Geraldine did her best to focus on what Ariadne was saying, but her mind kept wandering. She and Ian had been good friends for years before they had finally confessed their love for one another. Admittedly Ian’s freedom had been constrained by his marriage. It wasn’t until after his wife had left him that he had revealed his feelings and moved into Geraldine’s flat. By then their relationship had felt so right, neither of them had ever questioned it would last. And yet now they were separated and she didn’t even know where he was or whether she would ever see him again. If such a considered affair had faltered, how could anyone know for sure that a relationship was going to last?
She switched her attention back to the conversation and heard Matthew saying, ‘I guess you just have to give it a go and see what happens. Hope for the best and all that. It’s all any of us can do, really, whatever our circumstances. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful but really I’m the last person who should be offering relationship advice. My marriage was a complete failure for no reason that I can fathom. We’re both reasonable adults, we get on well, we loved each other enough to have two children and then, pouf, it was all over. I’m still not sure why.’
Matthew spoke carelessly but Geraldine was sure he must be deeply upset about the break-up of his marriage.
‘Have you discussed the situation with your wife?’ she asked gently.
‘Oh yes,’ he replied. ‘But it turns out we’re both better off as we are. We’re happier apart.’
‘Yes,’ Ariadne sighed, ‘I know, a lot of people prefer to stay single. I envy you, Geraldine. I wish I could be like you, but my mother’s constantly on at me and that gets me worried, because maybe I don’t want to end up on my own. It’s one thing when you’re young and fit, but what’s going to happen to me when I’m old and decrepit, and there’s no one to look after me or care what happens to me?’
Geraldine suspected Ariadne was repeating her mother’s words, but if they had made such a deep impression on Ariadne, maybe deep down she felt the same. It wasn’t Geraldine’s place to tell her friend how to live her life.
‘You just have to do what feels right for you, weighing everything up and looking at the situation from every angle. Do you love Nico?’
‘Love? Is that enough? And how do you know if you love someone?’
‘You don’t,’ Matthew said gloomily. ‘Not really. That is, you never know if anyone loves you enough to put up with you for the long haul.’
‘Can you imagine spending the rest of your life with him?’ Geraldine persisted.
Ariadne nodded. ‘The sad thing is I can, even though I don’t think I love him, not like that.’
Geraldine and Matthew exchanged a glance but neither of them challenged what Ariadne meant exactly.
‘Well, you have to decide for yourself,’ Geraldine said. ‘Never mind what anyone else says, this is your life and it has to be your decision.’
Geraldine sighed. She knew very well that her advice was flawed. From her own experience she knew only too well that people didn’t always make sensible decisions about their own lives.
45
The following morning, Thomas left the house as usual and stopped the car after a few blocks to call and say he wouldn’t be going to the office.
‘It’s a dratted stomach upset,’ he told the office manager. ‘It’s nothing. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.’
The office manager wished him a speedy recovery and rang off. The first part of Thomas’s plan was complete. He waited around the corner until he was sure Emily had left for work, before embarking on the next stage in his plan, which was to look for a suitable place to ditch the van. After driving for nearly an hour, past Heslington and Holtby, he reached Hagg Wood and found a spot where he thought he would be able to drive the van off the track and through the trees until it was out of sight of anyone driving by. It wasn’t a very imaginative idea, but by driving right off the road and leaving the van concealed among the trees, he hoped it would remain there undetected for a while. Few people were likely to be walking in the woods in such cold weather and, with any luck, the van would stay hidden out of sight until after the winter, by which time the police would have lost interest in it. Having settled on a location for the van, he returned home.
His next problem was how to move the van safely. He couldn’t drive it on the road with its current registration number, because the police might see it and then everything would be over. Somehow they had already spotted the van driving near Acomb Wood on the night he had dumped the prostitute, and they had promptly plastered an image of it all over the papers and the internet. The dead prostitute’s DNA must be spread over the van. He couldn’t afford to be caught driving it. Once the police requisitioned the van, he had no doubt a forensic team would find traces of the dead woman in his hall. A speck of blood, a skin cell, a fleck of dandruff, was all it would take. He tried not to imagine Emily’s shocked expression when she discovered what he had done.
What he needed was fake number plates and, ideally, a paint job, to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, but he didn’t know how to go about securing any of that. A seasoned criminal would have contacts who could dispose of the incriminating van. As it was, all Thomas could hope to manage was to change the registration number. With a flash of inspiration, he realised what he could do. He didn’t have the right size screwdriver but he thought that could be easily remedied. As it happened, it turned out to be a challenge to find the right tool but he found one in the end, after scouring the shelves of a local hardware shop and spending a small fortune on different sized screwdrivers. Crouching down, he removed the back number plate from his car and fastened it to the front of the van. He turned the car around so that the front faced the garage door, and removed the second number plate which he attached to the back of the van. Now all he had to do was hide his car in the garage while he drove the van to a secluded spot in Hagg Wood, where it wouldn’t be found, and leave it there without being seen. It was too far to walk back, but he could catch a bus from Holtby that would take him nearly to his door.
He drove cautiously, terrified his false number plates would fall off. He wasn’t sure they were securely attached. He avoided main roads with speed cameras and traffic lights, anywhere he might be spotted on CCTV. He couldn’t drive fast in any case because, apart from the danger of ice on the roads, he had purchased, for cash, a pair of wellington boots that were two sizes too large for him, and stuffed them with paper so that he was able to walk in them. They were difficult to drive in, but he was keen to avoid leaving any further clues to his identity when he walked away from the van. It began to snow lightly as he drove, which he hoped would help to make the van more difficult to see clearly on any CCTV he passed unwittingly. It was less than ten miles to his destination, but it seemed to take him hours to drive there. At last he arrived and slowed to a standstill to wait for a moment with his windows open, listening. As far as he could tell, the woods were deserted.
Halfway along the narrow lane that led into the wood, he turned off into a small clearing from where he kept going, forcing his way through the trees. The van jolted between trunks to the sound of horrible screeching of branches scraping along the sides, until it finally came to a halt when it could go no further. With difficulty, Thomas forced his door open, pushing against branches that grew up right beside the path he had forged. Scratched and dented, the van was firmly wedged between the trees. Fortunately, being grey, it was going to be hard to see from a distance. In any case, with the weather turning bitter and heavy snow forecast, he hoped no one would be out walking in the woods for a while. Once the spring came and leaves returned to the trees, the van would be even better hidden. It was difficult to remove the number plates with his fingers half frozen inside his gloves, which had quickly become sodden once he left the shelter of the van. He worked as quickly as he could in the eerie silence of the wood, and eventually managed to prise them both off
.
In some ways the bad weather was a blessing. The snow was difficult to walk on, but it served him much better than mud would have done. His footprints in the snow would hopefully have melted away long before the police arrived to survey the scene. With the number plates from his car stowed in his rucksack, he made his way carefully back through the trees, ducking and dodging overhanging bare branches and twigs, and doing his best to avoid touching anything. A trace of his DNA on a broken twig could be enough to alert the police to his presence there. It was possible the police had already succeeded in finding a sample of his DNA from one of the bodies. What he had to be careful of now was to avoid any situation where he might be called on to surrender a sample of his DNA. As long as the police had no match for whatever DNA they might have found on the prostitute or the blackmailer, Thomas was safe. He smiled grimly to himself as he struggled through the trees and back to the path. He walked along the grass verge, which was less slippery than the path, as the snow began to fall more heavily. It was almost a blizzard as he emerged from the woods back on to the road. Once again, the difficulty of traversing the streets was offset by the knowledge that no one was likely to see him clearly through the driving snow, and any trail he left would vanish the moment the snow thawed. Conditions couldn’t really have been better for someone wanting to move around without leaving lasting tracks.
46
Ian could only manage to open one eye. As if through a mist, he saw that he was lying on the floor beside a familiar settee. It was a while before he remembered that it was the furniture in his living room in London. Shifting his head slightly, he saw Frank seated nearby, watching him. With an effort, Ian recalled being knocked out. Along with the memory came a return of physical sensations. He became aware that his head hurt, and his right eye was throbbing painfully. Even though he had been convinced Frank was after him, Ian had let himself be caught off guard. As a trained detective, he ought to have known better than to let himself be defeated, outmanoeuvred by Tod’s imbecile of a bodyguard. He groaned and attempted to raise himself from the floor, but his hands had been tied behind his back with what felt like a coarse rope that chafed his skin viciously whenever he moved his hands.
‘So you’re not a goner after all,’ Frank said when he saw Ian struggling to get up. ‘Not yet. And there’s me thinking you’re laid out for good. I been getting real bored waiting for you to come round. Not such a pretty face now, are you?’ He chuckled. ‘So, you fixing for some fun?’ He slapped his right fist into the palm of his left hand. ‘God knows, I been waiting long enough for this.’
Still grinning, he rose to his feet and towered over Ian who lay squirming at his feet, his head twisted round to look up at his captor. Ian was lying on his back, crushing his hands, which were tied behind him. From his position on the floor, Frank looked gigantic. Taking a flick knife from his pocket, Frank squatted down, his enormous knees centimetres from Ian’s face, and slowly moved his hand forward, until the tip of the blade touched Ian’s cheek. Frank’s hand didn’t tremble, but Ian flinched and he heard himself whimper with fear. He couldn’t help it. With a roar of laughter, Frank withdrew the blade and went and sat down again. Ian drew in a deep breath, his relief physical rather than mental. He knew it was only a matter of time before Frank slashed his face, or worse.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Frank said, ‘but I’m having a ball.’
‘You think you can scare me?’ Ian muttered, moving his lips with difficulty.
Neither of them was taken in by his pathetic attempt at bravado.
‘Sure I can,’ Frank replied quietly. ‘Just looking at me has you shitting your pants.’ He chuckled. ‘We both know I’m crushing you.’ He sniggered and began playing with his knife, flicking the blade in and out.
‘What do you want?’ Ian whispered, forcing himself to speak even though every movement of his face was painful.
‘Just this,’ Frank said. ‘Me and you here, easy, both of us wondering how it’s gonna play out, and how excruciating it’s gonna be for you before you croak.’ He grinned happily.
‘Oh Jesus, this isn’t a Bond film,’ Ian snapped suddenly, regardless of the effort it cost him to speak. ‘If you’re going to kill me, let’s just get it over with. If you’ve got the bottle, that is.’
They both knew Ian was trying to goad Frank into losing his temper so it would be over quickly.
‘Take it down,’ Frank crooned softly. ‘I’m in no hurry.’
He stood up suddenly and walked out of Ian’s line of vision. If anything, not being able to see where Frank was made Ian even more frightened than he had been before. After a few minutes, Frank came back into view clutching a bottle of Ian’s whisky, a lighted cigarette in the corner of his lips. Frank moved his cigarette very slowly towards Ian’s eye. Behind the glowing tip, Ian could see his tormentor’s huge face grinning down at him. All Ian could do was twist his head to one side and wait for searing pain to rip through him.
From a long way off, there was a sudden crash and the muffled sound of shouting. Frank leaped to his feet, his face contorted in alarm. The whisky bottle fell from his hand. From the strong aroma, Ian guessed that it was silently spilling somewhere out of sight. He turned his head and saw a uniformed officer appear in the doorway, wearing a bullet proof vest and pointing a gun. A second officer appeared, also armed. Ian let out a cry of relief. Noticing a movement beside him, he kicked out and caught Frank on the shin. One of the officers darted forward and grabbed Frank’s arm, twisting it up behind his back until his knife fell to the floor.
‘He’s armed,’ Ian croaked. ‘Watch out for his other hand.’
‘Get off me!’ Frank cried out. ‘What you doing? What the fuck?’
The policeman released his grip on Frank’s arm only to slap handcuffs on his wrists. As he did so, Ian let out an involuntary groan.
‘I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer. And that’s just for starters.’
A second pair of uniformed officers entered the room. One of them untied Ian’s hands and gently helped him to a chair.
Meanwhile Frank was shaking his head, looking dazed. ‘I don’t get it. What the fuck? How did you know we were here? Don’t you touch me,’ he added, glaring at the uniformed police officer who had handcuffed him. ‘Fucking filth, you hear me? He’s the one you should be taking down, not me. That scum. He’s the one you want. You got it all wrong. Arrest him, not me.’
‘Oh, give it a rest,’ Ian interrupted him as he sank onto a chair, examining his wrists which had been rubbed raw. ‘Can’t you see I’m one of them?’
‘One of them? What the fuck you blathering about? Get off me!’
Ian stood up and swayed, and had to sit down again to stop himself falling over. Without warning, he threw up on the carpet.
‘You need to get to a doctor,’ one of his colleagues said.
‘I’m fine, it’s nothing,’ he replied.
‘Have you taken a look at yourself?’
Ian felt his eye gingerly and swore at the soreness and the swelling.
‘Someone will drive you to the nearest hospital,’ his colleague said. ‘And let’s get this brute behind bars where he can’t cause any more damage.’
‘Leave me alone,’ Frank cried out. ‘What the fuck? Get off me.’
Still protesting, he was dragged from the room. As soon as he was able to make a call, Ian spoke to Jack and told him what had happened. They agreed it was essential that Tod believed Frank was dead.
‘Leave that to me,’ Jack reassured Ian.
Two hours later, Ian was flat on his back again, this time in a hospital bed. Jenny visited him, looking concerned
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. ‘You look like shit.’
‘No serious damage done,’ he replied, sitting up. ‘I’d offer you a drink but I’m all out.’ He glanced disconsolately around the sparse room. ‘It seems
I owe you for saving my skin. But how did you know Frank would be there, waiting for me?’
Jenny shrugged. ‘Call it a hunch. I suspected he might have found out where you’re living so I had a team run a check on every vehicle parked within easy walking distance and guess what? A vehicle came up registered to a bloke in Hackney whose car was reported stolen two weeks ago. That was enough to mobilise back-up from the armed response unit.’
Ian nodded. ‘I need to get back to Tod. This,’ he pointed at his face, ‘won’t be a problem as far as he’s concerned.’
‘We’ll do this together, Ian. But first you need to rest.’
‘No. I need to get back to the club.’
‘Frank’s down,’ Jenny said, smiling grimly. ‘But Tod’s still out there and he’s the one we need to nail.’
Ian nodded. ‘Leave him to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got business with him.’
‘You and me both,’ she replied.
‘Tod still thinks I despatched Nick, so he trusts me. And with Frank out of the way, I can step into his shoes. Jack will make sure no one hears from Frank, so I can tell Tod I got rid of him. I’ve already convinced Tod that Frank was a police informer.’
‘How the hell did you manage that?’ she asked.
‘Never mind. The important thing is he believed me. Now I need to get back to Tod and nail him.’
‘No, right now you need to rest,’ she replied. ‘You can deal with Tod when you’re ready and not before.’
‘Since when were you my senior officer?’ Ian asked, lying back again with a faint groan.
‘Since you turned into an idiot,’ she replied, smiling.
47
‘You could be right,’ Eileen said, her tone of voice clearly indicating that she disagreed with Geraldine. ‘Now let’s crack on, shall we?’
She turned back to the board where images of the recent victims were displayed.
Deep Cover Page 21
