The Power of One

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘I still need to talk to them,’ Mac said sternly.

  ‘And I’m sure she’ll make an exception in your case and let you in. Mac, I didn’t know what else to do and I still think it was the best course of action.’

  Mac relented. ‘I suppose it’s not a bad option,’ he conceded. ‘But, Rina, we could have protected them, you know. That is kind of what the police are for.’

  ‘And Lydia was convinced that even the police couldn’t be trusted, Mac. She doesn’t know you so how can she be sure you aren’t part of what Paul warned them about?’

  ‘And what did Paul warn them about?’

  ‘Well,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not really sure. But Paul told them no one could be trusted. No one in authority. He was sure he was in danger and, well, he was, wasn’t he? Mac, I don’t know what was going on any more than you do and I don’t think Lydia and Edward have a clue either. They just know he was threatened, that he’s dead, that they are terrified.’

  Mac considered. ‘And the phone was gone when you got there?’

  ‘Yes. Tim found a fragment of plastic on the floor. Lydia said she knocked it off the table and it skidded across the floor, but it was definitely gone. It was one of those digital things, no tape to take out, so I suppose they’d have to have taken the whole thing.’

  ‘So we’ve no evidence that the message was left.’

  ‘Why would they lie? Mac, I’ve seen scared people before and Lydia was terrified. Edward not much better. They said it was Paul’s voice. That they heard him call out to someone called Ian and that there were two shots. They are both convinced that the second shot killed Paul.’

  ‘Why would anyone tape a killing?’

  ‘Evidence?’ Rina suggested. ‘Proof that they’d done the job?’

  Mac shook his head. ‘If they needed proof then a photograph would have worked better I’d have thought.’ He frowned. ‘Most mobile phones have cameras these days. Most can record sound as well. I suppose …’

  ‘Mac, even if the tape was made up afterwards and created just to scare the pants off Paul’s family, well, you can say it did the job.’

  ‘Which was? Oh, yes, put the fear of god into them, certainly, but to what purpose? To get them out of the house?’ Mac frowned. ‘I don’t think Lydia has been out of the house since Paul was killed, but to be frank, Rina, I don’t think that would have kept Paul’s killers away. They attacked him on his boat, what’s to stop them attacking the de Freitas’s in the house? The closest farm is half a mile away. No one would have heard or seen anything.’

  ‘Scare tactics then.’

  ‘And what do most scared people do? What do most sensible people do when they need help? I mean, when they don’t have a Rina Martin available.’

  ‘Go to the police, I suppose,’ Rina said. ‘Confide their problems to the authorities.’ She stared hard at Mac, the ramifications dawning. ‘They would tell the authorities all they knew and ask for protection.’

  ‘Exactly what Paul warned them not to do.’

  ‘Which means,’ Rina said slowly, ‘that someone on the side of the angels definitely isn’t. You have a mole, Mac. Someone who should be trusted, definitely cannot be.’

  Mac thought about Hale and Abe Jackson and the way Aims had been taken in. By one, by both, so far as Mac was concerned, the jury was still out.

  ‘Rina, I’m going to hate myself for this but …’

  ‘You’ve got a job for me.’

  ‘I’m going to have to go and organise a team to get up to the de Freitas’s house. Rina, Tim has relatives with military connections, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and his Uncle Charles was part of the Diplomatic Protection Group until he retired. He’s still got the contacts. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got a couple of names I’d like him to check out. Rina, this is so unofficial as not to be happening, you know that, but there are things I need to know and I think I’m getting to be as paranoid as Paul de Freitas.’

  ‘More so, I hope. Look what happened to him.’

  He wrote down what scant details he had concerning the mysterious Hale and Abe Jackson. ‘Write small, just in case I have to eat the evidence,’ Rina told him mischievously. ‘Tim said he’d call in his break, so I’ll ask him then. I think we should get moving on this as soon as possible.’

  Mac nodded. ‘Rina, lock the doors, let me know when Fitch and co. are safe. I’ll get a patrol car to sweep by but I think that’s probably the best I can arrange tonight.’

  ‘Mac, we’ll be fine,’ she reassured him. ‘Chances are, no one has connected us to the de Freitas’s.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Mac said.

  Tim watched from the wings of the small stage as the singer finished her set. Lucy had a great voice and the management recognised that they were lucky to have hung on to her this long. She was booked to the end of the season but then off to pastures new having acquired a significant supporting role in a West End musical. The Palisades was an art deco hotel that the new owners had restored with loving attention to detail. The small stage even had its own orchestra pit though at present it was occupied only by the grand piano that was used to accompany Lucy’s first set. Later in the evening the action became more intimate, shifting to the raised platform at the other end of the grand dining room on which the five-piece band set up. Tim’s own act was divided into two elements. The first set stage based and the second close-up magic performed table to table.

  He loved the little stage with the miniature orchestra pit and heavy velvet curtains. There had been photographs taken of the original and Lilly, the wife of the new owner, had gone to great lengths to have everything put back just as it was. What Tim loved most was the new idea he had put forward for its use and which Lilly and husband Blake had embraced with an enthusiasm that had taken him by surprise. The stage set-up lent itself perfectly to the reconstructions of some potentially impressive illusions, Pepper’s Ghost being just one. Mentally, Tim had already positioned the mirrors, lights and plate glass and was meeting with an engineer next week to look at the best ways of fixing everything from the point of view of modern health and safety regulations. If all went well, Christmas would see the launch of a Palisades extravaganza.

  He kissed the pretty singer as she came off the stage and walked back with her to her dressing room, listening to her latest news. She’d just got the rehearsal schedule for her new role and couldn’t wait for it all to start.

  ‘How’s the illusion going?’

  Tim smiled, enthusiasm lighting his face. ‘I got the model a couple of days ago,’ he said. ‘I meant to bring it up tonight but events kind of took over.’

  ‘You were nearly late, we were getting worried.’

  ‘I’ve got the set-up clear now. It’s going to look amazing. I just need to meet with the engineer and get the final positions worked out. Then get someone to write a narrative so we can hang everything together.’

  He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until his next set. Leaving Lucy to change for her next performance, he slipped along to the office to use the phone.

  ‘Got to be quick, Rina. Any news?’

  ‘Lydia and Edward are with Fitch. Mac has been over and we’ve exchanged stories. And yes, he was mad, but not too angry, I don’t think. And he wants you to do something for him.’ She gave Tim the names and the message.

  ‘Will do. Look, I’m likely to be a bit late back. Blake has some drawings to show me and we’ve a few things to discuss about the Christmas performance so don’t worry. Better go.’

  He glanced curiously at the names he had written down, then tucked them in a pocket he didn’t use in his act and made his way back to the grand dining room, shifting focus from men with guns to diners eager to try and guess how his tricks were done.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was ten o’clock by the time Mac had a full team assembled at the de Freitas’ house. He had tried to keep things as low key as possible, but knew that the lights would attract a lot of attention,
the position of the house just back from the road and perched high on the cliff making it difficult to be discreet.

  DI Kendal joined him just as the CSI team arrived. ‘Who’s getting charged the overtime on this?’ Kendal wondered.

  ‘Maybe we should send the bill to the MOD,’ Mac suggested. ‘After all, they are supposed to be giving us extra resources. Speaking of which, our friend Abe Jackson …’

  ‘Didn’t answer his phone. I left him a voicemail. What do you make of him, Mac?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m reserving opinion on a lot of things,’ Mac said. ‘Jackson included.’

  They stood in the doorway, watching the CSIs in white overalls move carefully across the hall. Mac could see the broken table which Tim had used to attack the man who had been blocking their way out. He could see the telephone point at the foot of the stairs, but definitely no phone.

  ‘Let’s go and sit in the car,’ he suggested, ‘and I’ll fill you in. Then we can decide what we’ll tell Jackson when he gets here.’

  Kendal was curious. ‘You mean our cooperation won’t be full and frank?’ he joked. ‘My car, then. I took the time to make coffee and Fliss packed some sandwiches. I’ve a feeling we’re going to be here for a while.’

  ‘Fliss? Should I be congratulating you?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. Unlike certain people I could mention, I’m still, shall we say, between relationships. Fliss is my big sister. She and her kids come down for a few weeks most summers, take over my house, have themselves a cheap holiday.’

  It struck Mac just how little he knew about his colleague. Kendal listened as Mac told him about the phone call the de Freitas’s had received, their subsequent flight and Rina’s adventure. CSIs busied themselves near the gate, torches in hand, minutely examining the brickwork.

  ‘And the phone has disappeared,’ Kendal mused. ‘That sort of implies that the message was purely for Edward and Lydia. Maybe there was something that Paul’s killers didn’t want anyone else to hear?’

  ‘Then why risk it being recorded?’

  ‘Seems they covered that risk pretty quickly. So our second man was called Ian.’

  ‘Or Paul knew him as Ian.’ Mac stretched uncomfortably. Tired now and, frankly, bored, wishing he could just leave the forensic team to do their work and get home to bed. Or that, at the minimum, Miriam was among them. A couple of nights before, she’d have been on call as it was, but tonight she’d gone out with her sister and Mac didn’t yet know if she’d go home or come back to the boathouse.

  A call from one of the white overalls fetched them out of the car and over to the gate. They had found the bullet, lodged in the brickwork at what would have been the top of Tim’s car. Battered and distorted from the impact, Mac would not have liked to guess at the calibre, but the sight of it horrified him as it was suddenly brought home just how close his friends had come to disaster.

  ‘We’ve got company,’ Kendal said. ‘Mr Jackson himself.’

  ‘We just tell him there was a report of shots being fired,’ Mac said. ‘And the de Freitas’s are gone, we don’t know where.’

  Kendal’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Mac thought he was going to argue. He could not have blamed him if he was. ‘Dave, I might not have told you any of this,’ Mac said. ‘Let’s pretend I’m withholding information from you as well.’

  Kendal seemed to make up his mind. He nodded. ‘We’ll keep it vague for now,’ he agreed. ‘Our old friend the anonymous caller?’

  ‘Won’t stand up to scrutiny but will do for now. You’ll have to be the one that got it though. We close at six in Frantham. The anonymous caller would be wasting his breath.’

  Kendal laughed, then nodded agreement. Abe Jackson, was out of his car now and headed their way.

  TWENTY-TWO

  As planned they had stopped at the services on the M5, close to Avonmouth. Fitch leaned against the Range Rover sipping his coffee and waiting for the others to come back from the toilets. Something nagged at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t place what it was. It manifested as a feeling of vague unease, but he’d had this feeling before and it had never let him down. It was different from the anticipation and tension felt before combat. Different again from the kind of anxiety felt when you knew what the actual risks might be or the kind of stage fright or performance anxiety he had always experienced in his days working the door for Joy’s father in one or other of his nightclubs; knowing he was on show, a prize exhibit, there to stop trouble before it started just by the force of his presence. And Fitch was a big man, a powerful man and right now a very twitchy man.

  Relieved, he saw the three of them coming back, Joy chatting easily to Lydia, looking for all the world as though the two had been friends for years. Joy was like that, Fitch thought. She had a real talent for putting people at their ease and drawing them out of themselves. He was glad to see, though, that she was not so absorbed in the conversation to have forgotten to stay alert. Joy was more wary, these days. More conscious of potential danger and Fitch noted the way she walked, quickly and purposefully, keeping Lydia and Edward moving at pace between the cars instead of taking the clearer and quicker route via the road, her gaze shifting from side to side, even while she listened to Lydia.

  She looked straight at Fitch as they came closer, inclined her head just slightly to the left. Fitch opened the doors, casually asking Edward if they’d found all they needed and were ready for the off.

  His change of position allowed him to see what was bothering Joy. Two men in a red saloon, watching as they crossed the car park, their car paused but not parked close by the exit, as though they had halted, uncertain of where to go. He understood now why Joy had avoided the road.

  Getting into the four-by-four, Fitch examined his options. The exit took them directly past the red car. A second lane, marked ‘fuel’, veered off towards the petrol pumps and then on to another slip road.

  Fitch started the engine, drove slowly towards this second lane, keeping the red car in view for as long as he could. As he turned into the filling station, Joy took over the observation, flipping her sun visor down and checking her hair. Outside, it was getting dark, the deep-blue black of the sky mitigated by the yellow sodium lights.

  ‘They’re moving,’ Joy said softly.

  Fitch nodded.

  He eased between the pumps, slowing as though preparing to stop, then, as though suddenly changing his mind, veered off towards the exit and accelerated away on to the slip road. The red car followed, also at speed. Not wanting to panic his passengers, Fitch accelerated steadily down the slip road, indicated, and prayed that whatever might be in his way would get out of it. Foot to the floor, he crossed on to the motorway, into the middle lane, past a line of lorries, finally settling down between a van and a family car. Three cars back he could see the red saloon.

  Joy turned the radio on, and fiddled with the tuning. ‘You think?’

  ‘I think.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They could have been waiting for us but … no. Too many possible services, too many possible routes. They’re tracking us someway.’

  He glanced once more in the rear-view. Not at the traffic this time, but at his passengers. Lydia had fallen asleep and Edward looked about to follow.

  ‘Their phones,’ Fitch said. ‘Rina said that Lydia was in such a panic she even left her handbag behind. I’m betting her phone was in it.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘For now? Nothing. Closer to home we call for reinforcements. For now, we don’t stop again unless we have to get petrol, then we all keep together.’

  Joy nodded, pale faced. Fitch knew she was remembering how her father had been killed. ‘Should we try and get off the motorway?’

  ‘I think we’re safer on it than on some country road,’ Fitch said. ‘We keep traffic between us and them. I should have made you stay home,’ he added, suddenly furious with himself.

  ‘Hey, since when have you been able to make me do anything. No
t even Mum can do that. Dad neither, when he was still here.’

  She glanced behind to look at Lydia and Edward, who were now both asleep. The red car was now only two vehicles back.

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was after midnight by the time Tim started for home. The coast road, late at night, was usually deserted and, although it took a bit of concentration to drive it at any time, Tim knew it well enough to relax. He was halfway back to Frantham when he really became aware of the car that had been following. He’d noticed it a mile back, hoping it would dip its lights before it pulled behind him but thought little more about it. It was only as it began to close on him, and did not dip its lights, that Tim became at first irritated and then concerned. The headlights shone in his rear-view mirror, dazzling him whenever he tried to look behind. In the wing mirror he could see a dark car, glimpse the driver but the glare of the lights hid everything else. Tim was trying to figure out what was going on when the car suddenly pulled out from behind him and drew alongside. Just for a second, he relaxed. Better to have the idiot in front than tailgating, but the second of relief was all he got. The dark saloon swerved, broadsiding Tim.

  Tim yelped. The dark car drew away, then clipped him again. Tim nearly lost control, the wheel torn from his grip by the sudden lurch.

  When the car eased back for a third try, Tim acted. He accelerated away, surging out from between the car and the thick hedge that loomed beside him.

  ‘Deep breaths, deep breaths. What would Rina do?’ Rina didn’t drive. Tim kept his foot down, taking bends at a speed he normally would not even contemplate, counting on the hope that he knew this road far better than his pursuers. It dawned on him that they didn’t want him dead. To kill someone on this road would be an easy thing, especially in a car much larger and heavier than his own. Ramming him hard enough to send him spinning off the road, shooting out the tyres, shooting him for that matter. Any of the above and a good many alternatives would do the trick. No, they wanted him alive. Tim did not find that the least bit of a comforting thought.