Conspiracy

by Adrian Wills

  ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of a soldier from the army school,’ said Parkes.

  ‘The guy on the news?’

  ‘That’s right. His name’s Kyle Hopkins. He was a regular. Did you know him?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman.

  ‘The last confirmed sighting was in here a few nights ago.’

  ‘In which case you’ll need to speak to Michael. But he doesn’t start ‘til seven. Can you come back later?’

  The three old boys at the bar went back to their muted conversation as Blake followed Parkes back out onto the busy street.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m famished. Fancy an early dinner?’ Parkes looked uncertain. She chewed her lip as she checked her watch. ‘Unless you have some place else you need to be?’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I probably ought to check in with Hubbard at some point, but what the hell, dinner would be good.’

  ‘He’s told you to keep a tight rein on me, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘He doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘Well, you are a spook,’ she said, with a smile. ‘But doesn’t the feeling go both ways?’

  ‘He’s well-meaning, but he’s blinkered. I just hope his hunch is right.’

  They ate at a quiet steakhouse, at a table near the back by the kitchens with a clear view of the front entrance. Old habits died hard. Blake ordered a fillet steak that came so rare it bled onto his plate and into a stack of French fries. Parkes had a limp-looking salad with a bottle of sparkling water. Not that she needed to watch her figure. She was in great shape. She wasn’t carrying an inch of fat. Her arms were lithe and toned, and she sat with a pronounced arch in the small of her back, like a ballerina with polished poise. If anything, she was a little too thin.

  ‘Tell me about the army,’ she asked as she pushed a pile of green leaves around her plate.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Which regiment were you in?’

  ‘The Paras,’ said Blake, falling back on the familiar lie. He couldn’t tell her the truth. His role in a covert SAS black ops intelligence and interrogation unit remained classified, even after the military had disbanded Echo 17. Only a handful of people knew it had ever existed. Even fewer were aware it had been taken on by MI5 as a counter-terrorism operation. The world had changed. Terrorists didn’t play by the rules anymore. You had to fight dirty, and it was best the public wasn’t aware.

  ‘You must have seen some amazing places.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Blake. ‘But once you’ve seen the inside of one grotty barracks, you’ve seen the inside of them all.’

  The truth was Echo 17 had operated so far out of the usual spheres Blake had rarely mixed with other units, let alone seen the inside of any barracks.

  ‘It must have been exciting though.’ Parkes’ eyes narrowed.

  ‘There was a lot of sitting around not doing much.’ Blake omitted to mention it was usually in uncomfortable foxholes and dugouts, deep behind enemy lines in the extremes of heat and cold, watching and waiting. The excitement usually lasted only a few minutes. A high adrenaline burst of action to capture or kill. And it was all over. Time to ex-filtrate and avoid being discovered. ‘What about you? Ever considered a career in the military?’

  ‘Me?’ laughed Parkes, throwing back her head and shaking the fringe from her eyes. ‘God, no.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘All that marching and shouting? Not really my bag.’

  ‘Have you been a cop for long?’

  ‘Straight from school. Been here ever since.’

  ‘You still enjoy it?’

  ‘It’s not the job it used to be. The paperwork’s a killer,’ she said, wincing as she reached for the bottle of Tramadol in her bag. She unscrewed the cap and tipped out two pills into her palm.

  ‘And Hubbard?’

  Parkes pulled a face as she swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. ‘He’s never taken me seriously.’

  ‘Which explains why he fobbed you off as the minder for the interfering MI5 guy. His loss, my gain.’

  Parkes smiled coyly. ‘When did you become a spook?’

  ‘Since they retired me from the army,’ said Blake. ‘It’s not the most thrilling job, but it saved me from the dole. Most of the time it’s sitting behind a desk analysing data, looking for that one nugget everyone else has missed.’

  Parkes studied him through suspicious eyes. He knew what she was thinking; he didn’t look much like a guy who sat behind a desk. For a man in his late forties, he was in remarkably good condition. He didn’t carry the fake muscle of a gym bunny, all rippling abs and unnecessary bulk, but possessed a natural strength from a life lived outdoors. Powerful arms and shoulders, strong hands and a face scarred from the wind, rain and sun. Just a regular guy who looked as if he could handle himself in a scrape.

  ‘That does sound dull,’ Parkes said.

  ‘It’s good to get my teeth into something meaty for a change.’

  ‘Don’t they have field officers or something to do this kind of thing?’

  ‘Like I said, they thought my experience in the military might be useful,’ said Blake, settling the bill and leaving an extravagant tip. What the hell. Patterson was paying.

  ‘And is there a wife and kids at home?’

  Blake caught her glance at the ring finger of his left hand. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘So what’s the story? Never wanted to settle down or never found the right girl?’

  ‘There was someone, once,’ said Blake. ‘It didn’t work out.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago. We were just kids.’ He could still picture Laura’s face the morning she went missing, ever youthful in his mind while he’d grown older and greyer. His stomach tightened as he wondered whether she’d married, had kids of her own. He clung to the thought because the alternative was so much worse. ‘Enough about me. What about you?’

  Parkes sat up straight like a scolded child.

  ‘Happily single,’ she said, meeting Blake’s eye. After a heartbeat, she added, ‘Divorced. No kids.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. He was a shit. I should have listened to my mother. It was a mistake marrying a copper.’

  The restaurant door rattled open and two couples walked in, chatting loudly. Blake glanced at the clock on the wall.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and talk to that barman,’ he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The old regulars were still sitting on the bar stools, faces flushed, but the pub had filled with a younger crowd. The tables were mostly taken by couples. Groups of young men with short haircuts and tattooed arms stood in huddles. Two guys exchanged shots at the pool table and the air was sweaty with booze, laughter and high spirits.

  Blake pushed his way to the bar with Parkes close at his elbow. Eventually he managed to catch the eye of a harassed-looking barman pulling pints and trying to keep up with the demand for his attention.

  ‘Are you Michael?’ Blake shouted.

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of a soldier who went missing. You might have been the last person to have seen him.’

  ‘What?’ the barman shouted, cocking his ear towards Blake.

  ‘His name’s Kyle Hopkins. Do you remember seeing him in here?’

  ‘I’ve already told the police everything I know. I’m a bit busy right now.’ He turned away to serve a guy in a Metallica t-shirt who was waving two empty pint glasses and gripping a ten-pound note between his teeth.

  There was no way Blake was going to get any sense out of the guy until it had quietened down a little.

  ‘What’d he say?’ asked Parkes.

  ‘He’s busy. We’ll have to wait. Do you want a drink?’

  Parkes nodded. ‘Lime and soda.’

  Blake raised an eyebrow. ‘Have a proper drink.’


  ‘I can’t. Not on these pills.’

  Blake shrugged. They found an empty table by the door. Parkes perched uneasily on the edge of her chair while Blake drank thirstily from a pint of Jail Ale, which had apparently been brewed in the shadow of Dartmoor’s infamous prison at nearby Princetown.

  ‘What sort of nuggets?’ Parkes asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you usually sat at a desk looking for nuggets everyone else had missed. What sort?’

  ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  The door burst open letting in a chill blast of air. Two men in dirty jeans and scruffy coats brushed past Blake as they staggered in, already worse for wear. He watched them warily over his pint.

  ‘I guess it’s mostly just data and things?’

  ‘Yeah. Financial records, accounts, that sort of thing. Honestly, it’s really dull.’

  ‘I guess that’s quite a change from being in the Paras?’

  ‘It pays the bills.’

  The two men split off in different directions; one stumbling towards the bar and the other towards the pool table, where he grabbed a cue from a wooden stand bolted to the wall and used it like a crutch. He watched the game being played through glassy eyes, throwing disparaging comments every time a shot was made, until the two men already at the table gave up and walked away.

  ‘You want another?’ asked Blake, pointing to Parkes’ empty glass.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  Blake fought his way to the bar, ordered another pint and weaved through the crowd back to their table, followed a few minutes later by the barman, Michael.

  ‘I have a five-minute break,’ he said, pulling up a chair. ‘How can I help?’

  Blake nodded to Parkes to lead the questioning. He was keen to observe and besides, it gave him a chance to study the barman more closely. She opened a notebook on the table and found a pen in her bag. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Michael Marin.’

  Parkes scribbled it down. ‘And I understand you know Kyle Hopkins?’

  ‘The guy who’s missing? I’ve seen him in here a few times, yeah.’

  ‘And specifically the night he went missing?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marin, squinting as if recalling a distant memory. ‘It was unusually quiet.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Can you remember what time he arrived?’

  ‘I think it was around half eight. I can’t be sure.’

  ‘And how did he look? Troubled in any way?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Parkes laid her pen on the table and took a long, hard look at the barman. ‘Do you remember him taking a phone call?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, you either remember or you don’t.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you overhear what he said?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I don’t listen to other people’s phone calls.’

  ‘You’re a barman. You must hear things all the time,’ said Parkes.

  Marin pulled a face. ‘I try to be discreet.’

  ‘How was he after the call?’

  ‘Okay, I think.’

  ‘He didn’t seem upset or agitated?’

  ‘No.’

  Parkes sighed. ‘You know after that call he left here, drove onto the moor and hasn’t been seen since? We’re just trying to find out what happened to him, for the sake of his wife and kids.’

  ‘I can’t help you,’ Marin said, rubbing a spot on the table with his thumb. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Please try to think, Michael,’ said Blake. ‘Is there anything else which might help?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘How long was he on the phone?’ asked Parkes.

  ‘Not long. Less than a minute.’

  ‘Did it seem like it was a call from someone he knew?’

  ‘I really have no idea,’ Marin said. ‘Look, I have to get back to work. I’m sorry.’ He stood and pushed the chair under the table.

  ‘Well, thanks for your time,’ said Blake. ‘Just one more thing before you go.’

  Marin looked at him nervously.

  ‘You notice anyone unfamiliar hanging around recently?’

  ‘It’s a pub. It’s always full of unfamiliar faces.’

  ‘Sure, but anyone who caught your eye, who seemed out of place?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anyone asking about Kyle Hopkins?’

  ‘Only the police.’

  ‘Before that,’ said Blake.

  Marin hesitated for a moment. ‘Actually there was a guy, a week or so ago.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Parkes, sitting straighter.

  ‘Sorry, I completely forgot.’

  ‘It’s okay. But he was asking specifically about Kyle?’ said Blake, a frisson of excitement fizzing in his stomach.

  ‘Yeah, he wanted to know if Kyle had been in.’

  A peel of raucous laughter from the two drunken men who were now attempting to play pool through their alcoholic stupor, momentarily distracted Marin. He threw an anxious glance over his shoulder.

  ‘Can you remember what he looked like?’

  ‘He had this thick beard, scrawny-looking though.’

  ‘White? Black?’

  ‘Asian,’ said Marin.

  Parkes shot Blake a look. ‘And you’ve never seen him before?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘I don’t know. Early to mid-twenties maybe.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ Parkes asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody asked. Do you think it’s important?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Blake. ‘You’ve been really helpful, Michael. Thank you.’

  They watched Marin pick his way through the crowd of drinkers and slip back behind the bar.

  ‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Parkes, eyeing Blake warily.

  ‘Can we get someone to check whatever CCTV footage there is from around the town to see if we can identify him? I want to know who that guy was.’

  ‘That’s going to take a lot of resource. I need to square it off with Hubbard first.’

  ‘You want me to call him?’

  ‘No,’ said Parkes. ‘It’s fine. I’ll speak to him in the morning.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Blake. ‘I suggest we make an early start. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Monklands Hotel, opposite the police station.’

  ‘You and the rest of the team,’ said Parkes. ‘It’s where they’ve put most of us up.’

  ‘Then I can walk you back.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll just be a minute. I need to powder my nose.’

  Blake watched her shrug on her jacket and head for the back of the pub, past the pool table where the two drunken men trying to play could barely stand straight. Blake observed them for a minute, until they caught him staring.

  ‘Oi, what you looking at?’ one of them shouted, his face curling into a nasty snarl.

  Blake held up a hand of apology. He was in no mood for any trouble tonight. He was already thinking of his bed and the early start he had in mind the next day.

  ‘I’m talking to you old man. I asked what you’re looking at?’

  The men had stopped their game and stood shoulder to shoulder, squaring up to Blake across the room, full of bravado, aggression and bullshit.

  ‘You’re drunk. Go back to your game. Don’t make fools of yourselves.’

  The first guy, stockier and broader, but several inches shorter than Blake and with a flat nose and wide shoulders stepped forward, cutting the distance between them. Beer sloshed out of his glass all over his hand. ‘Don’t disrespect me,’ he hissed, the flames of fury flickering behind his eyes.

  ‘Just calm down,’ said Blake.

  The second guy, taller and thinner lined up behind his
mate and flexed his muscles, pulling back his shoulders and thrusting out his chest.

  Behind them, Parkes appeared, and oblivious to the confrontation tried squeezing past the two men, knocking the second guy off balance. As she turned to apologise, her bag clipped his pint glass balanced on the edge of the pool table. It wobbled and tipped in slow motion, finally falling and spilling beer all over the table.

  ‘What the fuck? You stupid bitch!’ the guy yelled, up into Parkes’ face before Blake could react. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

  The pub fell silent as all eyes turned on Parkes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ Parkes said, enunciating her words slowly and with such menace that the guy shrunk away a little. ‘I think you boys have probably had enough for one night.’

  ‘Don’t tell me when I’ve had enough,’ the man said, regaining his confidence. His hand went for Parkes’ throat, but she snatched his wrist out of the air, twisting and wrenching it, using the momentum to spin him around and bend him over the table. His forehead hit the green baize with a thud and his face contorted in agony while she held his arm behind his back at such an angle that all the pressure and all the pain went directly through his shoulder.

  ‘You’re breaking my arm,’ he screamed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘And you just tried to assault a police officer.’

  Blake saw the panic in the other guy’s eyes. He glanced at Blake. And then at Parkes, uncertainty written all over his face. That’s when Blake knew he was going to do something stupid. He should have walked away. Gone home. Realised the fight was done. But alcohol does unpredictable things to a man’s ego.

  ‘Let him go, you crazy bitch,’ he said, snatching up his pool cue, and swinging it like a cudgel.

  He swiped at Parkes’ head, but was too slow. She ducked, letting go of the first guy’s arm. The pool cue wafted harmlessly over her head.

  She came back up as quickly as she’d bobbed down, powering through her thighs. She jabbed the ball of her hand into the guy’s solar plexus while he was off balance. He dropped the cue and it clattered to the ground. Coughing and spluttering he clutched his stomach, bent double, dribbling on the floor.

  Blake didn’t give him a second chance to catch his breath. He was across the room in a flash. He wrapped a thick arm around the guy’s neck, putting just enough pressure on his windpipe to make him think twice about trying to fight back.