ve got something to stop the Drugs lads in their tracks.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I think we’ve found Sofia’s body. Or at least some of it.’
Alan went back through recent events: the dual accounting, Ali’s threat to Paul. As he did, he tried his best to pre-empt Lane’s protests.
‘The thing is, Richard, I didn’t want to put you in a compromising situation. I knew the minute I told you about the money…’
Lane didn’t even let him finish.
‘The Drugs boys would be all over PFC and you’d be out of a job?’
‘No. It’s not that. I just needed time.’
‘For what, exactly?’
Alan explained briefly about the anomaly in the skeleton results and how Sofia’s profile fitted the unknown body.
‘Wait a minute, Alan, you’re suggesting that Sofia’s body has been kept at PFC for seven years and is being disposed of, piece by piece? Are you aware how absurd that sounds?’
‘I agree it does, in abstract, but once you start looking at the forensic evidence…’
‘If you are now, finally, choosing to tell me the whole truth, then as far as the police are concerned this new evidence clearly shifts suspicion onto Dr Paul Flynn.’
He drew a deep breath, then continued, ‘It’s a shame you didn’t choose to let me into your confidence earlier, Alan, because to a dispassionate outside observer, you and Harriet are also in the frame.’
‘Surely you don’t believe that?’
‘No, I don’t. But you must admit you both work for PFC. You both deal with human bone material and its storage, so you’d have had plenty of opportunities…’
‘But for Christ’s sake, Richard, we’ve got no motive whatsoever.’
‘I know that, but my colleagues won’t. All they’ll see are opportunities to make an arrest. Look, for reasons best known to yourself you’ve become obsessed with this killing. In fact, when you first contacted me about it, your precise words were “I know he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have.” And now here you are, handing me Sofia’s bones on a plate, so to speak. In doing so, you are deflecting attention from yourself and placing Paul Flynn clearly in the frame.’
‘Richard. Stop. I know you’re angry with me for withholding information, and rightly so. But just hear me out, please.’
Alan took Lane’s lack of response as a good sign and he pressed on.
‘Paul uses Kabul’s firm, AK Plant, exclusively. They also run a delivery service and their vans are in and out of Priory Farm all the time. They could have swapped the bones very easily, piece by piece.’
Lane couldn’t conceal his exasperation.
‘There are times I think I should close the whole bloody place down and haul the lot of you in for questioning.’
He was beginning to calm down. Alan managed a weak smile and said,
‘I wouldn’t advise that. We still need to do tests on DNA samples from Ali and from the bones we think are Sofia’s. The problem is, if you make a move before then, the Kabuls will know that you’re onto them. The rest of the body…’
It was a grim thought. Lane broke the silence.
‘Could be redistributed elsewhere?’
‘Exactly. So we need to find a way of obtaining Ali’s DNA without his knowledge.’
‘Which is a fundamental breach of his human rights and highly illegal,’ replied Lane.
‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Alan. ‘But you can’t be held responsible if you don’t know how I’m going to do it, can you?’
There was a long pause. When Lane spoke again he sounded like he’d made a decision. He sounded professional.
‘Send me an email. Make it appear very forensic. Use all the jargon you can, as it’s got to sound authoritative. I’ll take it directly to the Chief Constable.’
‘Shall I send it to your office?’
‘No, best not. Send it here and I’ll print it out. I don’t want it floating around the office system, not as things are now.’
‘Do you reckon it’ll work?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Simple: murder always trumps drugs.’
‘But we still don’t know that it is murder, do we?’
‘No we don’t, but bodies of any sort also trump drugs. More to the point, if the media ever got to learn that we did an abortive drugs bust and in the process screwed up a major murder investigation…’
‘Are you suggesting I’d tell the press?’ Alan feigned surprise.
‘To the Chief Constable, and in private, I’ll suggest anything I bloody want.’
‘Thanks Richard, I really do appreciate it.’
‘Don’t think for a second that I’m doing this as a personal favour to you, Alan. I’m just doing my job. However if you withhold any further information from me, anything at all, then I won’t hesitate to throw the book at you.’
And with that, the line went dead.
Alan was left staring at the phone in his hand. He had no doubt at all that Lane meant every word.
* * *
Alan took a few minutes to compose himself and then returned to the sofa in the sitting room. Harriet came across and sat beside him. Her grey-green eyes looked frightened. She took a sip from her brandy. Her hand was shaking. Alan put a consoling arm around her shoulder.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve done it.’
‘And they’re taking it seriously?’
‘Yes, very. It’s corporate fraud on a grand scale, potentially millions. They’re taking it very seriously indeed.’
Alan was aware that he was getting almost too good at the spontaneous lies now. ‘So what does that mean for us?’ Harriet’s nervous question broke into Alan’s thoughts. This was important, he had to make her feel safe.
‘Lane knows we’re not involved. In fact, he’s alerted the local force to our situation. So if anything happens, we’re protected.’
This time, it wasn’t so much a lie as a strategic half-truth. Still, Alan hated himself for it.
They sat in silence for some time. Alan fully expected her to buckle; to breakdown and sob into his consoling embrace. But she didn’t. Far from it.
‘OK,’ she said, looking up at him, �
��so what’s going to happen next?’
‘Don’t be scared, Harry.’
‘Richard’s on the case now. So please try not to worry. We’ll need to keep clear heads for the next few weeks.’
‘And you think that possible?’
Alan smiled. He hadn’t expected her to be so strong.
‘Of course I do.’ He tried to sound convincing.
‘So they’re prepared to protect us for weeks?’
‘For as long as it takes. But we must work together. We’re a team now, Harry, whether we like it or not.’
‘I like it…’ she whispered, leaning towards him.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she took both his hands, and slowly led him upstairs.
A Sense of Place III
Priory Farm
Twenty-four
The following Monday morning, Alan drove to Priory Farm to meet his new site assistant for the up-coming Impingham job. He’d worked with Steve Allen on many other projects and they were old mates. Steve’s specialist skill was surveying and site graphics, and he also brought with him his own GPS satellite kit, which they loaded into the Land Rover. This was the first morning of the new project, so they didn’t take a full crew with them, just a young student who wanted to learn surveying.
Steve was showing the student how to level the equipment, while Alan fired-up his small portable camping gas cooker-ring to make a pot of tea. Breaking all rules of safety, he did this on the Land Rover’s tailboard, regardless of the LPG tank a few feet away. A few minutes later Steve’s voice came from behind.
The Lifers' Club Page 27
