He had knocked off immediately after the evening briefing, switched off his mobile, and driven straight home. There was nothing in the fridge — not even milk for a cup of tea, but he was too tired to stop to pick up even the basic necessities; if he could just get a couple of hours’ rest, he felt everything else would be fine.
He had to drag himself from the car to the front door and only the promise of sweet dreamless sleep got him there. The security light was out and he turned to the street to find his house key. He found it, slotted it into the lock on his second attempt and pushed the door open. Something moved at the edge of his vision and he felt a shock of adrenaline. He stared into the patch of darkness and saw nothing. Sleep deprivation, waking dreams. He laughed softly to himself. You’re hallucinating, Lee, he told himself, turning back to the doorway.
A blur of shadow rushed at him and he reacted instinctively, swinging right and taking a step to the side, using the attacker’s momentum as he grabbed a handful of clothing and continued the forward motion, following through with a shove in the middle of the back. His co-ordination was slightly off and he used too much force: the shadow fell through the doorway, clipping the edge of the door as they went down and Foster fell too, landing in an untidy heap with his assailant.
The attacker groaned and Foster realised his mistake. ‘What the bloody hell?’ he said angrily, getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers. Megan Ward was slower to move. She groaned again.
‘Jeez, Foster,’ she said, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows.
‘You’re lucky I didn’t break your stupid neck, creeping up on me like that. And it’s Sergeant Foster to you.’
‘Oh,’ she said, in a mock-injured tone, ‘And I thought we were friends.’
‘What d’you think you’re playing at?’ he demanded.
‘I just wanted to get in off the street without drawing too much attention to myself,’ she said.
‘That worked well, didn’t it?’ He scowled down at her, feeling furious and confused and bitterly disappointed that his plans for an early night had been ruined.
Megan smiled a little ruefully, touching her forehead lightly: it was beginning to swell where her head had caught the door frame. She checked her fingertips for blood and gave a slight shrug at finding none. ‘It’s been that kind of day,’ she said, getting smoothly to her feet and slapping the grime from her hands. She wore her hair tied back and tucked under a woollen hat. She opened the vestibule door and walked down the hallway to his flat door.
The adrenaline rush, the weariness, the frustrations of the day hit Foster with a force that winded him for a moment. He shut the front door and bent forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
‘Are you all right?’ Megan asked, taking a step towards him.
‘This isn’t a game, Megan,’ he said, ignoring her question.
‘I know.’
‘So why are you even here?’
She batted her eyes at him, playfully. ‘I thought you might protect a poor damsel in distress.’
‘There you go again.’ His voice echoed up the uncarpeted stairs. ‘Making a joke of it — you walked away from police protection.’
Her mouth curved into a smile and she came closer. ‘I don’t want police protection.’
‘No,’ Foster said, brushing past her, ‘Forget it. I haven’t got time for this shit.’
‘What do you mean?’ She seemed genuinely surprised.
‘I’m not one of your marks,’ Foster said. ‘Don’t mess me around. Half the team is out looking for you — which means we’re at half-strength investigating Sara’s murder.’
‘Sara was my friend.’ Her eyes seemed to cloud: slate-grey, with the promise of rain. ‘That’s why I’m here — I want to help.’
Her sincerity was a little late in coming and Foster gave her a bitter look. ‘Yeah? Well, we don’t want your help.’
It seemed that Megan had come with something to say, and she didn’t intend to leave until she’d said it. She clenched her jaw against his words, frowning, then she gave a little nod as if to say, I deserved that, and went on with stolid determination: ‘If I hadn’t been so self-absorbed, I’d have known that Bentley was stalking Sara and not me. I got away in time because of that mistake, leaving Sara to face the consequences of my actions. I owe her — I know that.’ She seemed to struggle with her emotions again for a second. ‘I want to make it right.’
‘By running away — again?’ That stung. He saw hurt flash in her eyes and then she blinked. ‘Oh, now I’ve hurt your feelings,’ he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
‘I meant it when I told you I don’t want police protection,’ she said. ‘You can’t get at Doran the way I can.’
‘And how d’you think you can “help”?’ Foster asked, curious despite himself.
‘I can get the information you need.’
‘See,’ he said, ‘that’s why we don’t trust you. First you say you’ve got evidence, now you say you can get it.’
‘I didn’t lie to you.’ Her voice was a little shaky. ‘I gave you his tax records — I gave you over a million pounds, for God’s sake!’
She kept talking about it like it was her money. ‘You did do that, I admit. We’ve got enough to charge him with tax fraud and false accounting. And we’re grateful.’ He opened the front door and gestured for her to leave with a sweep of his hand.
The phone started ringing behind his flat door and she said, ‘Aren’t you going to get that?’
He glared at her while the phone rang on, and finally fell silent as the answerphone kicked in.
She took a breath — she even seemed to lean backwards in her determination not to be budged. ‘I can get you more,’ she said hurriedly.
‘More hints, more mystery — more bullshit.’ He took a step away from the door, intending to drag her out if necessary.
Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Doran has used his firm to commit a number of armed robberies,’ she said quickly.
Foster hesitated.
‘I can give you everything you need.’
Foster smiled and shook his head. ‘Yeah? When would that be, then? When you’ve finished playing your computer games? You should market your ideas, honest to God — Nintendo’d lap them up.’
‘I’m more of an X-Boxer, myself,’ she said, coolly. They stared at each other, Foster trying to figure her out, failing miserably. A door opened then slammed on the first floor, and Megan glanced up towards the source of the noise. She stepped back into the shadows cast by the staircase as footsteps clattered down the stairs.
Foster greeted his neighbour with a laconic, but friendly ‘All right,’ and held the door for him as he went out. He stood there for a few moments longer, undecided. If he let Megan walk now, they would lose any chance they had of getting Doran on anything bigger than fraud. He was fairly certain the businessman would have effectively covered his tracks after the abortive attempt to hand over the tax money, so all they had was Megan’s evidence — if it existed. He let his head drop onto his chest. Sod it — only one way to find out.
He shut the door and walked down the hall to where Megan still stood, watching him quietly. He walked past her and slotted the Yale key in the lock and she said, ‘You believe me?’
He looked at her, curious to know if this need to be believed was any different from how she felt when she was working on some poor sucker, during one of her scams. He winced, a little offended. ‘I don’t believe you, Megan. But like the man said — it’s good to talk.’
He led her to the kitchen: he needed coffee, and plenty of it. She seemed to sense this and didn’t attempt to talk to him while he brewed up: not the usual instant stuff he drank, but a strong filter blend. The warm, nutty aroma reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach cramped momentarily in complaint.
Megan pulled off her hat and shook her hair free; it tumbled, thick and glossy, to her shoulders. Foster thought it an ov
erly theatrical gesture. He sweetened the coffee and handed a mug to Megan and they drank the hot black liquid for a minute in silence, at opposite ends of the small space, both standing, though Foster leaned against one of the units for support.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What’s your proposal?’
‘All I want is a chance to talk to Doran,’ she said, watching his face carefully.
Foster stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘What the hell d’you want to talk to him about?’
‘Sara,’ she said simply.
He laughed. ‘D’you think you’re gonna get a confession out of him, Megan?’ he said, leaning off the counter. ‘You’re a rank amateur when it comes to men like Doran. You can’t just walk in and do a Lone Ranger with men like him — he’s dangerous — seriously dangerous. I told you — hard-nosed scouse scalls are scared of Doran — what makes you think you can get him to talk?’
‘As you keep pointing out,’ she said, with a self-critical smile, ‘I know which buttons to push — and I don’t mind being afraid.’ She gave a little shrug, ‘I spend half my life being afraid.’
‘Your choice — you chose this life!’ What the hell did she want — sympathy?
‘You’re right,’ she said, easing past him to place her cup in the sink. Her shoulders looked thin and frail beneath her jacket. ‘I chose this life. But only because it was preferable to the fear I couldn’t control.’
‘Oh, what?’ Foster stared at her back. ‘More bullshit riddles.’ He expected an angry response, but when she swung around to face him, she was smiling.
‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she said. ‘But I won’t give you anything until you let me have a shot at Doran. I don’t mind being the lure,’ she said, eager, now. ‘I know can make him talk — but I need your help to bring him in.’
‘You’re willing to use yourself as bait?’ Foster said. ‘I knew you were a thrill-seeker, but suicidal? Doran isn’t soft, Megan — he’ll want something more than the pleasure of your company. You haven’t got his money anymore — we have — and my DCI isn’t about to part with it on your say-so.’
‘I have money,’ she said.
He thought about it for a moment. ‘You don’t think the fifteen thousand you got for your sportster will do anything for him?’ He watched her reaction. She seem surprised that they should know about her car sale. She began to deny it but the attempt was half-hearted and he interrupted.
‘You might be invisible, Megan, but when you own things — even better, when you sell things — suddenly ping! you’re all solid and substantial again.’
She chewed her lip but said nothing.
‘The fifteen thousand will only aggravate him,’ Foster told her. ‘It’d be like dripping acid on a burn.’
‘I’ll get more,’ she said.
‘More what? More money?’ She nodded. ‘Just like that?’
She inclined her head. Such things were easy for Megan Ward. He looked into his coffee cup, but the black slick of liquid held no answers to this puzzle of a woman.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You want me to help you set up a sting operation with a man you are convinced is a murderer, using stolen money? If it wasn’t so crazy, it’d be hilarious.’
‘How else would I get it?’ She wasn’t faking her confusion.
He shook his head. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘Do you never bend the rules, Sergeant?’
He took a breath. How many times had Jeff Rickman accused him of failing to see the rights and wrongs of a situation, only the path of least resistance. What was the word Jeff used? Expedience, that was it.
She continued looking at him and he said, ‘This isn’t about me — it’s about risk. It’s too risky. For you and for me.’
‘This could be the biggest arrest of your career,’ she said.
‘And the last. Helping you — especially on some bird-brained scheme like this — is way outside my remit. It’s against orders, against the wishes of my boss. If we pulled it off, they might give me a medal, but they’d have to kick my arse out the door right after.’
‘Funny,’ she said, tilting her head and looking at him like she’d never really seen him before. ‘I never thought of you as a Jobsworth.’
‘Don’t try to mess with my head, Megan. I know I’m a lot of things — but I’m not a coward — and I’ve got nothing to prove to you,’ he added quietly. He finished his coffee and leaned past her to place the cup in the sink. They were close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek, could smell the warmth of her perfume. She smelled of apples and spices and sweet hay. She didn’t move. Point to Megan, he thought, feeling himself liking her again. Not wanting to.
He folded his arms and leaned against the counter beside her. ‘You’re asking too much,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know who you are and you’re asking me to lay my job on the line.’
‘You want to get to know me?’ she asked. ‘I’m not that easy to define.’
‘I’m not saying I want to get to know you, I’m saying I don’t trust you.’
‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘I can’t do much about that.’ She moved towards the door, and Foster followed her.
‘So, you’ll leave it alone?’
She smiled. ‘I can’t do that, Sergeant.’
He took hold of her arm and he saw a spurt of anger in her eyes. ‘You can’t go up against Doran on your own,’ he said.
‘Looks like I’ve no choice.’
‘I’ll arrest you if I have to.’
‘On what charge?’ She tried to pull away from him, but he held her.
‘I dunno — assault.’
‘I’m the one with the injury,’ she said. The bruising on her forehead had turned an angry purple.
‘All right — for being a suicidal bint, then.’
She puffed air between her lips. ‘I may be a thrill-seeker, but I’m not suicidal,’ she said, throwing his words back at him.
It was one jibe too many. The pointless activity, the disappointments and frustrations of the day came rushing back at him in a tidal wave of exhaustion. ‘Okay,’ he said letting go of her arm, ‘you want to kill yourself, don’t let me stop you.’
She rubbed her arm, looking him in the eye, and he could see her struggle with her pathological need for secrecy; he also saw a little gleam there that said maybe she was fighting an urge to slap his face.
‘I gave you the money,’ she said. ‘I gave you the chance to get Doran — you blew it.’ There was raw emotion in her voice.
‘I’m tired, Megan,’ he said. ‘Do what you like — just leave me out of it.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, her eyes magnified by tears. ‘I can’t do this alone.’
‘So don’t do it.’
‘I can’t just walk away from this,’ she insisted.
‘Why not? You’ve been walking away all your life. It’s what you do — it’s what you’re good at — what make this any different?’
She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her. ‘Do me a favour — don’t give me that crap about Sara. You walked away from her knowing you’d been rumbled. You didn’t warn her, and you didn’t try to draw them away from her.’
‘Don’t you think I regret that?’
Foster was too tired to argue any more, he didn’t want to hear any more of her self-justification and he couldn’t stand to see her trying out her cheap grifter tactics on him. ‘Get out,’ he said.
She shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks. ‘This is for Sara,’ she said. ‘I’m not so bad as you think.’
He looked away, not wanting to be influenced by her tears. ‘You don’t know what I think,’ he said.
‘Only what you’ve told me: that I’m a hustler, a cheat, a thief and a liar — you’re right — I’m all those things. But I did care about Sara.’ She fell silent and he looked at her again. Whatever it was she wanted to say, she wasn’t finding it easy. She sighed. ‘But it isn’t just about Sara,’ she said.
&
nbsp; He waited and she sighed again.
‘Patrick Doran killed my brother.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
‘Gareth was ten years older than me,’ Megan said. They had moved to Foster’s sitting-room and now sat either end of a chocolate-brown sofa. Megan nursed a glass of whisky — not the good stuff — Foster still wasn’t sure if he trusted her, and he wasn’t going to waste his good stash on someone who might be taking the Mickey out of him. He propped his feet up on a low table in front of the sofa. A state-of-the-art hifi and a single leather chair placed square in front of a widescreen TV were the only other articles of furniture in the room.
‘He was ace with computers, electronics, anything like that. He just knew how things worked.’ She laughed a little tearfully. ‘He was going to be the next Bill Gates.’
She fell silent for a while, and only took up the story again when Foster leaned forward to place his empty coffee mug on the table.
She smoothed a line along her eye socket with the pad of her thumb. ‘He got into trouble, hacking into commercial concerns, messing with their databases, sending rude messages on their global email services. He didn’t blackmail anyone or gain from it financially, it was—’ She seemed lost for words for a second. ‘For Gareth, it was an interesting intellectual exercise — he liked the challenge.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Fifteen, the first time he was caught. They gave him a warning, confiscated his computer and put him on a community service order. But Gareth never—’ She frowned. ‘You have to understand — he didn’t live by other people’s rules. Gareth had his own way of seeing the world. He couldn’t see the point of taking away his computer — he didn’t really see that he’d done anything wrong. He was even banned off the school’s network, so he had to drop his ICT course.’ She sighed. ‘He did the community service when it suited him. He started using internet cafés, library computers — any way he could get access to the internet.’
SEE HER DIE a totally gripping mystery thriller (Detective Jeff Rickman Book 2) Page 26
