by Alex Walters
She looked up quizzically. ‘A copy of a passport.’
‘Recognise him?’
She squinted at the passport photograph. It was a black and white print of a scanned document. The image was blurred, but she had no doubt. ‘McGrath.’
‘Passport in the name of one Paul Kavanagh.’
‘You found this in Kerridge’s files?’
‘There was a whole stack of fake documentation. Passports, driving licences, you name it. Stuff pulled together for various members of Kerridge’s team.’
She had seen the material on the data stick Morton had sent her just before his killing. ‘I remember.’ She held her voice steady. She’d put Jake Morton behind her now. She recalled his face, his warmth, the feel of his body in bed. But she no longer knew how it had happened, why she’d allowed herself to have a relationship with him. Loneliness and insecurity. Nothing stronger than that. A stupid mistake made by a different person. But, just occasionally, something unexpected brought him back to her mind, and for a moment her feelings for him felt stronger than she allowed herself to believe.
‘This was just one document among all that,’ Brennan went on. ‘I was lucky to spot it, but that handsome face caught my eye. Far as I could see, there was nothing else relating to McGrath.’
‘Suggests he was on Kerridge’s team at least, doesn’t it?’
‘Doesn’t tell us how big a player he was, though. Or how close to Kerridge.’
‘I can’t see Kerridge getting a fake passport made for just anyone. He must have had some significant dealings with Kerridge. You find anything else?’
‘No. Took me a while to plough through the documents. I was getting a bit paranoid. Thought people might be wondering what I was up to.’
‘It’s a start, though,’ she said. ‘Means that Salter could have had some ulterior motive for planting me with McGrath.’
‘Keeping an eye on one of Kerridge’s former associates? Makes more sense if McGrath was a bigger fish.’
‘Didn’t see much sign of that in his business. But maybe he was smarter than he seemed.’
‘It’s a hall of mirrors, this, isn’t it? Is this what life’s like for you lot all the time? Thought standard policing was tricky enough.’ He emptied the last of the wine into their two glasses.
‘It’s undercover work,’ she said. ‘Out in the field, you can’t afford to trust anyone. You need a safe anchor back at base. Someone to rely on when everything starts shifting around you.’ She paused, realising that she had almost begun to see Brennan himself as that anchor. Stupid, she thought. She still couldn’t be sure whether to trust him. ‘That’s why it’s such a nightmare with Salter. It’s not just that he might be bent. It leaves me out here twisting in the wind.’
‘But this one’s done now, presumably? Now McGrath’s no longer in the picture?’
She couldn’t tell whether there was a note of regret in his voice. ‘Salter’s playing silly buggers with that as well, though. Stringing me along.’
Brennan gestured towards the wine bottle. ‘You want any more? I can open another bottle.’
‘Tempting, but I’d better not. My head’s not very straight as it is. I’m feeling all in.’ She felt as if she’d been sleeping all day but was still unrefreshed. ‘You sure it’s okay for me to stay over?’
‘Fine by me. Happy to offer you a bed for the night.’ If there was any double-meaning in his words, he gave no sign. ‘Nice to have female company, to be honest. Civilises the place.’
She was tempted to ask about his domestic circumstances, but couldn’t think of any question that wouldn’t seem intrusive. Or that wouldn’t give the impression that she cared. ‘You haven’t seen my place. Do you mind if I turn in? I’m feeling pretty knackered. Not the best company, female or not.’
‘I’ll show you where things are. Can’t offer you a change of clothes, I’m afraid, unless you fancy cross-dressing. But I can lend you a dressing gown.’
‘Thanks, Jack. I’m really grateful for this, you know.’
‘What else would you expect me to do? I hope you’ll do the same for me next time some bastard breaks in here with a knife.’ He laughed. ‘Seriously, it’s nothing at all. Just get a decent night’s sleep.’
He led her upstairs and showed her round the small upper floor. The second bedroom was, endearingly, set up as a guest room, with a small selection of toiletries and even a tray with tea and coffee. She could see Brennan as the kind of punctilious soul who would keep a guest room prepared for unexpected visitors.
‘All yours,’ he said. ‘Do you want waking? I usually head off around eight.’
‘Whenever suits you,’ she said. ‘Once it’s daylight, I’ll be happy to get back home and find out if my visitor left any signs.’
‘Sure that’s wise?’
‘He didn’t strike me as a pro. My guess is that he made himself scarce as soon as I legged it. Can’t see him coming back straight away.’
Brennan gazed at her face for a moment, as if he were trying to think what to say. ‘Just be careful, for Christ’s sake, Marie. We don’t know who we’re dealing with.’
She looked back at him, a little surprised by his concern. ‘I’ll be careful, Jack. This time I’m going to be bloody careful.’
He had watched from the shadows, wondering what to do. His instructions were clear. Observe, monitor, report back. Take no action until told to.
It was only luck that he was out here this evening. He had intended to leave her once she was safely home. However careful he was, if he spent too much time in the proximity of her house it inevitably increased his risk of being detected.
But as the evening came, although he knew that her car had never left the drive, he began to feel uneasy. Maybe it was the arson attack. He’d reported that back. The text he’d received in reply had instructed him to carry on as before. But he’d detected something, even in the terse syllables of the text message, that suggested the news had been unexpected.
That wasn’t a surprise. If they’d wanted McGrath killed, he’d have been given the job. So McGrath’s killer was some third-party. Which raised some interesting questions. He sensed that the job had just become more complicated.
So he’d come out here again tonight, impelled by some sixth sense. Feeling that something would happen. Something that might complicate things still further.
He was checking over the front of the house when he registered the car arriving further down the street. It had parked some distance away, near the main road. Moments later, he’d seen the driver walking down the street towards him.
This wasn’t how people behaved in an estate like this. You didn’t park your car at one end of the road and walk to your destination. This place was built for cars. You parked outside your own house or the house you were visiting.
He moved a step or two further back into the darkness, watching the figure approach. The body language wasn’t right either. There was an air of wariness about the movement. The gait of someone who wanted to be unobtrusive.
He waited silently as the figure drew level with the house, stopped, looked cautiously around, and made its way down the side of the building to the rear garden.
He watched, wondering what to do. The house was in darkness. She’d probably been exhausted after her disturbed night. Maybe gone back to bed, or fallen asleep in a chair. Either way, she wouldn’t be prepared for an intruder.
He stood and watched in the chill night air, as patient as ever in his reconnaissance, listening for any disturbance within the house. Long minutes went by, but he saw nothing. The house remained unilluminated, and it was too dark to discern any movements inside.
When the movement finally came, it almost took him by surprise. He heard a clatter of footsteps up the side of the house, heading towards the street. It was her, running breathlessly towards her car. He watched as she thumbed open the locks, clambered inside and, after an agonised second or two, started the engine. The car sped off, initially unsteadily, to
wards the main road.
The intruder had reached the car just too late. But she was already gone and the silhouetted figure – his own car parked too far away for any chance of pursuit – was left staring morosely after her.
Amateur. Caught up in the moment, the intruder had made no effort to conceal his presence or even appear inconspicuous. He clearly had no intention of returning to the house. Instead, he shuffled his way back down the street to where his car was parked.
It was disturbing. Not just that this had happened but that they – whoever they might be – had entrusted the job to such a buffoon. They’d underestimated her, though he knew how easy it was to do that.
In the distance, he heard the sound of the intruder’s car starting, and wondered whether to follow it. But he had his instructions. He would report back on what had happened and allow them to make the decision.
For long minutes he remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty house, until he felt safe to move. Finally, he concluded that any residents drawn to their windows by the two cars pulling away would have returned, unenlightened, to their televisions or evening meals.
Then, hidden in the shadows but moving with an unhurried nonchalance, he made his way out of the estate towards the nearby pub where his own car was unobtrusively parked.
20
She was woken at seven by two competing sounds – a gentle knocking at the bedroom door and the furious buzzing of her mobile on the bedside table. Half-awake – these days, it felt as if she spent most of her life half-awake – she rolled over and grabbed the phone, simultaneously calling towards the door; ‘Yes?’
‘You ready to wake up?’ Brennan asked from outside.
‘Yes. Thanks.’ She peered at the screen. A missed call. Lizzie. Why the hell was Lizzie calling her at seven in the morning?
‘Shower’s free if you want it,’ Brennan called. ‘Cooking bacon butties, so don’t be long.’
Jesus, she thought. A domestic god. Or maybe trying a bit too hard to impress. If only he knew how easy she was to impress these days. Or how few people were trying.
She dragged herself from the bed and threw on the dressing gown. A woman’s dressing gown, too small for Brennan. None of her business. Definitely none of her business.
She soaked herself for a few minutes under a scalding shower, as hot as she could bear it. She felt as if the previous evening’s events had left her with a need to cleanse herself, literally to wash the scent of fear and anger off her body.
She’d slept better than she’d expected, too. Now she felt – well, some fear, certainly. Some bastard had tried to kill her and might have succeeded. But mostly she felt anger. A cold fucking fury at the man who had broken into her house and come so close to taking her life. And at those who had paid him to do it.
Brennan was in the kitchen, already dressed in a slightly-too-smart pastel shirt and expensive-looking trousers. Marie knew and cared little about clothes, at least by comparison with most other women that she knew, but she could recognise quality when she saw it.
He was arranging rashers of freshly grilled bacon on neatly sliced bread. ‘Thought you might feel like something solid after last night,’ he said.
‘You mean the wine or the attempted killing?’
He pushed one of the laden plates towards her. ‘I was thinking mainly of the killing thing,’ he said. ‘But you might want to soak up the wine, too. Coffee?’
‘Please. I think I’m okay. As well as can be expected, anyway.’ She took a grateful bite of the sandwich. It was exactly what she needed. Something simple, salty, filling. Something ordinary.
He poured coffee from a filter machine into two mugs, then sat down opposite her and began to chew on his own sandwich. ‘You sure you’re ready to go back there? It wasn’t just the wine talking?’
‘No, I’m fine. Really. He won’t come back. Not today, anyway.’
‘You can come back here tonight if you like. Hope that doesn’t need saying.’
She smiled. ‘That’s kind of you, Jack. I’m very grateful. I don’t know. I need to find out what Salter’s got in mind for me.’
‘You think he’ll try to keep you up here?’
‘Depends what his game is, doesn’t it? I was very conveniently positioned last night for someone to have a go at me.’
‘Even if that’s true, he can’t try it twice,’ Brennan pointed out. ‘Once you tell him what happened – put it on the record, I mean – he’s got to take you out of the field.’ He paused. ‘You are going to put it on the record?’
Until he’d asked the question, she hadn’t even thought about it. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve got to. I couldn’t call the police last night because that would have set too many hares running. But I’ve got to tell Salter. Make sure it’s made formal. And you’re right. Salter will have to take me out of the field. Whoever’s behind this – whatever’s behind it – I’ve been compromised somehow.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to tell him I’m heading back home whether he likes it or not.’
‘That’s good. And make it official. Quickly. If Salter is involved in all this, you want to make sure it can’t happen again.’
‘I can get into the secure network on my laptop. File a report online. I’ll do it before I speak to Salter.’
Brennan glanced at his watch. ‘I need to go in a minute. Stay as long as you like. You can let yourself out. And if you decide you want to come back here tonight, that’s fine.’
‘Thanks, Jack. Once I’ve spoken to Hugh, I think I’ll just pack up and head back south. Whatever he says. He can sort out the police up here.’
Brennan looked at her for a moment, and she thought that there might have been a trace of regret mixed in with his obvious relief. Maybe his offer of shelter hadn’t been entirely altruistic. And maybe, sitting here in yesterday’s grubby clothes with her wet hair unbrushed, she was indulging in some mild wishful thinking.
‘Anyway,’ Brennan said, ‘keep me posted. About everything. I’ll do the same. Whatever Salter’s up to, I still feel my chain’s being jerked. It’s not a feeling I like.’
‘I’ll keep you posted,’ she promised. ‘And thanks again, Jack. Really. You kept me sane last night. I was more shaken than I realised.’
‘Didn’t do much except pour you a glass of wine. But you’re welcome. Anytime.’
After he’d gone, she sat in the silent kitchen, chewing the remains of her bacon sandwich, helping herself to a second coffee. She had to decide what to do next. It felt strange. She’d hardly got herself into this job, hadn’t even properly thought herself into the character of Maggie Yates. And yet now she felt as if a rug had been pulled from under her. She’d been geared up for months of life undercover, creating a new personality, a new life. The slow painstaking work needed to make a covert operation work. Without realising she was doing it, she’d already begun to adjust her thinking, get herself ready for immersion into a new world.
And now she was being dragged back into real life and everything that went with it. Especially Liam. And everything that went with Liam.
Okay, she had to get back to her house. Get on to the secure network – assuming that last night’s murderous bastard hadn’t waltzed off with her laptop – and submit her report before Salter could do anything to prevent it. Then speak to Salter. Then call home and see how things were with Liam.
And Lizzie.
Shit, she’d forgotten Lizzie’s call. She couldn’t begin to think, even now she was wide awake, why Lizzie should have called her. She’d left no message. It wasn’t a good sign if the only person she could think to call was someone she’d only known for a couple of days.
She pulled out her mobile and found Lizzie’s number. The phone rang a couple of times and then a voice said: ‘Yes?’ She sounded tense, suspicious. The voice of someone expecting an abusive phone call.
‘Lizzie?’ Just in time, Marie remembered to revert to her undercover identity. ‘It’s Maggie. Are you okay? Did you try to call me?’
&
nbsp; There was a pause, and then an indrawn breath. ‘Maggie. Oh, thanks for phoning back.’
‘What is it? Is something wrong?’
‘‘I’m probably just being stupid. It’s just – well, you know, everything that’s happened. I’m not thinking straight.’
‘Where are you? Are you still at the flat?’
‘Yes. That’s just it. I was here alone last night. Katy decided to stay over at her boyfriend’s.’
It felt as if someone had run a cold finger slowly down Marie’s spine. ‘What is it, Lizzie? Did something happen?’
‘I’m probably just imagining it—’
‘What, Lizzie? What happened?’
‘I woke in the night. Don’t know why – I’m not usually a light sleeper. But I got up to get some water. As I was going through the hall, I heard a noise at the front door. A scraping.’ She paused, gathering her breath. ‘I thought it was someone trying to break into the flat.’
‘What happened?’
‘It went on for a bit, and I was wondering what to do. Whether to call the police. Then it suddenly stopped. The people in the next door flat have a dog, and I could hear it barking. Whoever it was probably got scared off.’
Marie took a deep breath. ‘Did you call the police?’
‘No, I just waited. I listened hard but there was nothing else. I thought the police would think I was making a fuss about nothing. That I was under stress.’ She gave a not-particularly-convincing impression of a laugh. ‘I probably am. I’m not sure I wasn’t just half-asleep and just imagined the whole thing. I’m just feeling a bit messed up, Maggie.’
‘You’ve been through a hell of a lot in the last few days. What time did all this happen?’
‘Threeish, maybe. In the end, I went back to bed and hid under the bedclothes. I don’t think anyone could get in through that door anyway. It’s pretty solid and we had some strong locks put in because Katy’s dad was worried about us living here on our own. I kept telling myself that.’
‘You should have called me straight away,’ Marie said.
