‘I know you won’t,’ I said optimistically. ‘But remember, Delbarto’s going to be on her guard after yesterday, and she’ll already have spoken to someone from the Kalamans, so they may well have people watching the place too for exactly this sort of eventuality.’
She nodded, told me not to worry about her, reminding me that she was a pro at this sort of thing (which she was), and kissed me on the lips. I held her close to me and in the end she had to manoeuvre herself out of my grip.
As she walked out of the door, I wanted to tell her I loved her because I think I did, but something stopped me, the way it always had. But I couldn’t let her go without saying something.
‘I don’t want to lose you,’ I told her.
She turned back to me, her figure framed in the sunlight, a smile on her face. ‘You won’t.’
After she’d left I couldn’t settle, preferring to pace the house and garden trying and failing not to worry about her, and it was a real relief when I got the call from Hugh Manning at six p.m., half an hour later.
Once again, he was calling from an unidentified number.
‘Whereabouts are you?’ he asked, his voice tense.
‘London,’ I said. ‘And you?’
‘Further south. I want you to drive to a place called Blashford Lakes nature reserve. It’s not far from Southampton.’ He gave me the postcode and I wrote it down. ‘Take a turning called Ellingham Drove off the Salisbury Road. Drive two hundred metres down there and park by the entrance to the quarry. Be there for 9.30 p.m., and make sure you come alone.’
I went back in the house, opened up my laptop and put the postcode into Google Maps. It was just over a two-hour drive from where I was. ‘It’s an isolated spot,’ I said, looking at the string of half a dozen lakes on the map surrounded by open countryside.
‘That’s deliberate,’ he said. ‘What car will you be driving?’
I had to give him his dues, Manning was a thorough operator. Although I didn’t like the idea of meeting up in such an isolated area, I still couldn’t see how it could be a trap. The Kalamans wouldn’t be using him to set me up. If they’d found him, he’d have been dead by now. So, deciding that Manning was almost certainly serious in his intentions, I gave him the make and colour of my car.
‘Be there and wait for my call,’ he said, and the line went dead.
Straight away I called Dan. Manning might have been playing it straight, and I was still prepared to keep my meeting with him a secret from the NCA, but I needed Dan in the loop.
He answered on the first ring.
‘It’s on tonight,’ I told him without preamble. ‘And I’m going to need your back-up.’
Fifty-four
Mr Bone viewed the map of Blashford Lakes nature reserve carefully. Dan Watts hadn’t managed to get the exact spot for the meeting but that didn’t matter. The location itself was perfect. Isolated enough so there were unlikely to be any witnesses to worry about, yet close enough to the M27 motorway for a quick getaway back to London. There was no time for planning, so it was going to have to be a rapid strike using overwhelming firepower. Mr Bone already had a team of Kalaman’s best people on standby, and there were more than enough of them to ensure success tonight.
He closed Google Maps and returned to his laptop’s home screen which featured the photo of a dead seventeen-year-old girl, a victim he remembered well from the farmhouse in Wales. They’d temporarily released her then hunted her down for sport. It had been he who’d caught her within fifty metres of the main house, and it had been he who had ended her life. That was ten years ago now, when he was still swift enough on his feet, and he remembered it as one of his favourite kills. He stared at the photo for a few seconds and took himself back to that day, and the smell of the girl’s fear. He felt a tingle of pleasure go through him, then locked the laptop in his strongroom drawer and stood up.
It was time to organize tonight’s kill.
Seventy miles away, Hugh Manning sat in Harry Pheasant’s front room, knowing that he was now enjoying the last hours of true freedom. In a way he was relieved. It meant he could stop running, and if Ray Mason could secure him some kind of deal in which he avoided prosecution, then life inside the witness protection programme could actually be OK.
The previous night had been a drunken one, as befitted a last goodbye to an old friendship. They’d sat up talking, laughing and reminiscing until four in the morning, and for most of that time Manning had temporarily forgotten his many woes – or more accurately he’d been too drunk to care. Between them he and Harry had polished off four bottles of good red wine, which was why Manning’s head was still throbbing and he was on his sixth coffee of the day. For the last ten minutes Harry had been going through the plan he’d hatched for the handover to Ray Mason, using an Ordnance Survey map on the table in front of him.
‘You know, Harry,’ said Manning, ‘you’ve done everything you need to do for me. Just drop me off up there and let me do the rest.’
‘You need a wingman, Hugh. You don’t know the area, I do. Plus you need me to make sure your man Mason does what he says he’s going to do. You can’t trust these coppers, even the good ones.’
‘I don’t trust him, but I’m giving myself up anyway. The problem is, if anything goes wrong, and you get arrested, then you could go to prison for a long time for helping me. Years, not months.’
It wasn’t that Manning didn’t want Harry to be there when he gave himself up; he did, desperately. But he wasn’t going to be responsible for wrecking Harry’s life, and so, for one of the few times in his life, he was making a difficult decision. Or at least trying to. He couldn’t actually seem to get the right words out.
Harry’s grin filled the room. ‘Do you know what, Hughie? My life’s been bloody boring these last few years. I’ve been single for five years because I can’t seem to hold down a relationship, I rattle around in this big house with its big bloody mortgage, I’ve got high cholesterol and high blood pressure, and I think I’ve got gout. My legs are going purple anyway. And my business isn’t doing well either. In fact it’s doing shit.’ His grin grew even wider, if that was possible. ‘But right now, I’m enjoying myself. I’m having an adventure. And I’m helping a mate who’s had a hard time of it. I know you’d do the same for me too.’
Sadly, Manning knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t take this sort of risk for anyone. But he felt honoured that someone would do it for him.
‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘Just don’t get yourself into any trouble, please.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ laughed Harry, grabbing the pump-action shotgun propped up on the sofa next to him and loading a shell into the chamber. ‘But as my old scoutmaster Morton used to say: be prepared.’
The sound of the intercom buzzer brought Dan out of his trance. For some time now he’d been sitting on his bed staring into space and contemplating what he was about to do. He knew that he was sending Ray Mason – a colleague, and a man with a good heart – to his death. He’d asked his blackmailer again to spare Ray’s life but the only response he’d received was a simple command to do what he was told or face the consequences. Realistically they were never going to get a better chance to kill Ray, and, deep down, Dan knew that in some ways it was actually better if Ray did die tonight, because if he survived he would know that Dan was the one who betrayed him and Manning, and that would be more than he could stand.
The truth was, Dan had accepted what had to be done. The decision had been made and he would have to go with it. After this was all over, he would apply for a transfer back into the Met and try to effect some kind of reconciliation with Denise. He needed his family back badly. Only then could he adequately protect them and work to atone for his sins by being a good husband and father. He’d called the girls earlier and had managed to speak to his oldest, Florence, who was fifteen. She was hanging out with friends at the park near the old family home, enjoying the good weather, and they’d chatted for about five minutes, but Florence had been
distracted, and it hadn’t been much of a conversation. He hadn’t even managed to get hold of thirteen-year-old Lara. He’d left a message two hours earlier and she hadn’t called back. He was drifting apart from his children as they grew older and more independent and he remained outside the family home.
But that would change. It had to.
The buzzer went a second time, and Dan jumped up from the bed and spoke into the intercom.
‘Delivery for Mr Watts,’ said the man at the other end.
Dan told him he’d be down. He knew who the parcel was from and what it contained.
It was time to commit one last sin and then he could earn his freedom.
Fifty-five
Two hours after Manning’s call, I stopped en route to Southampton, parked the car at the side of the road, and got out. It was eight p.m. and a beautiful sunny evening. To my right a freshly ploughed field stretched into the distance, while to my left a narrow copse of trees followed the line of the road. The setting sun bathed the landscape in a deep orange glow, flecked with the first shadows of dusk. It was silent here and peaceful, the only sound the singing of the birds in the trees.
I took a deep breath of the fresh country air, feeling in reflective mood. My part in the Bone Field investigation was coming to an end, so it seemed fitting that I was standing at the spot where it had all begun.
Five minutes later, I heard the sound of a car coming along the road behind me. I turned round as Dan pulled up on the verge behind my car and got out.
Dan was the kind of man who liked to take care of his appearance. He was a lean, good-looking man who always dressed with an understated style – the type who always wore decent-smelling aftershave, even when he was only out with me – but tonight he looked a mess. His eyes were red and tired, his face was covered with a thin, uneven stubble, and it looked like he’d thrown on his clothes direct from the wash basket. I knew his break-up from Denise would have hit him hard, but it was still a shock to see him like this.
‘Why did you want to meet here?’ he asked. ‘We’re still thirty miles from where you’re meant to be meeting Manning.’
‘I thought you might have guessed the significance.’
He looked at me blankly.
‘This is the exact spot where our killers snatched their first victim, Dana Brennan. July 1989. Twenty-seven years ago.’
‘Of course it is.’ He looked around, as if trying to picture the scene, then back at me. ‘It’s a morbid choice of venue, Ray.’
I stared at the bushes where Dana’s bike had been discovered a few hours after she’d disappeared. ‘It reminds me of why I’ve broken all the laws I’ve broken on this case. And why I’ve taken the risks I have. Because one sunny afternoon in the school holidays a thirteen-year-old girl on her way from an errand to the shops for her mum was taken by those bastards, brutally murdered, and buried in an anonymous grave so she could never be found. I wonder which of them actually snatched her. Was it Cem Kalaman? Alastair Sheridan? Lola? Whoever it was, one way or another they’re going to have to pay.’
‘And they will. Let’s hope Manning can help us there.’ Dan reached into his pocket. ‘I’ve got a high-spec GPS tracker here, and a mike. Keep them with you so I know exactly where you are and what’s happening. The best bet would be for me to follow you at a distance. I’ll stay a mile or so back. That way I’m only a minute away if there are any complications. I’m assuming you’re not armed.’
There was no way I was going to tell a serving police officer I was carrying an illegal gun. It wouldn’t have been fair on him. ‘I’m a civilian now, Dan, I’ve got nothing to be armed with.’ I took the tracker and the mike off him. ‘But I’m not expecting any trouble. Once I’ve got Manning with me, you can follow us back to London and we can make the switch there. But promise me you’re going to make sure he gets full protection, Dan. He’s the one person who can put down Alastair Sheridan. And he may be able to ruin Cem too.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ve got it covered.’
I watched him as he spoke. It looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Is there any way back for you and Denise?’ I asked him.
He shrugged and looked away, clearly not wanting to talk about it. ‘We’ll see.’ He looked back at me. ‘Does Tina know what you’re doing?’
I shook my head, not wanting to implicate her in any way. ‘No, I didn’t want to get her involved.’
‘Probably for the best,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘You’d better get going. It’s still a fair drive. As soon as you’ve got him, let me know. I’ll only be a minute away, remember.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘See you when it’s over, and don’t stay too close to me. Manning likes to cover all the bases and I don’t want to spook him.’
He nodded and started walking back to his car, and I noticed how much his shoulders were stooped. It was as if he’d shrunk in stature. Then, as he reached the door, he turned round and looked at me.
‘You’ve got a good heart, Ray,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed working with you.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Me too.’
I got back in the car, gave him a last wave in the rear-view mirror, and pulled away.
Fifty-six
Dusk was settling on the world as Tina walked along the edge of a wheat field towards the rear of Anthea Delbarto’s house, a portable stepladder strapped to her back, trying to keep out of sight of the upper windows, and anyone else who might be out walking at this time in the evening.
She’d arrived close to an hour back now and parked in a country lane well beyond the edge of the village, having checked the property from the air on Google Maps. The house was surrounded by high hedges on all sides, and the nearest property – another residential home – was fifty metres away. The hedge itself was an impenetrable leylandii, trimmed to a height of fifteen feet, and Tina had circumnavigated it twice, trying and failing to find any gaps to crawl through. There were only two ways into the property. One was over the main gates at the front, the other was over a gate at the back. The gate at the back was solid wood and only a few feet shorter than the surrounding hedge. It was topped with wrought-iron spikes to prevent entry, but that was no impediment to someone with Tina’s experience of housebreaking, and Ray had told her there were no dogs – the bane of burglars the world over.
Tina knew that coming over the front gates would leave her too exposed to discovery, so instead she crept up to the back gate, stopped, and listened. She could hear the faint sound of classical music coming from inside the house. It seemed someone was in.
She waited a few moments then slipped the stepladder from her back, set it up and climbed the three steps. From here, standing on tiptoes, she could just reach the spikes. She managed to get two of them in a three-fingered grip and, silently praising herself for all the upper-body work she did in the gym, slowly lifted herself up until she was just peering over the top.
There, only ten yards away, partially concealed by a grapevine, was a woman in her sixties. She was sitting at an outside table on a veranda, facing sideways to the hedge as she sipped from a glass of white wine. Although she no longer looked like the nanny Brian Foxley had photographed all those years ago, Tina had already found a more recent photo of Anthea Delbarto online, and knew that this was who she was looking at.
Tina slid back down out of sight. There was no way she was getting into the house this way, and she was still pondering her next move when she heard the sound of footfalls on the veranda followed by the clatter of plates.
‘Oh Katy,’ said Anthea, her voice clear and sonorous. ‘This looks absolutely delicious.’
‘Thanks, Anthea,’ replied Katy. Her voice was quieter and less confident, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in it at the compliment. ‘I can never seem to get the sauce how I want it.’
‘It always tastes good to me. Cheers.’
Tina heard the scrape of a chair on the concrete followed by the cl
ink of glasses. For a few seconds she listened as the two of them spoke. She could make out most of what they were saying and was surprised by the normality of their conversation. They talked like aunt and niece, and it was clear that Katy looked up to her benefactor. It didn’t make Tina doubt what she was doing, though. It was no coincidence that Tracey Burn had ended up in Anthea’s home and then in the Bone Field. Anthea was still involved with the Sheridans, even after all these years, and God knows what she had planned for this poor girl.
Anthea mentioned something about the crunchiness of the runner beans and it reminded Tina that even monsters can live ordinary lives most of the time. But somewhere in their lives there’s always something that gives them away, and Tina wondered if she’d find it somewhere in this big art deco house.
When it was clear that they’d both settled down to eat, Tina seized her opportunity. Picking up the stepladder, she crept quickly round to the main gates. They were just as big and imposing as the back gate, with the same line of spikes on the top, and lit by two lamps on either side. Attached to the lamp posts, and protected from tampering by spiked anti-climbing collars, were TV cameras to monitor who came in and out.
Knowing that she couldn’t be heard from the other side of the house where Anthea and Katy were eating, Tina stowed the stepladder out of sight then ran at the gate, planting her foot on it and using her momentum to jump up and grab the spikes. She was banking on nobody watching the camera footage as she hauled herself up, managing to squeeze a foot between two of the spikes before springing over in one movement and jumping down on to the gravel.
It was a long drop, and she rolled as she landed, before getting to her feet. She listened for a second just to make sure she hadn’t been heard, and then, confident that she hadn’t been, she planted battery-operated micro GPS trackers under the wheel arches of the two cars parked in the drive – a Land Rover Freelander 2 and a Mercedes convertible, both of which she’d checked were registered to Anthea. The batteries could run for up to twenty-four hours on a moving car and remain on standby for months, so now Tina would have a record of wherever Anthea went.
The Hanged Man (Bone Field 2) Page 25
