‘This house used to service barges,’ said Knox. ‘I remember Tom telling me that once. The barges would have burned coal on their stoves.’
‘So there must be a coal store somewhere,’ said Coleman. ‘But where?’
‘McCrae had the plans in his rooms.’ Knox ran up the stairs, two at a time, grabbed the papers and was back, breathless, in less than a minute. Spreading the drawings out on the table it took a few seconds to work out the annotations, but then Knox saw it.
‘It’s right under our feet,’ he said, calmly. ‘There’s a cellar.’
Coleman mustered all those remaining in the house. ‘Check inside and out. We’re looking for the entrance to a cellar.’
It wasn’t easy. A circuit of the exterior revealed nothing that would lead them underground, and all the interior doors opened onto storage space, including the deep cupboard under the stairs, which was piled high with boxes of papers and miscellaneous junk. But it was while flashing a torch around this cupboard that Knox noticed the drag of fingerprints in the light layer of dust covering one of the boxes. Pulling out some of the cartons into the hall allowed him to get a better view of the cupboard’s interior walls, where he saw the hinges and bar-catch of a door.
‘It’s here! Help me clear this junk out!’ he yelled, and was immediately inundated.
* * *
On the edges of his consciousness the dull pounding had become constant, loud and insistent, Mariner’s pulse quickening and signalling the end. It was to be the last thing he heard. Was this how Chloe Evans’ last minutes had been? There was a deafening crack, and a blinding glare burned his eyes as he strained to focus on the dazzling shaft of light that had appeared, leading him away to the other place. Funny though, he never expected St Peter to have a Scouse accent, nor that the guardian angel’s first words, with a catch in his voice, would be: ‘Fuckin’ hell. Look at the state of you.’
* * *
After so long in a pitch dark vacuum of silence, the activity that followed overwhelmed Mariner’s senses, so that he wanted to bellow for them to go away and leave him alone. But his mouth was so dry that he could hardly speak. Tony Knox brought him some water, which he gulped down greedily and promptly threw back up all over Knox’s trousers.
It took half an hour for the fire crew to sever the chain that bound him to the wall, and longer still to cut off the ankle-cuff, exposing his raw skin. During that time paramedics stretchered him and attached a drip. As it all went on around him Mariner drifted in and out of consciousness, hardly able to distinguish what was real and what might be inside his throbbing head. Knox was talking to him, his face close by. ‘McCrae’s gone,’ he said. ‘Did he tell you where?’
‘McCrae?’ Mariner murmured, his tongue flopping clumsily in his mouth.
‘Dyson’s real name. It was Dyson who did this to you.’
‘Mm.’ It was easier to nod.
‘Why ‘Dyson’ is anybody’s guess.’
Mariner shook his head. ‘. . . Diana’s son,’ he slurred ‘. . . obvious.’ Drifting off again, he rallied himself. ‘Cyprus,’ he said.
‘Ciphers?’
‘No . . . Cy-prus.’
‘Cyprus? That’s where he’s going?’
Mariner blinked a negative. ‘. . . not yet. He’s waiting . . . to contest the will . . . lying low.’
‘Loch Cree,’ said Knox, and then he was gone.
* * *
Later Mariner learned that, taken by surprise, Bill Dyson had come quietly. Shortly before dawn, local police officers including an armed response unit, had surrounded the caravan on the Loch. Inside they’d found, among other things, a laptop with the necessary software for managing the tracking devices on Ryland’s car and on the Volvo.
* * *
Day 1
Mariner opened his eyes onto a dazzling world, everything transformed from dark to light, and as his eyes focused he saw a face looking into his. Anna.
She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Hello, you.’
With effort, Mariner smiled back, but, then, from nowhere, his chest heaved and great wracking sobs convulsed his body. Wrapping her arms around him, Anna held him tight to her. ‘It’s all right. You can let it out. You’re safe now.’
‘I should have told you,’ Mariner said, when the episode had subsided.
‘And when did this profundity occur?’ she asked.
‘The first time I woke up in the cellar.’
‘Bit late then, really.’
‘You could say that.’
Before she went she helped him shave.
‘If I had a mirror I could do it myself,’ he pointed out.
‘You’re too scary for a mirror. We’ve put it away.’
There wasn’t even one in the bathroom along the corridor.
* * *
Day 2
Tony Knox came to see him, bringing copies of The Great Outdoors and a couple of bottles of Sam Smith’s. ‘They’re bound to let me drink that in here,’ Mariner said. ‘But thanks.’
‘So when did you realise it was Dyson?’ Knox asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Mariner. ‘I remembered him talking about his “chosen family.” It seemed an odd phrase to use. And then he was there, in the cellar. He came to tell me he was going and of course I recognised his voice. He confessed it all. Wanting me to know how clever he is, I suppose. Is there enough to charge him?’
‘Plenty,’ said Knox. ‘He was stupid enough to hang on to the murder weapon. The barrel markings match the casings on the bullets recovered at Cheslyn Woods. They found dog hairs in his car, too.’
‘It could be cross-contamination,’ said Mariner. ‘He gave me a lift once.’
‘Doesn’t matter. We’ve got a sighting of his car near Eleanor Ryland’s house on that Saturday afternoon, someone sitting in it. A neighbour saw it but thought he was just another reporter. She came forward after the TV appeal.’
‘So I’m off the hook?’
‘You were never really on it, boss.’
‘I don’t know why it took me so long to work it out,’ said Mariner. ‘Diana’s “illness” came up time after time, and all along people were telling me how much Geoffrey and Diana Ryland had in common, but I couldn’t see what it was. I couldn’t link those two things together; him dealing with the guilt of having abandoned me, while his wife grieved for the loss of her child.’
‘You got there in the end.’
‘Only just. And if you and Coleman hadn’t grasped what was going on—’
‘It was a joint effort,’ said Knox, diffidently. ‘Would have helped if you’d told someone the full story of course, but we were lucky to be able to piece it together, with help from Anna, Dave Flynn and Fliss Fitzgibbon.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a letter. ‘She left you this, by the way.’
‘She’s gone back to Switzerland?’
‘Couple of days ago. Oh, and bad news on Alecsander Lucca.’
‘The extradition’s been turned down?’
‘Worse than that,’ said Knox. ‘Lucca was shot dead by a sniper, in transit from one jail to another.’
‘Is Charlie Glover any closer to identifying Madeleine?’
Knox shook his head. ‘And now we might never know. Some you win, some you lose, eh?’
‘How’s Selina doing?’ Mariner asked.
Knox shifted uncomfortably. ‘She’s moved back in with her mother for a while. Things were going too fast. It was getting a bit—’ he groped for the right word, finally settling on, ‘intense.’ He seemed about to say more, but stopped. ‘Anyway, I’d best get back. The new gaffer is in, so got to make a good impression.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Haven’t had the pleasure yet.’
‘Let me know when you do.’
‘Sure. You’re looking better than death warmed up now, anyway.’
‘Thanks.’
* * *
But as Knox left, Mariner couldn’t help wondering what it was about the way h
e looked. It couldn’t be that bad. There had to be a mirror somewhere, maybe in the bedside cupboard. He was reaching down, conscious, but unconcerned that his hospital gown gaped, exposing his bare backside to the fresh air. With the blinds pulled shut in his private side-ward there was no one to see.
‘Detective Inspector Mariner?’ The unfamiliar woman’s voice was low and husky, with an understandable trace of amusement. Mariner shot back up, hastily covering himself, and came face to face with a tall, slender woman, olive skinned with thick dark hair, impeccably dressed, and barely suppressing her smile. Sexy, thought Mariner.
She offered him a hand. ‘I’m Davina Sharp, your new DCI. I wanted to come and introduce myself, see how you’re doing.’
Bollocks, thought Mariner, but recovering, he shook hands with her. ‘You saw my most attractive feature first,’ he said, brazening it out. ‘Since everyone keeps telling me how rough I look.’
‘And how are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Better, thanks.’
‘You’ve been through a major ordeal.’
Mariner allowed himself a modest shrug.
‘You’re quite the caped crusader,’ she went on, ‘and lucky to have got away with it, from what I hear. My view is that maverick detectives should stay where they belong — on TV and in books.’ She smiled, warmly. So this wasn’t so much a social call as an early warning. ‘Crimes are most effectively solved through communication and teamwork. Officers who decide to go it alone, sooner or later, in my experience, put themselves and their colleagues at risk. I do hope this is a conversation we won’t have to repeat.’ The smile didn’t falter.
‘Ma’am.’
‘Well, I’m glad that you’re on the mend, and look forward to having you back at Granville Lane. I expect you can’t wait.’
Especially now, thought Mariner. ‘Yes Ma’am,’ he said.
* * *
Mariner recounted the episode to Anna when she visited that evening.
‘Great start,’ she said. ‘—flashing your arse at the new boss. Is she going to cramp your style?
‘What do you think?’ said Mariner.
‘Sounds as if you might have to start talking to people. That’ll be a first.’ But she smiled as she said it. ‘It might not be as bad as you think.’
‘It’s serious enough for her to come here and lecture me on my sick bed,’ said Mariner. ‘Maybe it’s time to stop getting so hung up on work.’
Anna brightened. ‘Really?’
‘And what would you think about adopting?’
‘Adopting?’
‘A dog. I’d like to take on Nelson.’
‘We’d need plenty of space to walk him.’
‘I know. And I’m not ruling out kids,’ he said quickly.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘But one thing at a time, eh?’
‘One thing at a time.’
THE END
DI MARINER SERIES
Book 1: DEADLY LIES
Book 2: INNOCENT LIES
Book 3: KILLER LIES
Book 4: BABY LIES
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DI TOM MARINER BOOK 1: DEADLY LIES
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Journalist Eddie Barham is found dead in his home. A syringe is in his arm and a note by his side reads, ‘No More.’
Open and shut case of suicide? Not for DI Mariner. Hours before, he saw Barham picking up a woman in a bar. And then Mariner discovers Barham's younger brother, Jamie, hiding in a cupboard under the stairs.
Jamie is the only witness to his brother's death, but his severe autism makes communication almost impossible. Mariner is determined to connect with Jamie and get to the truth. Is the journalist’s death related to his investigation of a local crime kingpin?
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A NEW CRIME THRILLER WITH A COMPELLING DETECTIVE WHO WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO AVENGE HER DAUGHTER
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
A & E: Accident and emergency department in a hospital
Aggro: Violent behaviour, aggression
Air raid: an attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets
Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)
Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings
A Level: exams taken between 16 and 18
&
nbsp; Auld Reekie: Edinburgh
Au pair: live-in childcare helper. Often a young woman.
Barm: bread roll
Barney: argument
Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids
Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle
Benefits: social security
Bent: corrupt
Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)
Biscuit: cookie
Blackpool Lights: gaudy illuminations in seaside town
Bloke: guy
Blow: cocaine
Blower: telephone
Blues and twos: emergency vehicles
Bob: money
Bobby: policeman
Broadsheet: quality newspaper (New York Times would be a US example)
Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead
Bun: small cake
Bunk: do a bunk means escape
Burger bar: hamburger fast-food restaurant
Buy-to-let: Buying a house/apartment to rent it out for profit
Charity Shop: thrift store
Carrier bag: plastic bag from supermarket
Care Home: an institution where old people are cared for
Car park: parking lot
CBeebies: kids TV
Chat-up: flirt, trying to pick up someone with witty banter or compliments
Chemist: pharmacy
Chinwag: conversation
Chippie: fast-food place selling chips and other fried food
Chips: French fries but thicker
CID: Criminal Investigation Department
Civvy Street: civilian life (as opposed to army)
Clock: punch
Cock-up: mess up, make a mistake
Cockney: a native of East London
Common: an area of park land/ or lower class
Comprehensive School (Comp.): High school
Cop hold of: grab
Killer Lies (Reissue) Page 31
