Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  Somewhere in the distance a phone was ringing, and he let it ring out.

  It was his fault their marriage had broken up, and he wasn’t trying to make excuses. Not now, he wasn’t. They’d had so many happy times together during those early years, but the good times were never meant to last. It took two to tango, but he still couldn’t stop blaming himself for everything that had happened between them.

  He loved his job, it was like a drug to him, and that’s where the real problem had lain. Being totally committed to your work clearly wasn’t a crime. Surely not. The more he thought about it, the deeper he sank. He’d been living in a bubble all these years, married to his job, and now it was catching up on him. But you can’t turn back the clock, and time and tide wait for no man, he thought. Brenda was dead – snuffed out on the M25 carriageway and no one there to comfort her.

  It wasn’t guilt that was dragging him down, it was the long hours he’d spent away from home all those years. The pressures of work, the late-night drinking sessions, and not being there to see his daughter growing up. He’d thought a lot about his job lately, and what it would be like to give it all up. No, he thought. It had never been easy for him either, and this wasn’t a time for self-pity. They should have handled matters differently, separated on amicable grounds instead of tearing each other apart as they had.

  His iPhone rang, and he checked the display.

  ‘Hi, Dad?’

  The moment he heard his daughter’s voice, Mason’s heart sank even further. How would he break the news to her? How would she react?

  ‘Where are you now?’ Mason asked softly.

  ‘I’m at home with the baby, where did you think I was?’

  He needed to say something, anything, but he was struggling to find the words. The phone went quiet for a second, and he took another deep breath.

  ‘There’s something important I need to tell you.’

  ‘What’s up, Dad?’

  ‘It’s about your mother, she’s–––’

  CHAPTER-SIXTY-FIVE

  Newcastle September 2016

  The first satellite vans arrived at breakfast time. Dozens of them. Parked up along Newcastle Quayside in front of the Law Courts. News travelled fast, and the opening day of the Russian fraud trial had unquestionably reached fever pitch. As a group of well-known news presenters jockeyed for prime positions in front of the entrance steps, the next eight weeks would be bedlam. It was headline breaking news, what sold newspapers, until everyone had grown tired of it all.

  Further south, David Carlisle stepped out of his Rover P4 100 just as heavy spots of rain started. He wasn’t looking forward to this one iota, and the tragic news of his colleague’s ex-wife’s death had shocked him to the core. They’d been good friends for as long as Carlisle could remember and had gone through thick and thin together over the years.

  Carlisle entered the Chief Inspector’s office with trepidation.

  ‘What can I say, Jack? This has all come as such a terrible shock.’

  Mason held his hands up as in surrender. ‘It’s strange,’ the DCI reflected. ‘After I got over the initial shock, my biggest concern was my daughter. At least I still have her and the granddaughter to cling to.’

  Coffee arrived, and Carlisle took up a seat opposite.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  Mason’s facial expression never altered, but the look in his eyes showed sadness. ‘I know this may sound dreadful, but after the divorce, the two of us had a nasty habit of speaking to each other with utter contempt. It’s strange how some situations pan out, but once I sat down and really thought about it, I began to realise that it was time to put my own house in order. It was probably the wakeup call I needed. . . believe me. Life is never straight forward at the best of times, and you never know what lies around the corner.’

  ‘That’s one way at looking it, I suppose,’ Carlisle said, relieved that his friend had some appetite for conversation at least. ‘You haven’t had much luck lately. Once this fraud case is behind you, you should seriously consider taking some time off.’

  ‘As one door shuts another one opens.’ Mason smiled.

  ‘True.’

  Mason looked at him oddly. ‘Before this all happened, I’d intended to take a short weekend break to Florence with someone who is dear to me.’

  ‘Who, your physiotherapist?’

  Mason looked up at him warily. ‘It’s wasn’t a crazy flash in the pan idea, this time it’s serious. Barbara has helped me through an awful lot lately, and I’m beginning to look at life differently.’

  Carlisle nodded, knowing that his colleague was fighting his own demons and didn’t press the matter further. He knew what grief meant, having lost his own wife in a tragic holiday accident. No, he thought. Mason was mentally strong, so best let him cope with it as only he knew how.

  ‘So, what happens to Operation Drawbridge now?’ he asked.

  ‘Now that Special Branch has brought in its own team of legal experts, they’ve taken the case to another level.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, I thought the trial was moved away from the capital for the very opposite reason.’

  ‘It seems that both the British and Russian governments are locked in diplomatic discussions over the list of names they uncovered on this USB memory stick we found in the back of Yavlinsky’s stolen car. The problem is, once the Home Office are involved, we recede into insignificance, it seems.’

  ‘Christ, not another cover up!’

  ‘Who knows?’ Mason shrugged.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It would appear that people in higher office have a lot at stake and are using it as a bargaining chip.’

  ‘What about the press?’

  ‘That’s no longer my responsibility either.’ Mason shuffled a few papers around a cluttered desk. ‘The Chief Constable and a team of so-called media experts will be dealing with that from now on. I’m still responsible for the day-to-day protection of those involved in the trial, but we don’t anticipate any major problems now that the money laundering operation has been exposed.’

  ‘And the boy, Martin?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I thought he was in Scotland?’

  ‘He is, but his father has finally got himself into a spot of bother again.’ Mason levelled with him. ‘It’s not looking good for your friend Phillip Kennedy, and he could be facing another lengthy prison sentence I fear.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Carlisle swore, ‘what’s Phil been up to this time?’

  ‘He’s been charged with grievous bodily harm after he was involved in a nasty pub brawl over non-payment of rents.’

  ‘But he was really doing well for himself.’

  Mason shook his head. ‘A leopard never changes its spots, that’s for sure.’

  ‘So, what will happen to young Martin now?’

  ‘I’ve been in touch with Social Services and he seems quite settled in his new school and is doing remarkably well under the circumstances. Not so in his mother’s case.’ Mason gave him a smile that masked unease. ‘She’s still refusing to go into drug rehab so I doubt she will ever gain child custody again.’

  ‘What a pity.’

  ‘The strange thing is, this move has opened up a whole new world for Martin and I was wondering if you fancied a trip to Scotland to see him. I know he’d be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Good. I’ve already arranged for Sue Carrington to visit him, as she’s spent an awful lot of her free time with the boy these past few months. Like you, they seem to get on well together.’ Mason sipped some coffee and laughed. ‘Perhaps the pair of you should travel together. . . spend a few hours up in the Highlands and do a spot of bird twitching.’

  ‘Is that why you invited me here today?’

  ‘That amongst other things, yes.’

  Carlisle listened as Mason brought him up to speed on all the latest developments, and he sat back and took it all in.

  �
��What will happen to you once the trial is over?’

  Mason allowed him a brief smug smile. ‘I had an interesting conversation with the head of the Amsterdam Crime Squad yesterday evening. It appears the Dutch authorities are investigating an intriguing case involving a thirty-two-year-old male who was viciously murdered in the Binnenstad district of Amsterdam.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Late on Tuesday night.’

  ‘So, why contact you?’

  ‘The suspect’s name is Thomas Ballantine, and they thought he may be of particular interest to us.’

  ‘Thomas Ballantine? That name doesn’t ring a bell.’ Carlisle shrugged.

  ‘It will when I tell you what his real name is Patrick Stanley.’

  Carlisle drew breath and could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘Is this some sort of hoax? Stanley drowned in the River Tyne, we both know that!’

  ‘Unless the Dutch authorities are sadly mistaken, then we could be dealing with a known serial killer.’

  Carlisle fell silent, thinking.

  ‘I thought that would tickle your interest buds,’ Mason continued, ‘and to think that bastard nearly cost me my life.’

  ‘It can’t be him, surely not.’

  Mason stood from his desk and walked over to his filing cabinet. ‘They’ve asked me to assist them with their current enquiries, and I’ve faxed them a shit load of files on the Stanley case.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  Mason was quick to signal his thoughts. ‘Now that his partner in crime has been found guilty of three counts of murder, I’m questioning whether there is a connection here?’

  ‘If it is Stanley, which I very much doubt, then sentencing Angelica Glebova to life imprisonment could have triggered all kinds of emotions inside his head.’

  ‘Good.’ Mason smiled. ‘That answers an awful lot of questions.’

  ‘So, where do you go from here?’

  ‘I was wondering if you fancy joining me on a trip to Amsterdam?’

  ‘I thought the Chief Constable was cutting back on external resources?’

  ‘He is, but not on this particular case.’ Mason clasped his hands together in thought. ‘The only reason I never took you on until the very end of Operation Drawbridge, is because of Special Branch’s involvement. That said, once the Russians uncovered the boy’s whereabouts that put a whole new slant on the matter.’

  ‘I thought as much. When were you thinking of going to Amsterdam?’

  ‘Let’s see what the Dutch Authorities come back with first.’

  Carlisle gave a disconcerted shake of the head. ‘The Suitcase Man. Who would have thought it possible that his name would crop up again?’

  Mason smiled cynically. ‘And that’s coming from a criminal profiler who previously worked on the case!’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Kinfauns October 2016

  The drive to Scotland took DC Carrington a little over three hours. After skirting Perth, they took the M90 towards Dundee for approximately two miles before taking the turn off for Kinfauns. There were smart, detached bungalows all around. Many with large plots of land overlooking the River Tay. It was a beautiful area, Carlisle thought, full of wildlife and rolling hills and an ideal place for young Martin Kennedy to grow up in.

  It was shortly after eleven o’clock when they eventually pulled up outside the foster-parents’ house, and Martin was waiting for them. The boy gave them a big wave and excitedly ran down the garden path and straight into Detective Carrington’s open arms.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Martin,’ Carrington said, giving him a huge hug.

  ‘Did you bring me any new bird books?’ Martin asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, of course we did, and David has another surprise in store for you.’

  Met at the front door by Martin’s new foster mother, after short introductions they were ushered into a spacious lounge with beautiful scenic views overlooking the Carse of Gowrie. Martin looked at home in the place, relaxed, and his new foster mother was a breath of fresh air.

  ‘So,’ Carlisle began, handing Martin a small gift-wrapped package. ‘What have you been up to lately?

  The young boy’s eyes narrowed as he studied the silver wrapping paper.

  ‘I’ve started my new school, and it’s really cool.’

  ‘And what are your new teachers like?’

  ‘They’re really nice, and the school dinners are fantastic. And guess what?’ Martin said enthusiastically.

  Carlisle raised his eyebrows a fraction as he stared across at Carrington. ‘No. What?’

  ‘I’ve joined the after-school wildlife club, and we go for long walks in the countryside twice a week.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Uh-huh. It’s unbelievable. I’ve only been going three weeks, and I’ve spotted loads of Hen Harriers and Kestrels.’

  ‘It sounds great.’ The detective smiled. ‘What else have you been doing with yourself?’

  Martin stared at the box as the last of the wrapping paper fell from his shaking fingers. ‘Crikey, Avalon 10x40 binoculars. How did you know I would like these?’

  ‘They’re perfect for your after-school wildlife adventures.’

  ‘Thanks, a ton.’ Martin smiled, as tears of joy filled his eyes.

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  ‘Can I share them with my new friends?’

  ‘Of course, you can. They’re yours to do whatever you like.’

  Carlisle remembered all those years ago when he too had been given surprise gifts. Those were amongst some of the most cherished moments of his childhood; where days seemed endless and the sun always shone.

  It was a welcoming sight, and a credit to his new foster parents for opening their hearts and home to Martin. The young boy now had a bright future in front of him, and a safe and secure roof over his head where he felt valued, respected and cared for. Pleased he’d made the effort to visit him here today, things couldn’t have worked out better, Carlisle thought. Apart from Martin’s father falling by the wayside again, the boy seemed completely at ease with himself.

  They talked about a lot of things that afternoon, and when the time finally came, the boy seemed genuinely sorry to see them go. The moment they reached the unmarked pool car Martin gave Carrington a huge parting hug. A new enduring friendship had been struck, and there seemed little doubt that this wasn’t the detective’s last visit to Kinfauns. It was strange, Carlisle reflected. What had been a long emotional rollercoaster ride had turned into nothing short of a fairy tale ending. Pleased with his findings, it felt as if someone had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders.

  Carlisle held his hand out, and Martin took it.

  ‘Take care of yourself, son, and be good.’

  ‘I will.’ Martin managed a weak smile as he turned to DC Carrington. ‘Will you thank Jack Mason for me. Tell him he’s welcome to come and visit me any time.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will.’ She nodded. ‘I’m sure the Chief Inspector will visit you in the near future.’

  ◆◆◆

  It was shortly after four o’clock when they finally joined the M90 heading south, and Carlisle let his mind drift. Now thinking about his own workload, other than his brief involvement in Operation Drawbridge, these past few months had been relatively quiet as far as his business was concerned. Being a private investigator had its advantages, but it could be monotonous work at times. He loved his job and he’d worked with some fascinating people over the years. The only downside, if he could think of one, was too much meddling by politicians.

  Carrington turned to face Carlisle. ‘Hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m famished. I could eat a horse if it was put in front of me.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but on my way up here I spotted a nice B&B pub just before reaching Perth. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds good by me. Do you think they serve food?’

  Carrington flashed her deep blue eyes at him. ‘I was thinking more on the lines
of the B&B actually?’ she replied jokingly.

  A log fire crackled in a cosy lounge as they entered the pub, and they soon found a corner table overlooking the River Tay. It was a beautiful spot, and they couldn’t have chosen a better place to eat.

  Carlisle picked up a pub menu, ordered a round of drinks, and turned to the landlady and said, ‘Do you have many rooms available at the moment?’

  ‘We do. Would that be two singles or a Queen-size bed?’

  ‘I was just curious. . . that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll fetch you the keys and you can take a look for yourselves.’

  As the landlady returned to the bar, Carrington turned sharply to Carlisle and smiled. ‘She must think we’re a married couple, David.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘If not, then she’s determined we stop the night.’

  Seconds later the landlady returned and dropped a small bunch of keys on the table in front of them. ‘Room two. Turn right at the top of the stairs – it’s the last door on your left.’

  Carrington looked at Carlisle and giggled.

  It had been a long day.

  THE END

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  Gan canny.

  Michael.

  THE WHARF BUTCHER

  (Book 1) in the DCI Mason & Carlisle Crime Thriller Series

  When Jack Mason is called to a brutal murder scene at an isolated farm in Northumberland, his worst nightmare has become a reality. Two people are dead, their bodies lie twisted and broken, but nobody knows why.